Chapter Text
“Would you cook for me for a hundred dollars?”
The man’s arm is outstretched, taking up a third of the video screen. In his hand is a beautiful array of bills, presumably the one hundred dollars he is offering. The video shows a young woman with curly brown hair and a striking graphic tee. The brunette stops and slides off her headphones, her face lighting up in recognition.
“Oh my gosh! I love your videos!”
The man behind the camera laughs, “Oh! You know me!”
“Yes! Oh my gosh. But I’m in a hotel right now, so I can’t.”
The video cuts.
“Would you cook for me for one hundred dollars?” The man asks again, this time the video shows an elderly man with long dreadlocks.
“Cook for you?” The elderly man repeats, looking somewhat dumbfounded. He has the energy of a grandpa who is endlessly endeared by whatever the youth are up to these days.
“Yeah, I go around the world asking strangers to cook for me for $100.”
“Hmm,” The man contemplates, stroking his chin in deep thought. He continues to contemplate as the video cuts to the next person.
The video shows a young black-haired man in a dark compression shirt and jogging shorts. He looks sweaty as he walks along Central Park, his face focused on his phone.
“Excuse me, would you cook for me for $100?”
The man stops in his tracks, looking up at the person behind the camera, somewhat stupidified. He glances quickly at the camera, then back at the man, “Sorry, what did you say?”
The man is tall and muscular, yet looks like a startled deer caught in headlights. The man behind the camera laughs good naturedly and then explains, “I go around the world asking strangers if they would want to cook a meal for me. It’s about sharing human kindness.”
“Ohh, okay– wait sorry.” The man seems distracted as he gestures to his phone and quickly takes off his Airpods. He’s seemingly on Facetime with someone else. A loud audio-filtered voice starts playing out from the phone’s tiny speaker as the Airpods disconnect.
“Shane? Where did you go?” An accented voice from the phone calls out.
The black-haired man– presumably named Shane– cringes slightly at the loud volume and quickly fumbles to turn it down.
“Ilya,” Shane huffs out a breathy laugh, “Hold on, I’m being interviewed by someone.”
“Interviewed? The press is there?” An alarmed gasp comes from the speaker.
Shane’s face crinkles up as he laughs, “No! Not the press.”
At the same time, the man behind the camera laughs, “I was just asking your buddy here if he wanted to cook for me for a hundred dollars, it’s like a video thing I do on social media.”
Shane points to his phone screen to show the man and his camera. An angled view of Shane’s tiny phone-screen fills the frame. Shane’s phone shows a man with dirty-blond curls and a handsome jawline. The man on the rectangular phone screen– presumably named Ilya– makes a gasping noise and points cartoonishly.
“I know you!” He snaps his fingers to recall a memory, “Would you cook for me for one hundred dollars!” He mimes. His accent– vaguely slavic sounding– coats each word. He looks like a child who first learned about that guy that survived seven strikes of lightning– completely incredulous.
The man behind the camera laughs, “Oh, so you’ve heard of me?”
“Yes!” Ilya exclaims, his face lighting up, “Shane. We must cook for him. I can’t believe you just ran into this guy!”
Shane laughs and turns his phone back to face himself, “How did you know about him?”
“I saw him on Youtube Shorts! He meets so many cool people.”
The man behind the camera laughs and points the camera to himself, showing his delighted expression at Ilya’s enthusiasm.
The camera turns back to Shane, and the man asks him his signature question, “If you were to cook something for me, like this evening, what would you make?”
“Ah, Shane would make you eat grass with some protein powder sprinkled on top. Maybe a carrot for dessert,” Ilya’s accented voice calls out from the phone speaker.
The man behind the camera erupts in laughter.
“He didn’t ask you, asshole,” Shane quips at Ilya, but the huge smile on his face is undeniable. Shane turns to the man, pushing some sweaty strands of hair out of his face as he thinks.
“I’d probably make salmon, it’s pretty basic but it always tastes good no matter what. Plus it’s great for protein, and omega-3… and also some miso soup on the side.”
“Classic combination,” the man behind the camera cuts in.
“Yeah,” Shane nods, eyes brightening at the acknowledgment of his choices, “A classic pairing, and miso is rich in probiotics too.”
“You know, he doesn’t want to eat a fucking nutrition label, Shane.” Ilya says dryly.
