Brooklyn gives her a big smile. “Well, Chef, I pounded out the rabbit tenderloin into a fillet and stuffed it with a mousseline I made with roasted red pepper and a little cream. Then I wrapped the whole thing in bacon and broiled it.”
Brooklyn’s dish looks pretty professional.
The judges each taste some of their plates. There’s a look of surprise on Sam Vitelli’s face.
“This really is good!” she exclaims. It’s funny to see her react genuinely to something, though it makes me worry about my dish.
“Very beautiful presentation and skillfully done,” says Chef Daisy. “Thumbs-up!”
Connor Sebastian still has his mouth full. “This is totally awesome,” he says between chews.
Next, it’s my turn.
Chef Daisy tastes first. She chews, then chews more. She’s thinking. Sam Vitelli hesitantly tries hers. She makes a face like ewww. Connor Sebastian takes a quick nibble, then puts his fork down.
Daisy folds her hands on the table.
“The flavors in this dish are amazing, Anjali,” she says. “But the rabbit is tough.”
This feels like a kick in the stomach. Daisy had liked me so much before.
“Yeah, it didn’t really gel with me,” says Sam Vitelli. “Nice presentation, though.”
“Little too spicy for me,” says Connor Sebastian.
I nod miserably and step back. Randolph comes forward. He’s made little dumplings with a meat filling he’s created. There’s a dipping sauce of rice wine vinegar and bacon bits.
“Very tasty,” Chef Daisy says, smiling at him. “You pulled this together in such a short time, too. Well done!”
Sam Vitelli agrees. “Tastes great!”
Connor says the dish is “cool.”
“Okay, folks, that’s a wrap!” Brenda calls out.
When I go to Mom and Deema, they’re both eager to hug me.
Creole Rice
1/4 pound bacon, diced
1 small onion, chopped
1 green bell pepper, stemmed, seeded, and cut into strips
1 small red bell pepper, stemmed, seeded, and cut into strips
1 Roma tomato, chopped
1/2 pound stew beef, cut into 1-inch cubes
1 tablespoon peanut butter
2 1/2 cups beef or chicken stock
1/4 Scotch bonnet pepper, minced, or more to taste
1 cup parboiled rice (such as Uncle Ben’s)
fresh chopped parsley for garnish
1. Heat a skillet and place the bacon in it. Fry for 5 minutes, then add the onion and the green and red bell peppers and chopped tomato. Sauté for 1 to 2 minutes, or until the onion is soft. Add the beef cubes and toss well to coat. Lightly brown the beef on all sides. Mix well and fry for 5 minutes, stirring often.
2. Stir in the peanut butter and mix thoroughly. Add the stock and stir well. Reduce the heat to a simmer and cook for 15 minutes.
3. Mix in the Scotch bonnet pepper and rice. Reduce the heat to medium-low, cover, and simmer until the rice is thoroughly cooked and all the liquid is absorbed. The rice should not be sticky. Serve on a platter, garnished with the parsley.
Makes 4 servings
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Disappointment
I scramble through my backpack to answer the phone, which is buried somewhere beneath all my books. As I see the bus heading down the street, I kneel on the ground to search more frantically.
The phone is on the sixth ring by the time I get to it. It’s a 212 number. I press the phone to my ear. “Hello?” I say breathlessly.
“Yes, hello, I’d like to speak with Anjali Krishnan,” a man’s voice says on the other end.
“This is Anjali.”
“Curtis Whitmore from the Food Network.” The voice comes through clearly but starts to break up.
The bus begins to roll toward me with its rumbling engine. My mouth goes dry with excitement. I walk quickly around the corner to a quieter part of the street.
“Hi,” I say, pacing nervously.
“Ms. Krishnan, I’m calling about your audition for the Super Chef Kids show.”
I have an uncontrollable urge to giggle. “Yes?” I say.
“Ms. Krishnan, everyone loved you. You did a great job.” I bounce on my feet to relieve some of my nervous excitement. What I really want to do is run and yell and laugh at the same time.
