by MJ Post
“Of course. First, how you cook got you to the dance. Second, Madame Queen doesn’t decide each round until she eats the food. Only then do these other considerations enter her mind. How you perform on-camera is the biggest factor now, and for some of you guys, it’s how you look, or how marketable your point of view is. But really, really think about it: is it really possible to decide which one of a bunch of superb chefs is the best? I mean, aren’t you really all good enough to win?”
“Yeah.” Kacie wasn’t satisfied, but she was smart enough to know not to argue with the director.
“For the record,” Shelley continued, “I had reservations about including you on the show, since you only have a few months of professional experience. But after only a few days, I see Herschel knew his business. You may have lost your shit a little yesterday, but everyone is going to in the next two weeks, because we’ve set things up to make sure of that. Overall, you’re more poised than many chefs I’ve directed who have a lot more experience. So, be yourself and just keep trying to win, right?” She gave Kacie’s hand a motherly squeeze. “Right?”
“Right.”
∞∞∞
They did sound-bytes in Kitchen One. Kacie said, “I know a loss is a learning experience, but I really wanted to beat Buster. He is such a jackass, he needs to go down.”
Once they were on their marks, Madame Queen, wearing a bright red jacket over black and white flowery blouse and loose black slacks, took her place before the camera and addressed them. “Today’s dish challenge will involve your culinary specialties, one meal prepared in each category. But there is a catch. I wish to remove each of you from what you might consider comfortable. So, on each of these cards is a cuisine in which one of you is expert.” She held up a stack of index cards. “You will NOT have your own specialty — you will cook the specialty of a fellow competitor. If you choose to advise each other, be aware: you may be sabotaging your own chances to win!”
Another round of sound-byte interviews was done on their marks. What would each prefer to get or not to get, and why?
Kacie said, “If I can use rice and seafood, or burgers, I’m good.”
Toby said, “After a great soul food breakfast, I feel like going that direction. I don’t want to cook Korean, since I first got to try it this week, and I don’t know the ingredients or the recipes.”
Buster said he was up for anything.
During a break for the camera crew, Shelley urged them all to try Vegemite on toast from a tray she had brought. Kacie enjoyed the umami and saltiness.
When recording resumed, Madame Queen stood before Louie.
“Chef Alpharetto, as yesterday’s winner, you have the option to refuse your first draw – unless, of course, I decide to overrule you. I am a bit of an alpha woman, as you all know.”
“Amen,” Toby whispered.
Madame Queen removed one card from the small stack, then fanned the remainder face-down. She raised them and grinned for a still photo from the on-set photographer, then, as the photographer retreated, offered the fan to Louie, who selected one. It read, “Korean.”
“I’ll refuse that one,” he said. “If you don’t mind, Madame.”
She took the card from him, rubbed her fingers on it thoughtfully, and then held it back and extended the fan again. The new card read “Southwestern”, which was Vegas’ specialty.
Louie’s sound-byte was, “This is fine. I love Mexican flavors.”
Madame Queen shuffled the remaining seven cards, posed for a photo, and offered the fan to Toby. “Chef Brutus: here is your chance to impress the Queen.”
Toby pulled a card and showed its legend: “Molecular Gastronomy.” He licked his lips.
Buster called, “Ha ha! You are so screwed!”
Shut the fuck up, Kacie thought. Just because he’s mild-mannered, you’ll pick on him now? Dick.
Toby offered him a nervous grin. “I may just have to have a party on my anti-griddle.”
Vegas pulled “Healthy Soul Food.”
Eloise said she was hoping for Chinese. She got the “Korean” card.
Alia got “Italian.” Her sound-byte was, “My nieces love spaghetti. I always find a way to put my personal touch on a pasta and sauce.”
Kacie’s turn came. There were only three specialties left. She had taken whatever opportunity she could to study Toby’s style, the only one of those three that was little-known to her, and the other two would be easy. She drew Chinese. She began thinking about street foods she’d had in her high school years when visiting Manhattan’s Chinatown.
Buster pulled Eloise’s specialty, New American. His sound-byte was, “This is my wheelhouse exactly. I feel bad for Chef Toby, though. Ha ha ha!”
That left Southern Seafood, Toby’s specialty, for Maryann. Her sound-byte: “I just have to grill some crawfish, right?”
Chapter Nineteen
Jindo
Toby skipped out on Eloise’s invitation to help her with lunch and sent Buster instead. Buster’s only hope with Eloise was to show off his culinary chops, Toby thought, since his abrasive, attention-getting personality was at best an acquired taste.
While Eloise and Buster were cooking, Toby toured Kitchen One to look at the molecular gastronomy equipment that was there. Vita-Mix Blender, check. Anti-griddle, check. Vacuum sealer and immersion circulator, check. Cream whipper, check. A full dewar of liquid nitrogen, check. No centrifuge, no combi oven, no dehydrator. These had been in demand at Delta Culinary School; the centrifuge was always broken there, but the dehydrator worked: one of his classmates had distributed a different type of fruit leather at the start of every class, just to be sociable. He remembered an instructor yelling that if he was brought one more dish inside a smoking bag, he would get the apprentice who delivered it removed from his class tout de suit. Toby didn’t have much practice with any of the equipment. Sous-vide was probably the easiest, and the circulator wasn’t too tough to use. He also knew how to use maltodextrin to powder foods. Those two techniques would have to do.