“You know, I can hang up right now,” Shane throws back without missing a beat, raising his finger dramatically to press down on the end-call button.
“Ah, no! Shanya please!”
The man behind the camera laughs, “What would you make then?” He directs his question to Ilya.
The camera zooms into Shane’s phone to show a pixelated Ilya.
“I would make,” Ilya drags out the words as he thinks, “borscht,” he ultimately decides, “Yeah, borscht.” He repeats like he’s happy with his own answer, “Was going to make it this evening for dinner anyway, so,” Ilya pouts his lip and shrugs noncommittedly.
“Oh fuck off,” Shane jabs in mock indignation. The cameraview stretches back to capture Shane’s reaction, “Weren’t you the one who wanted to get shawarma because you were ‘too exhausted to even make a sandwich’.” Shane says the last part in an accent that is both horribly exaggerated and inaccurate, yet captures the exact spirit and cadence to a tee.
“No, is lie. Liar told you that.”
The man behind the camera laughs at their banter.
“So I guess that’s a yes, then?” The man asks.
“Yes!” An enthusiastic shout comes from Shane’s phone. Both Shane and the man behind the camera laugh as the video cuts.
The next clip shows Shane walking. He’s mid conversation with the guy behind the camera. Shane asked to meet up at a coffee shop later that evening and suggested walking the guy back to his place.
“Yeah, we came down from Canada around a week ago. We've been staying at an AirBnb for a couple weeks for someone else’s wedding and the lobby entryway is this whole hassle to get through if you don’t have the right keycard. I didn’t want to bother you with that whole ordeal, so it made sense for me to just walk you there. I also didn’t know how the receptionist would feel if some random guy with a camera was waiting around the lobby– not that you’re just some random guy, but like–” Shane explains mid convo, gesturing in front of him.
“Haha, I appreciate it, man. Usually people don’t go out of their way and plan all this. It feels like special treatment,” the man laughs.
“Really?” Shane looks genuinely surprised, “I guess it was kind of impromptu, but, what, other people just have you show up at their place?”
“Yeah, I guess,” the man laughs.
The two of them turn and begin crossing a street. A huge crowd of New Yorkers bustle all around them and Shane pulls down his cap a bit tighter. He’s changed out of his jogging clothes from earlier and is now wearing a simple white T-shirt and grey sweatpants.
“By the way, when did you start doing this?”
The cameraman seems slightly caught off guard by the question, “You mean me asking strangers to cook for me?”
“Yeah.”
“Well I started like two years ago. It was originally something I did when I travelled to cool places around the world, like Thailand, Indonesia, places with renowned food cultures whose cuisines I always loved.”
Shane nods intensely, seeming very interested in what the man has to say.
“I only started doing this regularly in New York a couple months ago, actually,” the man laughs, “And then my videos started blowing up in popularity on Youtube and Tiktok, so it’s only been fueling me to make more of these. Like I’m so pumped whenever people say they recognize me from my videos ‘cuz it means my content is reaching a wider audience.”
Shane laughs, “Yeah, like Ilya– that was the guy on Facetime earlier,” Shane adds in to fill in the cameraman who is already nodding in recognition.
“He was definitely pumped,” the man laughs.
The video cuts to show Shane standing in front of an apartment door.
“Should I just knock, or should I say something to introduce it first? Or do you usually knock?” Shane fumbles slightly as he half-whispers to the cameraman, trying not to mess up the cameraman’s typical way of filming these kinds of videos.
“Dude, I don’t even know, I think you have this thing planned out more than me,” the cameraman laughs, “Up to you, it’s your video at this point.”
Before either of them can decide how to address the door, a subtle clicking sound is heard and the door hinges open to reveal a curly haired man, equally as tall and muscular as Shane. He’s wearing a brilliant grin and, to Shane’s absolute horror, an apron with a large graphic of Shane. The apron shows Shane Hollander posed in his Ottawa Centaurs gear like the ones on his NHL trading cards. Crisp bold font says I’m cooking like Shane Hollander 🔥🔥💀.
“Ah, welcome!” Ilya says cheerfully. He reaches out a hand to receive a handshake from the man behind the camera.
The man obviously notices the apron and starts laughing out loud, “Nice to meet you. That apron– Oh my god, is that you?” The camera shakes slightly as he laughs, panning the camera from Ilya’s apron back to Shane.