“But we’ve decided that one of the other candidates fits what we’re looking for a little better,” he says.
I stop moving and stand very still. I’m dizzy, disoriented, like when I’ve been swimming too long and finally step out of the pool. The world seems shaky. I can’t trust my own feet to take a sure step.
“What?” I ask stupidly.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Krishnan. We’re going with one of the other candidates.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. They are actually calling to say no? Why didn’t they just send a letter? “Oh?” is all I can manage.
He’s still talking, saying how much they enjoyed meeting me, but disappointment and anger have filled me up.
“Who won?” I blurt.
The voice on the other end of the phone is silent for a few beats.
“Well, that’s why I’m calling,” he says overly cheerfully. “We’d like all the finalists to be there for the reveal.”
I don’t answer.
“Then the final show will air on Labor Day so you can watch yourself,” he says quickly. “You’ll be getting a FedEx tomorrow or the next day with details about coming in. I’m calling to give you a heads-up. The reveal will likely be filmed at some point in the next few weeks.”
“Uh-huh,” I barely mumble. Is he kidding?
“Okay, then, talk to you soon!” Curtis Whitmore chirps before disconnecting.
I stand there a few minutes after the call is over, only moving when a mother pushes past me with a double stroller. Two young boys ride by on their bikes, yelling back and forth and laughing.
I walk back to the bus stop. It starts to fill up. I bend over on the bench, rest my head in my hands, and sob.
I go straight to Linc’s house. His housekeeper, Marisol, greets me at the door.
“Anjali! Hola! Come in, come in!” I step inside.
“Linc is on the back patio.” She closes the door behind me. “Go on through.”
“Hey, Linc,” I say quietly.
“Anjali?” he says, sitting up abruptly. “What are you doing here?”
I try to get the words out but the only thing I can do is cry. Finally, I say, “Food Network called to tell me they picked someone else.”
“Wait, what?” Linc looks surprised. “Who’d they pick?”
“I don’t know. They want me to come back to film a reveal when they choose the winner!” I’m really crying hard. I wipe my face with the back of my hand.
“I’ve screwed up everything!” I wipe my eyes again. “No Stuyvesant, no Food Network show, no more culinary school. Nothing.”
Linc leans forward and grabs my shoulder. “Hey, hey, take it easy. It’s not so bad.”
He hands me a tissue.
“With you being so wrapped up in the TV stuff, I never got to tell you — I didn’t get in to Stuyvesant. At least we’ll be in school together next year.”
“So we’re both losers,” I say, trying to manage a smile.
Linc laughs.
“I’d been hoping to go to the local high school so I could do a C-CAP program,” I say. “I know, I know — crazy,” I blurt before Linc can say anything.
“Crazy Anjali,” Linc says. Then, “We may be losers, but we still got pow.”
That makes me laugh for real.
It’s twilight when I finally reach home. Mom is standing at the stove, stirring something. I can smell the sweetness of coconut, along with the warm spiciness of mixed essence and the salty, woodsy smell of rice all jumbled together. Rice pudding.
Mom turns as I come into the kitchen. There’s a frown creasing her eyebrows.
“Where have you —” she begins but stops quickly. My face is puffy from crying.
“Anjali, honey, what’s wrong?”
I slump down in a kitchen chair and put my head in my hands.
“I didn’t win the Food Network tryout,” I say miserably. “They chose someone else. Now you can say you told me so.”
My mom turns off the pot of rice pudding and comes to sit by me. She strokes my hair. “Anjali, look at me.”
It feels like a million years since we’ve been alone together. I can’t remember the last time I saw Mom cook anything.
“I’m not going to say I told you so. You’ve shown me what it means to have passion, Anjali. Thank you for teaching me such a valuable lesson.”
“What about Dad?” I ask. “He’s going to get mad all over again.”
“Oh, sweetie,” Mom says. She puts both her arms around me. “He’s not mad anymore. I know it’s hard for you to understand, but he didn’t want you to get hurt, to be disappointed. He’s a proud man.”
