by MJ Post
The meal was amazing. Kacie kept quiet as best she could, letting the other three chat about ingredients and techniques. She listened with half an ear, tried to think about her own upcoming challenge.
Would elk be good for bulgogi? The flavor profile was similar, a little sweeter, but that might be the marinara. Cooking time was faster, Louie said. Maybe try that for the challenge?
Dinner was over too quickly. She would be cooking against Buster soon, and she was tired, emotionally worn. Louie’s sauce lingered on her tongue; Toby’s words lingered in her ears. How could she get rid of those words?
She pulled him into the lounge. Too forcefully, maybe — he stumbled. She slammed the door. “What do you want from me?” she demanded.
“I want to get to know you,” he said. “I want to spend time with you. All the usual things.”
“Do you want to fuck me? And then tell your friends about it?”
“I’m not like that. And I don’t have that many friends.”
“Look. You’re distracting me. I’m here to compete, okay? I mean, aren’t you?”
“When the competition’s over, life goes on. I’d like to win, sure. But a real friendship can last longer and mean more than a win, and a lot more than a quickie in a TV lounge. Be my friend, Kacie. That’s the place we should start.”
“No.” She felt like running. “You can fuck me, okay? And then we’re done.”
“No,” he said. “That’s not my style.”
She was breathing too hard. “I have to cook soon. I have to beat Buster. I don’t have time for this. I’m sorry, I…”
They were too close. It was impossible that they wouldn’t kiss. Kacie hadn’t been kissed before. In her fantasies, she and her man were always already kissing. When Toby touched her shoulder blades and came oh so slowly closer, she raised her lips and closed her eyes. The kiss didn’t come. She shook her head, opened her eyes. He had drawn her into a very soft hug. Finally, slowly, she hugged him around the waist with one hand, patted the small of his back.
“You’re just stressed out,” Toby said. “I get it. I know you didn’t mean that other part.”
“No, I didn’t. I was just trying to, I mean, I don’t know what to do. You’re so strange.”
“I think,” Toby said, “whoever you knew before was strange.” He let go the hug and stepped back. “Let’s leave it at that. I’ll back off. I don’t want to stress you out. Of course I don’t. I’m sorry. I thought it would help to let you know that… I thought it would help.”
“Yeah,” Kacie said. “Yeah. It should have. I’m just messed up inside, okay?”
“No, you’re not. Being stressed is normal. We’re friends. We can let off steam with each other. Let’s leave it there.”
“Yeah. Let’s leave it there.”
She offered him a handshake. He shook her hand. They seemed to be hanging on the edge of holding each other again. Kacie released the handshake. He started to release also, but lingered, tracing her smaller fingers with his own. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you before,” he said. “And I think that’s a good thing.”
“Yeah, it’s a good thing.” She didn’t really want him to leave, but it was time for that. He stepped out of the room and shut the door a little loudly.
Kacie settled into a chair and bawled her eyes out.
∞∞∞
Five minutes later, Shelley the director found her in that condition. She napkinned Kacie’s eyes and gave her an insincere hug and left and sent in Madame Queen. Nina coldly commanded Kacie to appear on-set or forfeit the cook-off. There was a trace, just a trace, of sympathy in her voice, Kacie thought, but it was so flickeringly fast that she might have imagined it. Twenty minutes from the end of her horrible first date with Toby Brutus, she was standing with her toe on the taped mark on the floor looking up into the eyes of Chef Wayne for a staged confrontation.
“I’m winning tonight, little girl,” he said.
“Fuck you,” Kacie replied.
“Whoa!” Buster said. “Hey, uncalled-for.”
“Not really,” Shelley remarked. “But not usable for TV. Let’s do that again. Buster, rein yourself in. A little less condescending.”
“I’m winning tonight, Chef Lee,” he offered on the second go-round.
Kacie said, “Time for you to back up your big talk.”
The cameramen broke into a squabble over shooting angles and technical details she didn’t understand.
“What was that about?” Buster asked as they stood on their marks. “Aren’t you enjoying our friendly rivalry?”
