It was the $800 Uber Eats delivery.

Private chef Andrew Molen had just picked up a call from a regular client, who’d emerged in a panic from the wine cellar of his tony NYC home, hoping to pop up a particular bottle of Champagne when friends arrived — only to find none there.

“I called all the liquor stores I could and finally found one in New Jersey that had it,” the chef recalled. “And I got it delivered.”

Molen is more than a diamond-tier Door Dasher — he’s a classically trained chef who swapped restaurant life with the likes of Todd English for private cooking, often out in the Hamptons.

If the name’s familiar at all, you probably saw him on Bravo’s “Summer House.”

“Carl and Lindsay were breaking up in the background,” he laughed about that memorable point in his career. “You can have a good time doing what you love, watching two people’s relationships go down the tube.”

Cooking for boldfacer clients, of course, you’re immersed in the action but often overlooked.

Private chefs to New York’s fanciest families witness whatever happens behind closed doors, and must always be discreet to the point of silence — at least, usually. Sometimes, they’re witnesses to such strange goings-on, it’s impossible not to dish.

There’s what Laurie Woolever could call the Reddy Whip Affair. She’d scored a fat-free version of the canned cream at the market for her employer, and was psyched — wealthy and health-obsessed, they’d be delighted, she knew, as she stashed it in the fridge.

The next day, though, she couldn’t find it anywhere — at least, until she asked the housekeeper, who’d found it, completely emptied, in the bedroom waste paper basket. Please keep it in stock, the couple said, via their assistant. “I was buying it every day,” she says, pausing, “And every day, it was emptied.”

The only issue came a few weeks later, as the couple started noticing they were gaining weight, despite their exacting diet: could it be the new kink they’d introduced into their night-time routine?

Take one to a lab for testing; they ordered Woolever, in case it was fraudulently labeled.

“I don’t remember which came first: this or the storyline from Seinfeld,” she laughs, of the memorable episode when Kramer & crew wound up fretting over supposedly fat-free frozen yogurt.

Take one to a lab for testing; they ordered Woolever, in case it was fraudulently labeled.

Sure enough, the results came back, showing that there were trace amounts of fat in each serving; an entire can, then, was calorie-packed. Their pleasure wasn’t worth the poundage — and they soon packed in that in-private indulgence.

Woolever parlayed experiences like that as a private chef into a role as Anthony Bourdain’s right-hand woman (and turned stories like that one into a memoir called “Care and Feeding“).

Not everyone has that kind of success — New York and its more well-heeled environs are home to an army of behind-the-scenes talents cooking in the kitchens of the ultra-wealthy, dicing and slicing while living on a knife-edge.

And even though full-time gigs like this might offer paydays of $200,000 or more, plus healthcare and benefits, few can weather the intense schedules and absurd demands for long.

“Plenty of private chefs dip their toe into that space, but there is so much turnover — you’re always trying to ingratiate yourself,” one chef told The Post — speaking on condition of anonymity, which many are bound by, either informally out of a desire to keep their jobs, or legally via non-disclosure agreements.

“People walk away because of the way they’re treated,” said another, asking not to be named. “I’d say the quitting to firing is 30:1.”

The budget to feed a family of four among the one percenters will typically hit $7,000 a week, say veteran kitchen jockeys.