Deema’s voice comes into the kitchen from where she stands at the doorway. “This whole family is stubborn, bayti. But we love you. You make us so proud.
“I think we could all use a little sweetness right about now,” Deema says. She goes to Mom’s pot. “Who’s up for a taste?”
Sweet Rice (Coconut Rice Pudding)
1 cup long-grain rice
1 1/2 cups water
1 1/2 cups coconut milk
1/2 cup sugar
pinch of cinnamon
pinch of nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/4 teaspoon mixed essence
1/2 teaspoon Angostura bitters
2 tablespoons raisins (optional)
1 tablespoon sweetened coconut flakes for garnish (optional)
1. Place the rice in a large bowl and add enough water to cover the rice by 2 or 3 inches. Using your hand, swirl the rice around until the water becomes cloudy, then carefully pour the water off the rice. Repeat this process 4 or 5 times or until the water runs clear.
2. Bring 1 1/2 cups of water to a boil and add the rice. Simmer for 15 minutes, skimming any foam from the top of the rice, as necessary.
3. Drain the rice and return it to the saucepan. Add the coconut milk, sugar, cinnamon, and nutmeg. Simmer for 10 minutes, then add the vanilla, mixed essence, bitters, and raisins if using. Simmer for 10 minutes more. The rice should be soft, and the pudding should be thick but not sticky, with some liquid.
4. Garnish with the coconut flakes and serve.
Makes 4 servings
PART
THREE
REDEMPTION
Recipe for Redemption
2 parts understanding, sliced
1 part forgiveness
1/2 cup temperance
1 second chance
sprinkles of hope as garnish
1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit.
2. Grease a large casserole dish and layer the understanding along the bottom. Dot with large spoonfuls of forgiveness and repeat until both are entirely used.
3. Pour the temperance over the casserole and season with the second chance.
4. Bake covered for as long as it takes to be cooked through and release a satisfying aroma. Serve sprinkled with hope, as desired.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Sweet
Once again I find myself in the greenroom at the Food Network studios. They’ve put me in another stupid yellow T-shirt. I really don’t want to be here filming the reveal of who won the contest.
Only Deema’s come with me this time. Mom had to work. It’s just the two of us in our own greenroom. The other contestants have private rooms, too. I guess they don’t want us talking to each other before the show, so we can act surprised. I don’t see how the other loser can act surprised, just like I don’t know how I can. This will be a real test in faking it. All I want is for today to be over.
They just finished doing my makeup. In the mirror I look all caked up with foundation and lipstick.
A production assistant pokes his head in the room. “Okay, we’re ready for you.” Deema and I follow him.
When we get to the studio, there’s a big sign — Super Chef Kids!
Brooklyn and Randolph are already there, each standing on a little platform of their own. There’s a platform left for me.
I take my place and pull in a deep breath. Brooklyn gives me a finger wave, and I do my best to smile at her. Randolph gives me a thumbs-up.
Brenda walks onto the stage. “Okay, kids. We’ll begin in five. We are going to show some footage of you cooking from your two tryouts, then the judges will announce the winner.”
We all nod.
Someone on the set calls out, “Ready in five, four, three, two, one!” He points at Quade, who is in his place, smiling.
“It’s the part of the show we’ve been waiting for, folks, when we learn who is the first-ever Super Chef Kids winner! We have our judges …”
He introduces the judges, then the three of us, saying our names and where we’re from. Next, they break for a commercial, even though this is not really live television.
“I’m Quade Jerome, coming to you from the Food Network studios in New York City,” he says when we come back on the air. “We’re here to reveal the winner of Super Chef Kids! Let’s see what these kids can do.” He turns toward a massive screen behind us. We have to turn to look, too.
They start by showing Brooklyn at her first tryout, racing around, dropping some stuff, cooking. In between scenes of her cooking, they show scenes from her interview, where she says things like, “Cooking is what calms me, it’s my Zen.” The camera then cuts to the judges tasting her food and making comments.
