Some Like It Spicy

by Robbie Terman

  Just thinking about the way she challenged him made a grin jump to his lips. That’s what set her apart from the other women he’d dated. She didn’t hang all over him, trying to get her picture in the paper. She didn’t want anything from him—except for him to admit she was a great chef. Which, of course, he already believed, but it annoyed her to wonder, so he was going to keep her guessing a bit longer.

  For a moment, he imagined what would happen if she got eliminated early. If she was out of the game and never really a contender, then it would be all right for them to date. No one could accuse her of sleeping with him to advance, and maybe the powers-that-be at Food Fanatics wouldn’t care as much.

  But the thought was fleeting. Ashton was one of the most talented chefs in the competition. She had the ability to go all the way, perhaps even win. He couldn’t ruin things for her by eliminating her early, but if she advanced, there was no way they could start a relationship.

  As he contemplated both impossible options, his pocket vibrated.

  He pulled out his cell and glanced at the screen. Smiling, he answered. “Hey, Ruby!”

  “Were you even going to tell your family that you’re engaged?” came his younger sister’s amused response.

  He groaned. “I’m not engaged.”

  “How many is this now?” she mused. “At least your fourth engagement, right? Ty, you really do get around.”

  “For the last time, I’m not engaged. I’ve never been engaged. I’m not even dating.”

  “Maybe you need to take out an ad in People. Set the record straight.”

  “I’d take out a billboard if I thought it would help.”

  “Lighten up. It can’t be that bad being the darling of New York.”

  Actually, it was. But how could he explain that to someone who’d barely ever left Atlanta? “Did you call to torture me?”

  “No, that was just a perk.”

  “Ha-ha.”

  On the other end of the phone, he could hear his niece and nephew talking and laughing in the background.

  “How are Maryanne and Lucas?”

  “Growing like weeds. You won’t even recognize them. Those pictures I send you are like computers—a month later and they’re obsolete.”

  “Then I’ll expect some new pictures in my e-mail tonight.” He felt a twinge of pain that he was missing their lives. Family was everything to the Cates clan, and yet, he hadn’t seen his in longer than he could remember.

  “So, are you going to make it to the restaurant this weekend?”

  He searched his memory but came up with nothing. “What’s this weekend?”

  “The Today Show is filming a segment here on Saturday. You were going to try to get home, drum up a little publicity.”

  Damn. He’d completely forgotten. “I have a book signing in the city on Saturday, plus filming. I can’t make it.”

  “That’s okay,” she said, too swiftly for his taste.

  “Is everything all right with the restaurant?” he asked. “How’s business?”

  “Great, actually. It’s been really steady.”

  “I’m so sorry I forgot. Maybe I can fly in Friday morning, help setup, and then fly out Friday night.”

  “Ty, it’s fine. Denny has everything under control.”

  Her husband had been the executive chef since Ty had left Atlanta. According to Ruby and his parents, Denny was a natural at the job, despite the fact that he’d never been classically trained. He’d learned as he went, starting with a dishwashing job at age fifteen, and finally, training under Ty for several years. Without Denny and Ruby, who acted as the general manager, the restaurant probably would have shut down when Ty moved to New York.

  “I’ll try to watch the segment,” he said. God, that sounded lame. He’d try to watch his restaurant being singled out on a major television program? When had he become such a bastard?

  “I don’t care about the segment, but you better plan on being here for Mom’s birthday. The party is the first weekend in October, and if you don’t show up, I’m going to track you down in New York and skin you alive. With a paring knife. In long strips.”

  He laughed at the image. “You sound like someone else I know. She likes to threaten people with knives, too.”

  “She?” He could almost see his sister’s eyebrow rise.

  “One of the chefs on the show. Didn’t you watch the premiere last night?”

  “Hey, you’re not the only one who’s busy.”

  There was a crash in the background that made Ty wince.

  “Lucas!” Ruby yelled. “Sorry, got to go. Lucas just broke a dish.”

  “Give my love to the family.”