Shane’s ears turn bright red and he buries his face in his hands. “Ilya, what the fuck are you wearing?”
“Is an apron,” Ilya replies helpfully before standing to the side to usher them in, “Please come in.”
The two scurry in and take off their shoes.
“Woah, this place is massive,” The cameraman comments as he pans his camera around to show the spacious AirBnb.
The camera turns back to the entryway where Ilya has his arm draped around Shane’s shoulders. Shane’s focus is still entirely on the apron, like he can’t believe it’s a real product that genuinely has a supply and demand.
“Yes. We came here as guests for someone else’s wedding. The hosts were very generous with this AirBnb,” Ilya comments.
The video cuts to a gorgeous view out the apartment's giant windows. The sun is just beginning to set and the orange-pink light shines in the reflections of the metropolitan spread beneath.
The next clip shows the two of them placing cups of tea on the coffee table by the couch. It seems extra to be offered so much tea, but the two of them insist. If their banter holds any truth, apparently Shane’s offering of sencha is much more pleasant than Ilya’s black tea, but that opinion is up to the viewer’s interpretation of their rapid back-and-forth bickering.
The cameraman graciously thanks them.
The next clip shows them walking around the kitchen, gathering materials to make their dinner. It’s evident that the average-sized kitchen wasn’t built for people their height as Ilya has to hunch over slightly awkwardly to grab a kitchen towel from the counter.
“Are you guys, like, athletes or something? ‘Cuz I noticed Shane jogging and I was like, wow this guy is really built , and then I met you and you’re the exact same,” the cameraman asks, panning the video to show Ilya and his beautiful apron.
There’s a laugh and Ilya’s accented voice is responding, “Yeah, we like to play hockey for fun sometimes. Just Beer league. Shane really wanted to go pro, but reality hit him hard and fast,” Ilya gestures to his apron solemnly like it's a tribute to Shane’s dead dream.
In the corner of the video, Shane's foot is barely seen stepping on Ilya’s, who lets out a muffled yelp. The cameraman, however, seems oblivious to this interaction.
“Ah I see,” the cameraman laughs, “I think I dreamt of doing hockey as a kid too. I tried playing when I was really young, but I sucked at skating. Like I was already really clumsy on land, but the ice just amplified that.”
They all laugh good naturedly.
“Well, there’s also field hockey if the ice is a problem,” Shane adds, “There’s always gonna be an alternative, right.”
“Yeah, exactly,” the cameraman laughs, “Never give up on the dream, right.”
Ilya laughs like it’s the funniest thing and Shane looks away, a mixture of sheepishness and shyness overcoming his features, “Yeah, exactly. Never give up on those dreams.” Shane raises his hand in a fist, as if to say, let’s go, we’ve got this!
It comes out sarcastically corny and overly inspirational and the cameraman laughs at Shane’s joke, turning the camera to face himself as he points directly at the camera, “You heard what Shane said, you guys. Don’t give up on your dreams.”
The clip cuts and switches to show Shane mixing together a combination of flour, water, and whatever else into a large glass bowl to form a dough.
“So what’s on the menu tonight?” The cameraman asks.
“Pelmeni,” Ilya explains from his spot beside Shane, “they’re like Russian dumplings,” he adds when the cameraman fails to react.
“Oh, wow sounds delicious! What happened to the earlier plan?”
“Oh, the salmon and the borscht?” Shane asks, now kneading the dough with his fist. His sleeves are rolled up to expose his muscular arms as he works.
“Yeah.”
“We went to the grocery store to grab some stuff and realized we should probably have a better plan.” Shane explains.
“You decided to have a better plan. I think the one before was perfectly fine.” Ilya says.
“Yeah, well. I wanted to make something more entertaining and engaging I guess. Like I was thinking we could all wrap them together and talk at the same time. It’s a more hands-on kind of task.” Shane says as the camera zooms in to capture Shane’s work.
“I would love to help wrap them!” The cameraman exclaims, “Is there a special technique to it?”
“Is pretty simple. You will get the hang of it quickly,” Ilya says. The camera pans over to where Ilya is beside Shane. He’s chopping up a white onion and trying not to cry if the way his turned-away head and scrunched-up face is any indication.
