by R. A. Spratt
But that was not to be, because just then Nanny Piggins startled them all by leaping to her trotters and yelling, ‘I’ve got it! Stand back!’
Nanny Piggins then launched into cooking in much the same way she used to be launched out of a cannon. She moved in such a blur of speed it was impossible to see what she was doing.
‘Only two minutes to go,’ said Nanny Anne nervously. She had finished both her courses with three minutes to spare, because she wanted to touch up her hair and make-up before the judges came around.
The clock ticked on mercilessly. Pretty soon Nanny Piggins only had ten seconds to go and her flurry of activity had not slowed or showed any sign of producing a result. The children watched the seconds tick away. They did not like to count down, in case it made their nanny nervous and she started biting people.
When the last second ticked by, the producer took the microphone. ‘Step away from your utensils.’
All the would-be cooks stepped back. (Except a few who collapsed sobbing on the floor, or over their failed plates of congealed tofu.)
‘Finished!’ announced Nanny Piggins, stepping back from her giant pot.
The judge came to Nanny Piggins and Nanny Anne’s table first.
‘Let’s see,’ said the judge. She sniffed Nanny Anne’s entree, ‘Braised tofu with vegetables? Very nice.’ She put a big tick on her notepad. She then took a small taste of Nanny Anne’s main course, ‘Salt and pepper tofu? Mmm, tasty.’ Another big tick. ‘And what’s this?’ asked the judge, pointing at Nanny Piggins’ cooking pot.
‘Prepare to taste the finest dessert ever made from tofu!’ announced Nanny Piggins, before whipping off the lid.
The judge, Nanny Anne and the children peered into Nanny Piggins’ cooking pot. It contained an enormous volume of brown liquid.
‘It looks like chocolate pudding,’ said the judge.
‘It is chocolate pudding,’ said Nanny Piggins proudly. ‘Try some.’
The judge picked up a teaspoon, scooped out a small morsel and tasted it. ‘Mmmm-mm-mmm that’s good,’ said the judge, ‘but I couldn’t taste the tofu.’
‘You have to dig deeper for that,’ said Nanny Piggins.
‘Okay,’ said the judge, taking another spoonful, then another, then another, trying to get to the tofu. By the time the judge’s spoon found the tofu she had eaten twenty litres of Nanny Piggins’ finest chocolate pudding. ‘This pudding is so good, but I don’t think I can manage the tofu. I couldn’t eat another bite.’
‘Precisely!’ exclaimed Nanny Piggins. ‘Because the best way to serve tofu is under twenty litres of chocolate pudding so by the time you find the tofu, there’s no way you’ll be able to eat it.’
And fortunately for the two nannies, the judge was now so addled on sugar that she thought this reasoning made perfect sense. She gave Nanny Piggins fifteen ticks for her pudding (fourteen more than she should have) and they went through to the next round.
And so the day progressed. Nanny Anne conscientiously made healthy entrees and mains, while Nanny Piggins transformed weird and disgusting ingredients into spectacular desserts. At the end of the day they had survived all the sudden-death elimination rounds to be among the six remaining teams who would compete in the televised semifinals the next day.
‘Well done, Nanny Piggins!’ said Samantha.
‘I can’t believe you’re going to be on Steel Chef,’ said Michael.
‘Really?’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘I can’t believe they haven’t asked me to be on it earlier. I guess they didn’t want a pig to show up all the humans for the limited cooks that they are. Let’s go home.’
Nanny Piggins turned to Nanny Anne to see if she needed a lift in Mr Green’s Rolls Royce (Boris had borrowed it from the car park at Mr Green’s work and was coming to pick them up). And that was when they noticed for the first time that Nanny Anne had gone a sick shade of white, frozen like a statue and was muttering strange sounds to herself.
‘Are you all right, Nanny Anne?’ asked Michael.
‘Eu-bzzaa-engh,’ said Nanny Anne.
‘Do you think I should slap her?’ asked Nanny Piggins hopefully.
‘I can’t believe it,’ muttered Nanny Anne. ‘I’m going to be on Steel Chef. Mummy will be so proud.’
‘She has a mother?’ questioned Derrick.
‘I always assumed she had hatched from a pod,’ said Nanny Piggins.