  “I will. But it would be nice if you could come home and do it yourself.” She hung up the phone.

  Her words stung, but he knew she was right. He just didn’t know what to do about it.

  …

  The next day, the chefs were back on set to film challenge number two. Although doing well in the last challenge had bolstered her confidence, enough sweat pooled on Ashton’s hands to boil pasta. And when she thought about seeing Ty again, well, the water boiled over.

  The remaining chefs gathered around the prep tables with coffee and snacks in hand. Sally came bursting through the door, clutching her clipboard.

  “Good morning, chefs,” she said. “I hope you all got the chance to watch the premiere.”

  “Don’t you mean the Jolene and Ashton show?” Morgan scoffed.

  Sally didn’t respond, just rolled her eyes and shook her head. “You all did a great job. We got great reviews on the first episode and the message boards have been going crazy. Just keep doing what you’re doing. Today we have a High Heat challenge. Ty will be here in a few minutes to film the intro.”

  Ashton had just gulped down her third cup of coffee when Ty walked in. Afraid to catch his eye, she looked around at the crew, at the chefs, even at the refrigerator. Anything to avoid him.

  “Places, everyone,” Sally said, clapping her hand against her clipboard. “Chefs, get to your assigned tables, please.”

  Ashton took her place as the cameras rolled.

  “Chefs,” Ty started, “today you will be catering a dinner for the Board of Directors at the Passionate Animal Lovers Society, or PALS. We have a guest judge with us: president of PALS, Janet Hayes.”

  The doors to the set swung open and a stylishly dressed, older woman with cropped, gray hair stepped in. “Hello, chefs,” she greeted. “First, I want to thank you for catering our very important dinner tonight. The Board of Directors not only runs our organization and saves the lives of thousands of animals, they are also our biggest donors. So, tonight needs to be special. Twenty-five guests, including myself and your judges, will be in attendance. You will each be responsible for making a portion of the meal. Most importantly, the meal must be completely vegetarian. I look forward to tonight. Thank you.” After her speech, she left the set.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Ashton saw everyone maintain a smile for the sake of the cameras, but undoubtedly they were as disappointed as she was. She loved a good cut of meat, loved to cook it to perfection. To be told she couldn’t use meat in her dish was like being told she had to use Velveeta in her macaroni.

  She brought her attention back to Ty, who held an upside down chef’s hat in his hands. “In this hat are pieces of paper with different aspects of the meal: two appetizers, two entrées, two sides, and one dessert. You will each draw one and that will be your responsibility for tonight. After, you will go shopping, where you’ll have a five-hundred-dollar budget.”

  He walked over to the tables and went down the line, starting on the opposite end of Ashton. Morgan drew first. She opened the paper, and then smiled smugly. “Entrée.”

  Various noises arose from the line. Entrée was the course everyone wanted because it would show off his or her skills best. None, Ashton was sure, wanted to be stuck with dessert.

  Jin picked appetizer, Jolene got appetizer, and
Anthony a side. When Duffy reached his hand in the hat, Ashton was about to pass out from lack of oxygen.

  Duffy’s usual toothy grin fell. He held up the paper. “Dessert.” He practically spit the word.

  Ashton’s knees almost buckled with relief. She managed not to hoot happily as Ty stepped in front of her.

  She looked at the hat instead of him and pulled her course. “Side.”

  Which meant Lance got the second entrée.

  While Ashton’s brain raced, Sally said, “Chefs, the vans are out front to take you to the market. And we have a Low Heat challenge for you. The first chef to reach the van will get an advantage in the challenge.”

  A race, like in elementary school?

  As Ashton looked around to see if anyone was as confused as she was, Sally yelled, “Ready, set, go!”

  The other chefs raced toward the doors.

  Oh, crap.

  She took off in a dead run.

  Chapter Nine

  Ashton didn’t stand a chance.

  For one thing, she’d started farthest from the door. For another, Morgan had been closest to the door and was hell-bent on winning at any cost.