“And it doesn’t matter if it’s not perfect,” Shane adds, “Ilya likes to make weird shapes sometimes just for the sake of it.”
The video immediately cuts to a clip of rambunctious laughter. The three of them are sitting at the dinner table wrapping pelmeni together. A massive plate filled with small pieces of dough fills up most of the table. Next to it is a large bowl of raw filling. Ilya is holding up a curiously phallic-shaped pelmeni in front of the camera, shaking as he laughs and resists Shane tugging on his forearms to pry his hand away from the camera.
“Is so wrinkly and lumpy,” Ilya heaves as he shows off his pelmeni.
“You put way too much filling,” Shane exclaims in annoyance, yanking at Ilya’s arms, but he’s laughing all the same.
The cameraman is laughing silently as he points at the explicitly shaped pelmeni, “I think I’ll have to blur this for Youtube.”
“Yeah, don’t show the camera that, it’s inappropriate,” Shane agrees, playing along with the cameraman’s quip, “I’m not eating that shit, Ilya.”
“Oh, you aren’t?” Ilya teases with his eyebrows raised high. He leans into Shane’s space and gives him a suggestive look.
The video cuts to a quieter clip of the dinner table, exhibiting a display of all their raw wrapped pelmeni.
“Okay, so Shane and Ilya have gone back into the kitchen to start boiling the water and they’ve left me to finish up on my last few pelmeni,” the cameraman points to a plate of raw pelmeni closest to his seat at the table, “I think I got the hang of it in the end, but my first few look pretty ugly.”
“This one’s Shane’s,” he points at a plate of beautifully wrapped crescent moon-shaped pelmeni, “And this one’s Ilya’s.”
The camera zooms in to focus Ilya’s plate next to Shane's, revealing an assortment of pelmeni from all different walks of life. There are a handful of beautifully wrapped ones, similar to the crescent-shaped ones on Shane’s plate, but the majority are strange inventions of Ilya’s genius mind: an entirely seamless sphere, a cube, what looks like the face of a dog, a heart, an anatomically accurate heart, and countless others. Not to mention the suspiciously phallic pelmeni from earlier.
The cameraman points his camera to his own face, “I think this is the most fun I’ve ever had during the actual cooking part. The guys were so nice to actually spend the time to teach me too. I think I should carry these over now.”
He turns the camera again as he picks up Shane’s plate and walks over to the kitchen. In the kitchen, a large pot of water is beginning to simmer quietly. The two men are bent close together in conversation, talking in low tones. Shane says something in Russian, and Ilya responds in his own rapid-fire Russian. Shane laughs and says something back before placing a chaste kiss to Ilya’s cheek.
Their attention shifts as the cameraman makes his way closer, presenting the plate of pelmeni in front of him.
“Ah, just in time!” Ilya gestures to the pot.
The video cuts to Ilya tending to the pelmeni in the boiling water, stirring ever so often to prevent them from sticking together.
“--was my mother’s recipe,” Ilya explains mid sentence, “I moved from Russia to Boston when I was young, and I didn’t have any family around me. My English was not so good and I felt very–” Ilya thinks for a second, trying to find the right word or phrase. He throws his head over his shoulder and calls out something in Russian.
Shane appears a second later, walking in with a stack of plates in one hand, “Like, culturally isolated?”
“Yes! Culturally isolated. Thank you, moy pelmeni,” Ilya dotes.
He turns his attention back to the cameraman, “I was very culturally isolated, and food was a way for me to feel not so far from home.”
The video cuts to them setting the table. Glasses of red wine, a ginger ale in Shane’s case, and plates with heaps of pelmeni. An audio of Ilya’s words play over B-roll of them setting up the table.
“Sometimes I wish I paid more attention when I was home, with my family. So I could absorb as much of that as possible, maybe bring some parts of Russia with me so that I don’t feel so far away from my home country. Maybe I could have remembered more of my mother’s recipes, or appreciated Moscow more than I complained about it. Russia right now is… what is happening to such a beautiful culture and people is… punishing. Is nothing but propaganda, and fear, and we cannot even speak up about it. My own family, completely led by their obsession with status and performance. Is a country of surveillance, always, and always hungry for power and…”
Ilya’s voice wobbles slightly.
“Do you miss it? If things were different would you want to live there?” The cameraman asks.