‘I think she’s gone into shock,’ said Samantha.
‘Should we put a tourniquet on her arm and make her lie very still?’ asked Nanny Piggins.
‘That’s what you do for snake bite,’ said Michael.
‘I know,’ admitted Nanny Piggins. ‘I really should finish reading that first aid book. But all the exciting things are in the first chapter. It’s much more fun to learn about shark attacks and spider venom than how to treat a nosebleed. If we could just find a scorpion to bite her I’d know exactly what to do.’
‘Come on, Nanny Anne, we’ll take you home,’ said Samantha. ‘You need a good night’s sleep.’
‘Sleep!’ shrieked Nanny Anne, suddenly snapping out of her catatonic state. ‘There’s no time for sleep! I’m going to be on Steel Chef! I have recipes to learn.’ Then she took off into the night, running as fast as she could, abandoning all her kitchen equipment.
‘Where do you think she’s going?’ asked Derrick.
‘She’s not heading the right way for her house,’ added Michael.
‘Should we go after her?’ asked Samantha.
‘No, she’ll be all right,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘A brisk jog will do her good.’
Nanny Piggins and the children headed home to enjoy a few chocolate cakes and a relaxing horror movie before turning in for the night.
They returned to the football stadium the next day, but during the night the venue had been transformed. The trestle tables were gone. Instead there were thousands of chairs set out, ready for the capacity crowd that would be descending later that night.
A huge stage had been built, and on the stage there were three separate kitchens. Behind the kitchens were a raised platform and giant playback screen, where the Steel Chef and rude celebrity judges would sit over the contestants for the duration of the show. The format was simple – there would be two semifinals with three teams competing in each. Then the grand final where the two winners would compete head-to-head with Mr Kimuzukashii for the title of Steel Chef.
Nanny Anne and Nanny Piggins sat backstage during the first semifinal. Nanny Anne used the opportunity to chant measurement conversion tables, while Nanny Piggins played handball with the stagehands.
After what felt like eons, one of the production assistants approached them. ‘I’ll be leading you up on stage in two minutes,’ she said.
‘Oh my goodness,’ said Nanny Anne. ‘I’m so nervous.’
‘You’ll be fine,’ Nanny Piggins assured her. ‘The worst that can happen is that it all goes terribly wrong and you humiliate yourself in front of a crowd of 30,000 people, as well as millions of viewers at home.’
Nanny Anne now could not speak. She stared at Nanny Piggins with even greater wide-eyed panic.
‘You’re on,’ said the assistant. ‘Follow me.’
Nanny Piggins followed, dragging the now borderline hysterical Nanny Anne out onto the huge stage. They were blinded by the lights at first. But after blinking a few times, their eyes adjusted and they could make out the thousands of faces staring back at them from the darkness.
‘Oh my good gracious me,’ said Nanny Anne, which really is a testament to her strength of will – even though she was terrified out of her wits she still had the delicacy not to swear.
Nanny Piggins, on the other hand, thrived in front of an audience. Her chest puffed out, her snout rose proudly and she sniffed the adrenaline in the air. She was soon running back and forth across the front of the stage, leading the crowd in a Mexican wave.
‘Contestants to your cooking stations!’ announced the producer.
‘The show starts in … three, two, ONE!!!’
The crowd roared. Smoke billowed out from behind Nanny Piggins. She looked round to see Mr Kimuzukashii rising upwards on a platform with pneumatic grace. He stood proudly, scowling with his arms crossed, assuming enormous dignity for a man wearing what looked like a lady’s dressing-gown.
‘You compete for the right to cook against me – the Steel Chef!’ he shouted angrily in Japanese, before being translated by the much calmer interpreter.
‘You will prepare three dishes. And your special ingredient is …’ he held his hand out dramatically, indicating the front of the stage.
A stagehand wheeled out a trolley, then whipped back the cover to reveal the secret ingredient.
‘Bean sprouts!’ screamed the Steel Chef.
‘Thank goodness!’ exclaimed Nanny Anne.
‘Bottom!’ moaned Nanny Piggins.
‘Begin!’ screamed the Steel Chef.
Nanny Anne launched herself into her cooking. She ran to the trolley, grabbed an armful of sprouts, ran back and immediately started sautéing, chopping and mashing.