“No, I’m not. I don’t enjoy all that testosterone-fueled bullshit and I don’t like your stupid fucking jokes either.”
Buster swallowed. “Okay. I thought you did. I’m sorry. Listen, good luck, okay? I mean, I’m planning to win, but you could still look good on camera — I mean, not your looks — I mean, show off your skills.”
“Yeah, I get it,” Kacie said. “Okay, I’m sorry I cursed at you.”
“Apology accepted, Captain Needa.”
“Who?”
“It’s a Star Wars thing.”
They took Buster into the side room for a private interview. “You okay?” Vegas asked as they stood on their marks.
“I’m shaky. Dinner was great, and, uh, thanks for lunch.” Kacie looked up, saw Eloise approaching. She faced the blond as squarely as she could.
“Did you see Toby during dinner?” she asked.
“Yeah, four of us had dinner upstairs. I’m sure he’ll tell you all about it.” She fired her best withering look at Eloise. Eloise read the look, lowered her eyes, took a step back. “Okay, good luck, talk to you about it later.”
Toby wasn’t there. Just as well, Kacie thought. He reappeared, freshened up, stepped on his mark. Eloise took him by the arm and led him to the far end of the kitchen.
Kacie forced herself not to look. Who the fuck cared what they were up to? It was time for her to prove herself by beating Buster. Her parents were already ashamed of her for being a chef; how ashamed would they be if she lost to a swaggering bully on her first challenge because some flirtatious bumpkin had distracted her?
Flirtatious bumpkin, she told herself. Flirtatious bumpkin. Manipulative country boy. He was over there telling Eloise what had happened, laughing with her.
No, she saw he wasn’t. They were back on their marks. Toby was standing straight and trying to look at nothing. Eloise was looking at her nails.
Then maybe she was wrong, maybe Toby really liked her, maybe it was okay for her to feel something for him, maybe…
No, no. Bullshit. Focus, Kacie, focus. Beat Buster. Get the seducer out of your mind.
It was past nine PM when recording finally started with Madame Queen introducing the ingredient for the cook-off: cardoons.
Each of them received a bunch of unpeeled stalks of the thistle-like plant. Leaves and thorns were still attached; there would be some drama available watching the two of them clean the vegetables.
Kacie had prepared cardoons before; she had taken two classes in French cookery and had used them in stews. They were slow to cook. No doubt Buster would know a way around that with the chemistry-set cooking that he favored; she would have to come up with one as well. Cooking in cream was a good idea. A casserole perhaps? She delivered her sound-byte, then headed down to the pantry. To avoid crew overtime, Shelley explained, shopping wouldn’t be filmed this time.
She came back with potatoes, soy and other sauces, kelp, elk, because why not, and the ingredients for a few pickled banchan. That was what side dishes were called in a Korean kitchen. No cooking in cream. That was too slow. Buster had finished shopping first. He had on a game face, offered her a handshake on-camera. “May the best chef win,” he said, expressionless.
“Happy cooking,” Kacie answered.
Kacie avoided pricking herself with any thorns while preparing the cardoons for cooking, put them to soak in lemon juice and water. Put on the stovetop
grill at the right temperature. Peeled and cubed the potatoes without incident. Stopped to calculate. Cardoons first, in the fry pan, then in boiling water. Braising would soften them up. When they were in the water, she realized it would have been better to chop them up first. She put the elk onto the hot grill pan for the bulgogi. It would have time to rest if she got it cooked early on, and would probably be tasty cold, like venison was.
What the hell was Buster doing at her station?
“Too simple,” he said to her flatly, looking down at her work. “Grilled meat, braised veggies? What kind of plate is that?”
“Get out of here,” Kacie snapped at him.
He had his cardoons in an immersion circulator, she saw. Sous vide — playing with toys. What else was he doing? A mac and cheese, it looked like. Big deal.
Once she had gotten rid of Buster for the moment, she managed to keep her concentration and do things in the right order. Marinate the potatoes in soy sauce. Bring this mixture a boil, add the kelp. Remove the kelp after it had imparted its flavor. Set aside the elk. She cut into some — it was the perfect medium rare. She hadn’t seasoned it beyond salt and a little black and cayenne pepper, but the flavor was okay.