“Yes. Of course I miss it. But Russia does not accept me and I don’t think they will anytime soon,” Ilya says, “I am fond, yes, of parts of the culture, of some of my childhood memories there….” He trails off, “I’m lucky to have been raised after the USSR at least,” he laughs but it isn’t entirely happy.
“I found a home in Canada with Shane. And if anything, Russia gave me hockey, and hockey gave me Shane and I don’t know if I would change anything. If things were any different I don’t know if I would have met Shane, and I don’t want to risk that.”
The video transitions to the three of them cheering at the table. Ilya and the cameraman clink their glasses of red wine together while Shane clinks with a can of ginger ale, all three cups raised in the middle.
Ilya is out of his apron, and underneath he’s wearing a Shane Hollander graphic tee with various Shane faces plastered over his chest. Shane looks like he’s begrudgingly made peace with Ilya’s fashion decisions at this point.
“Wow, this is really good,” the cameraman hums as he takes a bite.
“Try it with this. Is even better,” Ilya gently slides a small bowl of sauce over.
The cameraman takes another pelmeni and dips generously before taking a bite.
“Mhm!” He nods while chewing, he points repeatedly at his plate of pelmeni as if to say, This right here, this is the one.
“So, are you guys both Russian? I think I heard you guys talking in Russian earlier?” The cameraman asks after he swallows.
Ilya and Shane both gape at the cameraman briefly, before realizing themselves in sync.
Shane repeats, “Are both of us Russian?”
At the same time Ilya barks out a laugh and asks, jabbing his thumb at a confused looking Shane, “You think this guy is Russian?”
“Am I way off the mark?” The cameraman asks, flustered.
“Bozhe moi, Shanya,” Ilya pats Shane’s cheek in exaggerated adoration, “Your Russian is so good people think you are Russian now.”
Shane laughs, clutching at Ilya’s wrist. “Trust me, if you understood Russian you would know that my accent is too shit to pass as native.”
“Really? Well I don’t know a lick of Russian but it sounded legit to me,” the cameraman says.
“His Russian is not bad at all actually, he’s a natural. I’ve heard worse,” Ilya shoves an entire pelmeni in his mouth.
“How do you say ‘Thank you for this meal’ in Russian?” The cameraman asks.
Ilya goes to respond, but his mouth is full with food, so Shane steps in instead, “Spasibo, bylo ochen' vkusno.”
“One more time?” The cameraman asks.
Shane laughs and repeats it again, slowly. The cameraman copies back the phrase, trying his best to enunciate every word. He says it a few times, before turning to Ilya and saying it confidently.
Ilya, who had finally swallowed his food, nods and says, “See, I told you there was worse.”
The cameraman bursts out laughing, “What! Surely it wasn’t that bad.”
Ilya nods gravely, giving a look that was mock judging, “Yes it was that bad.” He gestures to the camera, addressing the audience, “Russian fans will let you know in the comments.”
The video cuts. The plates of pelmeni are now clean and empty. Ilya and Shane are relaxed and talking amicably with the cameraman. The dinner table is circular and the three of them were initially positioned around it, equally spread out; now, Ilya has somehow scooted his way next to Shane and the two men sit directly opposite the cameraman.
“Well, thank you so much for having me guys. The pelmeni was delicious,” the cameraman says, arm outstretched with 100 dollars worth of bills fanned out from his hand’s grip, “Here’s the one hundred dollars as promised.”
Ilya’s back straightens almost immediately and Shane looks shocked.
“Oh my god, I completely forgot about that,” Shane laughs.
“They always say that at the end of those videos!” Ilya perks up, “They always say they forgot about the 100 dollars, and I always think they are being humble, but I totally forgot also.”
The cameraman laughs, “It’s the least I can do after you guys have hosted me the entire night.”
“Ah, but there is really no need,” Ilya insists. He retracts the arm he has around Shane’s shoulder to place both hands on his chest in a show of gratitude, “It was my honor as a fan to even be approached by you.”
“You weren’t even the one that was approached,” Shane argued.
“Uh, yes, I was there. On Facetime. And if I wasn’t there, you probably would have not said yes and we would be living a cataclysmic life because we would have never got to end up on Youtube Shorts with this guy.”
“Cataclysmic? Where the hell did you learn that word?”