Nanny Piggins did not move with anywhere near her speed. She was too depressed. It was hard to find joy in the opportunity to show off in front of a huge crowd when all you had to work with was bean sprouts. She wished she had brought her cannon with her, so she could at least blast the bean sprouts into the sky. That would be a lot better than eating them. Nanny Piggins was not even sure what a bean sprout was. She had heard of beans and brussels sprouts, so she assumed it was some horrible genetically modified combination.
She cautiously trudged over to the trolley and sniffed at the small thin vegetables. Then she picked one up and licked it. ‘Not too bad, I suppose,’ muttered Nanny Piggins. Then she put it in her mouth, but she only got in one chew before she was overwhelmed by the disgusting flavour. ‘Ew, gross!’ said Nanny Piggins, spitting the bean sprout on the stage. ‘Pah, yuck, yucky!’
‘Would you just start cooking something?!’ yelled Nanny Anne, barely looking up from the grey gloop of her simmering bean sprouts.
‘Mmm,’ said Nanny Piggins, a smile spreading across her face. ‘I know just what to do with them.’ She set to work.
At the end of the half hour Nanny Anne was flushed but happy. She knew her bean sprout soup and bean sprout dumplings were equal to anything the opposition made. No-one knew how to cook with unpleasant health foods like Nanny Anne.
And Nanny Piggins seemed very proud of the concoction she was stirring carefully in her saucepan.
The dishes were carried up to the Steel Chef and rude celebrity judges. They declared Nanny Anne’s soup to be ‘adequate’ and her dumplings ‘fair, if bordering on the banal’, which made Nanny Anne weep because this was high praise indeed from the Steel Chef. Then the judges turned to Nanny Piggins’ dessert.
The Steel Chef yelled and screamed in Japanese for several minutes, which the translator calmly interpreted as: ‘And what is this dish?’
‘Chocolate fondue,’ explained Nanny Piggins. ‘Bean sprouts are disgusting if you chew them, but they are not so bad if you just lick them. So I thought they would make the perfect dipping ingredient for a fondue. Far better than dipping strawberries because you might be tempted to bite a strawberry, thereby ruining the purity of the chocolate experience.’
The Steel Chef glowered at Nanny Piggins. She smiled back. He picked up a bean sprout and dipped it in the fondue, then stuck it in his mouth. He sucked for a moment, took the bare bean sprout out of his mouth and looked at it, then declared, ‘Oshikatta.’
The translator gasped. He had never heard the Steel Chef use this word before. ‘He said, it’s tasty!’ stammered the translator.
Now there were gasps from the whole crowd.
‘You win the honour of competing against me in the finals!’ announced the Steel Chef.
‘We’re through to the finals!’ squealed Nanny Anne. She was so happy, she briefly considered hugging Nanny Piggins. But she did not get the opportunity because Nanny Piggins was running back and forth in front of the crowd, leading Mexican waves again.
Nanny Piggins and Nanny Anne had a short break backstage before they had to go back on for the finals.
‘Now, Nanny Piggins,’ said Nanny Anne in her most superior, smug voice. ‘This is the final. And while winning is important, not humiliating me is even more important. So I think you should let me decide the dessert this time. I doubt you will continue to get away with your stunt recipes.’
‘How dare you!’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘I’m twice the cook you are. At least my meals bring happiness to those who eat them.’
‘Happiness and type 2 diabetes!’ retorted Nanny Anne. ‘If it wasn’t for my well balanced, traditional cooking we would not have got this far.’
‘If it wasn’t for my restraint in not biting your leg on one of the several thousand occasions when I have been sorely provoked, we would not have got this far,’ retorted Nanny Piggins.
‘Maybe I’ll make an alternative dessert and let the judges decide which is best,’ said Nanny Anne.
‘Maybe I’ll make an alternative main and entree and they won’t have room for dessert,’ said Nanny Piggins.
‘Ladies, you’re needed on stage,’ interrupted a stagehand.
Nanny Anne and Nanny Piggins strode back out into the limelight. In the finals they were competing against two men who ran a fusion restaurant in the city and, of course, the Steel Chef himself.
