Life sometimes throws you curveballs, often when you least anticipate them. For me, a casting call for Food Network’s Guy’s Grocery Games came at a truly unexpected moment – just two days after my second heart surgery. Previously, invitations to participate in cooking reality TV were met with a polite but firm “no.” Just months prior, I had declined an opportunity with PBS. However, this particular call arrived when I was heavily medicated, and to my own surprise, I enthusiastically said “YES” to the audition.
Days later, I found myself on a Zoom call with a casting agent. Still under the influence of pain medication, I had a wonderful time sharing stories about my deep love for cooking, inspired by my mama and tias. The fun took a turn towards reality when their legal department sent waivers to sign the very next day. Panic set in. What had I gotten myself into?
My hesitation towards cooking reality shows stemmed from a deep-seated fear of misrepresenting my mama’s, abuelita’s, and tias’ cherished Mexican recipes. These aren’t quick, thrown-together dishes. They demand time, patience, and slow simmering to unlock their complex and rich flavors. The thought of being constrained by short cooking times and limited ingredients in a televised competition felt like a potential disservice to this culinary legacy.
Sharing my anxieties with my husband, he offered a different perspective. He urged me to embrace the invitation, seeing it as a powerful opportunity for brand growth and the potential to open unforeseen doors. My best friend echoed this sentiment, reinforcing the potential benefits.
Despite their compelling arguments, the weight of my fears led me to email the casting team that very night, explaining that the timing wasn’t right. It wasn’t about my health, as I was genuinely recovering well. Nor was it about disrespecting my family’s culinary heritage by, as I jokingly thought, being reduced to elevated Taco Bell-style recipes. The raw truth was, I was scared. My mind raced with possible disasters: burning food, cutting myself on camera, facing harsh criticism, or simply creating dishes that everyone disliked. It all felt too risky.
But fate, it seemed, had other plans. The following day, a producer from the show called. For 45 minutes, they patiently addressed each of my concerns and anxieties. Their reassurance and understanding worked their magic, and I found myself saying “YES” once again, this time with a clearer head and a sense of nervous excitement.
A few months later, I was on a plane heading to the set for filming what turned out to be one of the most incredible experiences of my life. From the drivers and catering staff to the other contestants and even the celebrity personalities, everyone I encountered was genuinely kind and supportive. I had an absolute blast.
More importantly, this experience allowed me to realize a profound dream. On national television, I had the platform to share the stories of my mama, abuelita, and tias. I spoke about these extraordinary women, their tireless work ethic, my deep love and respect for Mexican culture and immigrants, and my immense gratitude to my ancestors. Words truly fail to capture the immense joy and pride I felt in sharing the stories of my personal heroes with a wider audience through this unique “Mexican Games” experience.