There’s a commercial, then it’s my turn to be humiliated. It’s pretty much the same drill for each of us. I wince when I see my interview because I look and sound so stupid. I say, “When I’m a celebrity chef, Caribbean food will be the hottest food around.” Ugh! That sounds so preachy.
After they show Randolph’s footage, Quade says, “And we’ll be back with the winner after this break.”
I’m getting tired from standing. I sit on the step behind the little platform. Brooklyn and Randolph do the same thing. None of us speak to each other. Somehow we know we aren’t supposed to, I guess.
There’s a countdown. We all get to our feet, back on the platforms. “And now, it’s time for the judges’ decision,” says Quade.
The judges step forward in front of us. First is that bubblehead, Sam Vitelli.
She turns toward Brooklyn. “This kid chef worked really hard, made some elegant dishes, and really held it together,” she says. “But there was something missing, a certain creativity and pizzazz. Brooklyn, I’m sorry, you’re going home.”
Brooklyn nods and smiles weakly, giving a wave to the judges and the cameras. She steps down.
I swallow. So Randolph’s the winner. I try to play poker face.
Connor Sebastian steps forward next. He’s looking at me.
“This young chef showed serious spirit,” he says. “No matter what the odds were, this chef kept going. But the food wasn’t always approachable and didn’t stretch out of a certain comfort zone.”
He gestures in my direction. “Anjali, I’m sorry, you’re going home.”
I turn to Randolph and smile as brightly as I can, then hold out my hand.
“Congratulations!” I say. Randolph looks at me, totally surprised. Maybe he didn’t know.
“Wow, uh, wow! Thanks!” He looks dazed. Then suddenly he shakes his head. “Yes!” He raises his arms up in the air.
Chef Daisy steps forward. “Well, the secret is out! Congratulations, Randolph!” She has to stop because he’s whooping and hollering so loud. I step away quickly and walk down the platform toward Deema.
“You were inventive and showed great skill for someone so young,” Chef Daisy is saying behind me. “Congratulations on getting your own show. I look forward to sharing a sta
ge with you!”
A woman I assume is Randolph’s mom races past me with a little girl. They run onstage and hug Randolph like he’s just won a game show. They’re all jumping up and down and dancing around the set.
I can’t move. I’m supposed to walk off the set now, but my feet won’t let me. All the cameras are on Randolph, so nobody can see my makeup melting under the hot lights. Why can’t I get over this stupid contest? It’s over. Period. I tried and lost. I look for Deema, but she’s disappeared.
Brenda comes to where I am and gently leads me back toward my greenroom. “You’ve got an entourage,” she says.
I’m not even halfway down the hall when I see them all lined up in black Island Spice T-shirts from our roti shop — it’s Deema, Linc, Anand, Nyla, Mom, and Dad.
They’re holding a huge sign that says POW! Anand tosses an Island Spice T-shirt at me. “Put this on so people know you’re my sister,” he says.
I slip the shirt on over the yellow shirt from the network.
Everyone gathers around me. Like Randolph’s family, they’re jumping and whooping, and they’re chanting, “Anjali’s got POW!”
“Guys,” I say, “I didn’t win, remember?” I’m giggling.
Linc says, “Pow is not about winning — it’s about being you.”
We all crowd back into the greenroom, where Nyla has a tray arranged with a pitcher of ginger beer and some sweet prasad for all of us to eat.
We crowd into the small room, and somehow we all manage to fit.
“You know, Anjali, we have a saying in Trinidad,” Deema says. “ ‘One, one cocoa does full basket.’ Do you know what that means?”
I sip some ginger beer and shake my head.
“It means that it may take a long time to fill a big basket with cocoa beans, but eventually, if you keep at it, you’ll get there. All this is part of that,” she says, gesturing around the greenroom. “This is a great learning step. More steps like this will, one by one, get you where you have to go — wherever that may be.”
After Deema finishes talking, Mom presses the play button on the iPod speakers she’s brought with her. The sounds of David Rudder fill the tiny room as he sings about the hot, sweet joy of island life. Dad gathers me in his arms. He kisses the top of my head. “Sweet Anjali. You make a father happy.”
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