‘Hah, a bunch of men, we’ll win easily,’ said Nanny Piggins confidently.
They waited for the music and smoke machine to start up, but it did not. Instead the producer and Mr Kimuzukashii walked out onto the stage.
‘Before we begin,’ said the producer, ‘there is an announcement. During the break we reviewed the footage and one contestant was caught breaking the rules.’
‘What did you do?’ wailed Nanny Anne, turning on Nanny Piggins.
‘Nothing!’ protested Nanny Piggins.
‘You,’ said the Steel Chef, dramatically pointing at Nanny Anne, ‘were caught on camera interfering with a competitor’s utensils.’
Up on the giant replay screen behind them there suddenly appeared playback footage of Nanny Anne as she snuck over to her competitor’s kitchen area and put a dirty dish in a sink full of soapy water.’
‘I only put them in the sink to soak so they would be easier to wash later,’ protested Nanny Anne. ‘I can’t bear untidiness.’
‘You broke the rules, you are disqualified, leave the stage immediately!’ commanded the Steel Chef.
‘Noooooooo!!!’ cried Nanny Anne.
Two enormous sumo wrestlers came out to escort her offstage. It took them a while because Nanny Anne dodged and weaved to evade them, then hung onto the oven door with all her strength before they finally yanked her free and carried her off.
‘But please, this is all I have, showing people up and proving I’m better than everyone else is what I live for!’ wailed Nanny Anne. The last Nanny Piggins saw of her was her weeping face disappearing into the darkness.
‘What about me?’ Nanny Piggins asked the Steel Chef.
‘You may continue to compete but must do so alone,’ declared the Steel Chef.
‘The two men in the opposing team sniggered. Even the Steel Chef was not competing alone. He had an assistant, a master chef in his own right, who would do all the chopping and stirring for him.
Nanny Piggins began to feel a rare and unfamiliar emotion – she was daunted. She looked out at the food-loving crowd. She did not want to let them down. Could she really pull this off? Three dishes in thirty minutes. She only had four trotters.
‘And now it is time to reveal the special ingredient,’ announced the Steel Chef. ‘It is …’
The trolley was wheeled out.
‘Chocolate!’ screamed the Steel Chef.
The st
agehand whipped off the cover to reveal a huge platter of delicious chocolate.
‘Yes!’ cried Derrick, Samantha and Michael from their seats in the audience. Boris just wept.
Up on stage, a huge smile spread across Nanny Piggins’ face. She had it in the bag. No-one knew chocolate like Nanny Piggins.
What followed was the most spectacular culinary demonstration ever performed. Nanny Piggins did not just cook. She put on a show. She used the lighting grid above the stage to swing about like a trapeze artist while whipping her egg whites. She juggled a razor sharp meat cleaver and flaming blowtorch to slice her chocolate buttons and melt them in midair. And she tap danced while singing an aria from Carmen as she creamed her sugar and butter.
When the time elapsed, and Nanny Piggins shook the final dash of icing sugar onto her creations, the crowd rose as one to give her a standing ovation.
The judges sampled the fusion chefs’ food first. They had made impressively innovative choices and the judges were admiring of their presentation, but the kindest thing they had to say about the taste of the food was that it was ‘interesting’.
Next, it was the Steel Chef’s turn. The celebrity judges were not rude to him at all. They had seen Mr Kimuzukashii at work with his sashimi slicer and did not want to get on his bad side. But the Steel Chef was a specialist in subtle Asian flavours. The rich and creamy taste of chocolate was not really a strength of his.
Finally it was time to judge Nanny Piggins’ dishes.
‘What have you made?’ asked the ruder of the two celebrity judges.
‘For my entree, I made a chocolate cake. For the main course, I made a chocolate cake. And for dessert, I made a chocolate cake,’ announced Nanny Piggins.
The crowd gasped at her bold menu.
‘But you have made three desserts, not three separate courses,’ protested the less rude judge.
‘When you are as good at making chocolate cake as me, it would be a crime to make anything else,’ argued Nanny Piggins. ‘Just try some.’
The judges each took a slice of the first cake, and tried it. Then they tried a slice of the second cake. Then the third. Then they picked up the cakes in their hands and ravenously gobbled them up, pushing and shoving each other as they tried to eat the most.