The camera crew circled and even asked her questions as she worked, but it wasn’t distracting.
She cut up the cardoons while the potatoes were boiling, had to take a guess when to add them to the potato mixture so that they wouldn’t overcook but would still get the best flavor. Left this for a moment to cut up some daikon and start it pickling. A flickering thought of Toby. She looked over at the other chefs, who were all watching intently, some focused on her, some on Buster. Toby was watching Buster, but he noticed her gaze and gave her a dreamy smile and a thumbs-up.
She’d been too hard on him, she thought again. No more dates, but she’d be nice.
She was done a few minutes before Buster was, grateful that unlike most TV cooking shows, their time was approximate not exact, and so they didn’t have to watch the clock. The plate of elk bulgogi, gamja jorim potato side dish enhanced with cardoons, and several pickled banchan looked and tasted sensational. It was eleven PM when Madame Queen arrived for the tasting.
Buster had prepared so much of his macaroni and cheese à la Grant Achatz, kicked up with cardoons and zucchini, with powdered duck bacon and shaken cardoon-essence martinis, that he had set aside enough for everyone to have a small dish and a shot glass. Although she hated him, Kacie downed them eagerly. His food was damn good, but the zucchini was unnecessary, she thought.
By midnight, Madame Queen was ready to render her on-camera judgment. She put each chef on one side of her, and said, “This has been an impressive cook-off. Using elk for bulgogi was certainly an innovative strategy that worked, Chef Lee. Adding cardoons to the gamja jorim was a smart idea, but the relative textures of the two vegetables were not as balanced as I would like. Chef Wayne, I think you made that cocktail to improve my mood a bit, is that so?”
“To improve mine,” he said, and smirked.
“Macaroni and cheese is a comfort food not usually associated with cardoons, but you were obviously aware that cardoons are best prepared with cheese and cream, something that you ought to have known, Chef Lee.”
“I know that, but I wanted a cleaner preparation than a casserole,” Kacie said.
“Mistake,” said Madame Queen. “I do, think, though, Chef Wayne, that the more delicate notes in the cardoons were smothered by your use of zucchini and a heavy-handedness with melted cheddar. Well, then, it is decision time. Who shall receive a strike? It’s difficult. Chef Lee, your flavors were probably better, and your dish was more inventive, but Chef Wayne already has a strike, and I don’t care to give him a second so early in the competition. Thus, given two dishes of similar quality, I’ll give strike one to you.”
She turned on her heel and was out of camera range while Kacie was still processing the decision. Finally, she burst out, “What the fuck?”
Buster whispered in her ear, “Told you I’d win.”
Kacie’s heart was racing, and her chest was shaking. “No sound-bytes,” she said, and stalked out of the kitchen as fast as she could.
MADAME QUEEN’S CHEF SHOWDOWN
DAY TWO
Winner: Louie
Maryann: still one strike
Buster: still one strike
Kacie: One strike
Other chefs: no strikes
Chapter Eighteen
Pep Talk
Kacie jolted awake, nearly fell out of the bed. There was a light on in the room. She looked over and saw Eloise sitting up with her knees raised under the covers, looking at a tablet. With her hair tied back, in plain cotton pajamas, and no makeup, she still looked like a goddess. Maryann was still asleep; Alia was up and gone, her bed neatly made.
How the hell had Eloise gotten a tablet? Louie had an iPod now, but Eloise hadn’t won anything.
Kacie blinked, rubbed her eyes. Oh, okay, it was a spiral-bound notebook. She would have killed for some device to give her Internet. She wriggled up to a seated position also and set up a pillow behind her back.
Eloise whispered, “Morning.” She waved her notebook. “Meal planning.”
Eloise was making the cast and crew lunch that day, Kacie recalled. A gridded schedule, with duties fairly distributed, had been placed on a board in the hallway, and Kacie’s next turn was coming with lunch the following day. “What’s on the menu?” she whispered back.