“Was one of the crossword answers I did with David this morning.”
“Is David another one of your buddies?” The cameraman cuts in.
“David’s my Dad,” Shane responds, sounding exasperated.
The cameraman lets out a laugh at Shane’s blunt response, “You play crosswords with his Dad?” He pans the camera to Ilya.
“I am just so charming and smart. Shane’s Dad loves me,” Ilya shoots Shane a charismatic smile.
The video cuts to the cameraman sitting on the subway. The camera is pointed to his face. He’s talking to the camera in a hushed tone and there’s a bewildered look in his eyes.
“Okay guys, I know the video usually ends at the last clip where I give them the one hundred dollars and then say bye and whatever. But guys. Oh my god. Okay, two things.”
He takes a deep breath to prepare himself, “Okay, actually three things. One, those guys were genuinely the nicest people I have ever met. Like, everyone I do this thing with has been super nice and open, but the guys tonight were so kind and funny. Genuinely some of the most down-to-earth and genuinely hilarious people I’ve spoken to, like, ever. They actually even sent me home with a bottle of wine because apparently Shane doesn’t drink and Ilya doesn’t like the taste of this brand. Yeah. They were really nice guys.”
“Two,” the cameraman holds up two fingers to show that he’s moving on to his next point, “They didn’t even accept the one hundred dollars. I’ve had this kind of gracious refusal before, but people usually cave in the end. But they really insisted, especially Ilya, saying that they didn’t need it and I was practically shooed out the door before I could get the bills in their hand. So I figured I could thank them by giving them a shoutout or something… which brings me to my third point.”
The cameraman grips onto the camera in excitement and looks the lens right in the eye, “Fucking Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov!” He shows the camera his own phone screen, which is on the Wikipedia page of the Ottawa Centaurs. “These guys are the top players in the NHL!” He slaps his forehead dramatically, “How did I not know? I’m not that into hockey, but I swear Shane looked kind of familiar. And I’ve definitely heard about them before, even if I’ve never watched any of their games. And I literally asked if they were athletes. Oh my god.” The cameraman covered his eyes in a show of embarrassment.
“Yeah, no shit they’re athletes. Like the top athletes in the world!” He huffed to himself, “I was literally speaking with Olympians, oh my God. They were fucking with me too, saying stuff about how they were amateur hockey players– Ha! And Ilya’s apron literally said Shane Hollander on it. I thought the name was kind of familiar, but I didn’t know. My girlfriend’s gonna flame me so bad when I tell her ‘cuz she’s a huge hockey fan.”
When the cameraman finishes his passionate rant, he takes a deep breath and stares out in front of him, amazed that he just had dinner with A-tier sports celebrities.
“Oh my god,” he laughs, his attention focused at something beyond the camera, “Look who decided to join me.”
He flips the camera around to show the other side of the subway. There’s nothing but an empty seat in front of him, but when the camera pans up to show the small rectangular space of advertisements above the empty seat, the reason for the cameraman’s reaction is obvious. The advertisement above says Rolex in fancy font and a magazine-ready photo of Shane Hollander in a fancy watch takes up most of the little advert space. His hair is styled back with gel and his freckles frame a confident-looking smile.
“I was very lucky to stumble across you, Shane Hollander,” the cameraman says behind the camera, sounding both like the luckiest man in the world and a disbelieving child all at once.
The video goes to black for a second before a brief clip is played at the end like a silly blooper of their night.
The video shows Shane laughing at the boiling pot of water as he stirs it with a pair of long chopsticks, gesturing for the cameraman to come over and take a look. The camera comes closer to get a good view of the pot and a small pelmeni with a broken wrapper is seen floating around, a bit of filling spilling out of its side. The cameraman erupts in laughter at the realization.
“Ilya!” Shane calls out, laughing, “Your dick pelmeni exploded.”
“What the fuck?” Ilya calls back as he storms over, looking horrified.
Shane gestures to the unfortunate pelmeni floating broken and lamely in the boiling water. Both he and the cameraman are laughing loudly.
“I told you, you put way too much filling, it was gonna burst.”
Ilya laughs in a mix of shock and horror as he takes in the sight of his destroyed pelmeni.
“My fucking pelmeni!” he cries, pronouncing pelmeni in an exaggerated American accent.
The clip ends with laughter.