  When Ashton cleared the front of the building, she saw Morgan stick her foot out as Lance made a beeline for the van. He flew forward, landing in a belly flop at the curb. Morgan dove into the van, just ahead of Duffy, who’d leaped over Lance.

  Red-faced, Lance clamored to his feet. “You bitch,” he yelled at Morgan.

  Morgan just smiled sweetly.

  “If it makes you feel better,” Clint the cameraman said, laughing, “it looked great on film.” He threw a wink in Morgan’s direction.

  Lance slammed his hand against the door of the van. “I’m riding in the other car. If I get in with her”—he pointed to Morgan—”I may just throw her into oncoming traffic.”

  Ashton thought riding in the other van sounded like an excellent idea; unfortunately, so did everyone else. She was forced into the first van, along with Morgan and Anthony.

  “Do you have any ideas?” Anthony asked as the van merged into traffic.

  “Something with eggplant,” Ashton answered.

  Anthony grimaced. “I was thinking fried eggplant, but I can do something else.”

  Guilt pinged at her. “We can flip a coin. Or, we can both use eggplant. Whatever we do will be different.”

  To Ashton’s relief—and slight unease—Morgan sat quietly throughout the ride.

  When they arrived at the market, Sally stopped them before they could grab carts. “Morgan won the race, so she’ll get an advantage in this challenge.” There was a collective sound of barf noises.

  “Morgan, pick one ingredient you are going to use in your dish. None of the other chefs can use that ingredient.”

  A grin rose to Morgan’s lips. She looked over at Ashton and Anthony. “I pick eggplant.”

  Rage boiled in Ashton’s chest. She fisted her hands at her sides, wishing she could take a swing at Morgan. Anthony put a brotherly arm around her. “Don’t let her get to you,” he whispered in her ear.

  “I’m fine,” she lied through her teeth. “If Morgan thinks this can trip me up, then she’s got another thing coming.”

  “Chefs,” Sally said. “You have thirty minutes starting now.”

  Ashton joined the melee and grabbed a cart, heading straight to the produce department. Her eggplant idea was out and she needed to come up with something new quick.

  She didn’t know many vegetarians, but if she were someone who depended on fruits and vegetables for a large part of her diet, she’d want something superfresh and superhearty.

  A salad didn’t seem very exciting. She picked up zucchini and yellow squash, sniffed, and then put them back down.

  A wall near the back caught her eye. She pushed her cart to a display of mushrooms and scanned the offerings: shiitake, morel, chanterelle, portobello, cremini. A vision formed in her head as clear as if the dish were right in front of her. Mushroom ragout. She hadn’t made the thick stew since culinary school, but she knew she could recreate the recipe.

  Going with her instincts, she grabbed some bags and started loading the different varieties.

  Twenty minutes later, as she checked out, confidence swelled within her. She didn’t even let Morgan goad her as they drove back to the set.

  In the kitchen, Sally explained they’d have two hours for prep, and then they’d pack up and head to the Carlisle Hotel where the dinner was being held. There, they’d have one hour to finish the meal.

  Ashton didn’t have a lot of prep. Her main concern was cleaning the mushrooms so there was no grit. She grabbed a stool and a damp towel and took her time to ensure every mushroom was perfect.

  About an hour into prep, Ty came into the kitchen. He stopped by each chef’s station and chatted about what he or she was cooking. The closer he came to her, the more her anticipation rose. By the time he reached her, she could barely hear over the pounding in her chest.

  “Hello, Ashton.”

  She looked up, her hands still brainlessly cleaning a mushroom. “Hello, Chef.”

  “What are you making?”

  “A mushroom ragout.”

  He nodded approvingly. “Good choice. I… We’ll see you tonight.”

  He moved on to Lance while she stared after him. That was it? That’s what she’d been waiting for? She squeezed her hand, ruining a beautiful chanterelle in the process.

  If she was going to be successful, she needed to push Ty out of her mind. She concentrated on her dish, finished her prepping, and then packed her ingredients to take to the Carlisle.