“Quinoa bowls?” Eloise asked. “Y’think? Or bang bang shrimp?”
“Quinoa gives some people gas,” Kacie offered. “I wouldn’t serve it to Buster, right?”
That brought back the sting of the previous night’s unfair loss. She had gone to sleep with her cheeks burning and tear-streaked. ‘Chef Wayne already has a strike, and I don’t care to give him a second so early in the competition. Thus, given two dishes of similar quality, I’ll give strike one to you.’ What a bullshit mind-game Madame Queen was playing! The winner should have been the chef who cooked the best plate; she had cooked the best plate. Instead, Madame Queen had protected the worse chef just to keep him from being eliminated.
Was it possible her dish had been worse than Buster’s? Had she been distracted by her drama with Toby Brutus? No, she had cooked well. The emotional wringer of her time with the slick Southerner had made her bolder in the kitchen. She’d been angry, been crazy before starting, but calm and intense at her prep station and in front of the stove. That was like high school when she would walk away from the demeaning remarks of the boys about fixing her unsexy tomboy ways and get revenge by killing it in the kitchen, creating beautiful flavors and textures those assholes would never get to taste.
“I can deal,” Eloise said. Her forehead wrinkled. “I love quinoa. You?”
Maryann groaned. “It’s too early. Why are you both talking?”
“Quinoa’s okay,” Kacie said. Certainly, Eloise was being decent, but she had always been decent in person. It was her manipulations, through Toby, that were worrisome.
Maryann sat up, gave Kacie a dark look. “You skipped my dinner last night. Why’s that?”
“I was still in Kitchen One.”
“Half of you guys skipped my dinner,” Maryann said. “Remind me to skip yours so you get to work hard to impress nobody.”
“Sorry I missed it,” Kacie said. “It was a special thing, won’t come up again. I’ll eat double next time, ‘kay?”
Maryann humphed, rolled out of bed and went to the bathroom.
“How was it, though?” Eloise asked.
“Elk ragu,” Kacie said. “It inspired me to use elk in the challenge.”
“You and Louie and Alia and Toby, right?”
“Right.”
“You and Toby getting along?”
What was Eloise probing for? “Not really,” Kacie said.
“Yeah,” Eloise said. “I find him a little standoffish.”
Kacie couldn’t help snickering. Toby had been
flirting with her so effectively that she had had to explode at him and make a fool of herself to refocus. The term ‘standoffish’ made no sense at all.
“What?” Eloise asked.
“Oh, you’re so right about that,” Kacie lied. “Maybe he’s gay. All the good-looking guys are, in New York anyway. What about in California?”
“About fifty-fifty,” said Eloise.
∞∞∞
Breakfast from Alia that day was biscuits from scratch with hearty turkey sausage gravy, plated beside okra and onion fritters. The chefs and crew munched their way through the food at warp speed. Instead of espresso, Alia served southern-style sweet tea with lavender and a little less sugar than usual. Kacie sat by herself on the sofa, creating space by turning her back to the kitchen. When she turned for a moment, she spied Toby on the other sofa with his plate, also alone. He nodded. She nodded and turned her head.
Someone sat by her and cleared her throat. Kacie looked up and saw the director, Shelley.
“You want a pep talk?” Shelley asked.
“Why? Are you having a pep talk sale?”
“No. It’s just that I’m worried you might get into your own head too much. You got one strike, and you got one for a bullshit reason that has nothing to do with how you cooked. That doesn’t mean the deck is stacked against you. It’s really the other way around.”
“Why is that?” Kacie turned to study Shelley.
“Buster is doing molecular, and we want that on the show because it makes for good TV. Flavor-wise, you have him beat hands down. Not that he isn’t good. He totally is good, and he has a chance, but your palate is clearly better. But if you’re going to beat him, you should do it at the end of the show. It’s better drama. It shows you overcoming obstacles. It makes people root for you, check it?”
Kacie held her breath, sucked on her tongue. “Do you guys have everything planned? I mean, does how we cook even matter?”