  In the hotel kitchen, they were assigned stations, and there was a flurry of activity as the chefs vied for burners and ovens. The appetizers were the first course to go out, so Ashton timed her meal to be ready about fifteen minutes later.

  Near the end of the hour, Sally arrived in the kitchen. “We need appetizers,” she said.

  Jin and Jolene were plating furiously, so the chefs stepped in to help. Jin used an oversize spoon for his service. The dip was filled with broth, a tiny matzo ball in the center. Jolene had gone with bite-size salad in a tiny bowl made of Parmesan cheese.

  The two left to present their dishes, and Ashton returned to hers. She plated the mushroom ragout on a square white plate and garnished it with parsley.

  Anthony, plating next to her, ladled an asparagus risotto.

  The entrées were going out at the same time as the side dishes, and Morgan and Lance followed them to the dining room.

  Twenty-five guests were seated on tubular steel chairs on each side of a long walnut table, with Janet Hayes at the head.

  Morgan stepped forward first to present her eggplant Parmesan. Then, Lance introduced his individually sized tofu potpie. After Ashton and Anthony presented their sides, the four chefs headed back to the kitchen.

  Jolene and Jin were relaxing with a bottle of wine, but Duffy stood impatiently at the oven.

  “Do you need help?” Ashton asked.

  Duffy shook his head, his necklaces clinking as he moved. “I made a rum-raisin bread pudding. I’m worried the custard won’t set before my course is up.”

  Ashton peered inside the oven. The liquid bubbled, still a while away from absorbing fully into the bread. However, he had at least a half hour before the guests finished the meal. “I think you’ll be okay. There’s nothing you can do about it now. How about a drink?”

  Ashton passed around glasses while Jin poured. After everyone was served, Ashton raised her glass. “To surviving one more challenge.”

  They clinked their glasses and took a sip.

  “I’m starving,” Duffy said. “You got any leftovers?”

  “I do,” said Ashton.

  “Me, too,” Jolene offered.

  They lunged for plates and started tasting one another’s dishes.

  Jolene’s salad was tasty and the Parmesan bowl innovative, but Ashton thought it was a bit on the boring side. Jin’s dish
looked lovely, but the vegetable broth was tasteless. To her regret, she was forced to admit Morgan’s dish was quite good. She was definitely competition as tonight’s winner.

  When she bit into Lance’s potpie, a burst of flavor hit her tongue that took her aback. No, it couldn’t be. She took another bite, and then another. Duffy was also eating the potpie, and she looked at him for a reaction.

  His brow crinkled as he took another bite. He chomped his lips together as if trying to place the same mysterious ingredient she was.

  All of a sudden it hit her.

  “Lance, did you put chicken broth in your potpie?”

  He swallowed a bite of eggplant before answering. “Yeah. Why?”

  “Lance!” Jolene yelped. “The meal was supposed to be vegetarian.”

  Lance shrugged, his eyes twitching with confusion. “It is. I used tofu instead of chicken.”

  “But you used chicken broth.”

  “So what? It isn’t like there are pieces of meat in it. It’s just broth.”

  “We need to stop them from eating this,” Jolene said, standing. “If it gets out we fed meat to vegetarians…”

  “It’s not meat,” Lance yelled, but he followed them out of the kitchen.

  The chefs raced to the dining room. “Hold up,” Duffy called, raising his hands palm out.

  The noisy room fell silent.

  Ashton glanced at the table, hoping they hadn’t eaten Lance’s dish. But at least half the potpie dishes had been started.

  Morgan stepped forward. “Lance has an announcement to make. Lance?”

  He looked like he was about to turn her into tofu potpie. He shifted from side to side, swinging his hands. “There has been a little misunderstanding,” Lance started. He cleared his throat, coughed, and then cleared it again. “Apparently some people think using chicken broth makes a meal nonvegetarian.”

  The crowds’ eyes went wide, voices of worry creating a dull roar.

  A middle-aged woman stood. “Are you saying you served us meat?”

  “Of course not,” Lance defended. “It’s just broth. No meat.”