The thought of discussing it with Kacie crossed his mind, but he fought it down. Since he typically handled stressful situations with aplomb, he hadn’t realized the night before that his advances might affect her negatively before her cook-off. He would keep his distance till the cooking was over. He’d try to see her at the end of filming. She had drawn Chinese, and an adorable crookedness of her lips had followed. It was a good cuisine choice for her. Now HE was the one who had to be attentive to the work. When she had offered him sex, of course, she hadn’t meant it – but he had been up past two a.m., or so he guessed, imagining their lovemaking from every angle. Kacie atop him, his hands running along her sides, and the two of them moaning in sequence, and the bed rattling beneath them…
He ate lunch without paying attention to the food, basically just forking the meal into his mouth without tasting it. When he came out of his reverie, his bowl was clean. However, Eloise’s quinoa bowls with salmon and slaw had not been a big hit with the cameramen. He saw plenty of unfinished portions on the table near the sofas where Vince, Ricky, and others had congregated. For a chef of Eloise’s caliber to find food left uneaten on the table must have been frustrating, Toby thought. He saw her approaching, quickly scanned to find Kacie, who wasn’t there.
“You finished yours,” Eloise said. “Right? What did you think?”
“The slaw had the perfect balance of vinegar and sweetness,” Toby said. “I’m not much for quinoa, tell the truth. More of a brown rice guy.”
“Yeah, I remember your dirty rice from the first day. If it wasn’t unladylike, I’d have licked the bowl.”
“I’ll make it again soon. I’ll make sure you get some.”
Eloise beamed a California smile at him and touched his shoulder. “Great. Let me watch you make it. Could be a great side for my restaurant when I open it next year.”
Toby shifted his position so that his shoulder was out of reach. He patted the chair next to him, and when she
sat, asked, “You all set for later?”
“Sure. I traded tips with your friend in the pantry before. Did you know that for a bibimbap, you put the rice in the blast chiller straight from the pot to stop it from overcooking? She’s a smart kid. I think I’m set. You?”
“Sure. I can sous vide, I figure some catfish, some pickled vegetables, and I’ll make a comeback sauce and turn it to powder. Anyway.” He got up. “Sorry, better hit the comfort station before we go upstairs.”
“Right. See you up there.”
He headed up to the dorms. The quinoa was already doing a quick-step in his stomach; he shouldn’t have wolfed it down thoughtlessly. He took care of business in the bathroom, washed his face, put on his Crawdad King baseball cap, and set out for the studio. He was a little late, but they were so slow upstairs that they probably wouldn’t notice.
Kacie came into the hallway at the same time he did. What should he say to her? She was so adorable in the apron with the pink Koryo Burger visor. Not sure what to say, he didn’t say anything. They walked side by side. To his surprise, at the end of the hallway, she touched his hand.
“Sorry, it was crazy yesterday. Look, I just wanted to say. It wasn’t your fault I lost. I think maybe I cooked better because of that bullshit we went through.”
“We’re on camera,” Toby reminded her. “I know what you mean. Let’s leave it there.”
They emerged into the common area and crossed toward the elevators.
“Can we hang out when the show is over?” he asked finally.
“What put that idea in your head?”
Hadn’t he made it obvious what his intentions were? “I’m planning to stay in New York. I’d like to have some friends here. I’d like Lillian to have some friends here, too.”
“Oh. You want to be friends. Well, that’s fine, then. So, when this is over, I’ll take you to some of my favorite places and we can be friends in all of them.”
“Like where?”
“First, my restaurant, so you can act impressed. Then, maybe Chinatown by Canal Street. We’ll try a couple of restaurants there – and you’re paying, pretty boy.”
“I’m good with that,” Toby said.
They rode quietly together up in the elevator.
∞∞∞
Once the okra was cleaned and bagged for sous vide, Toby got his catfish skinned and filleted in only a few minutes, and as he had learned, put each fillet in its own bag. Removing the air from the bags was generally a pain, but there was a machine for that. What temperature was best for the water bath? If the okra and the catfish needed different temps, should he compromise in between and just adjust the cook time? He didn’t want anything to get discolored. Fortunately, he’d remembered not to season till after the food was cooked, since sous vide intensified flavors too much, especially the garlic he favored for his okra.
He set a cook time and withdrew to his station. As he passed by the other chefs, he saw Eloise frowning over rice, Kacie spooning a pork mixture onto dumpling wrappers, Alia simmering a red sauce, Vegas slicing pig’s feet. Buster was making a foam out of something with an aggressively peppery odor.
He separated egg yolk, added several more ingredients, added a little extra spice for kick, and after vigorous whisking, he had his homemade mayonnaise. He divided it into three parts in three bowls, and to each added a different hot chili sauce, one with a green, one with a red, and one with some of each. He had found green and red gourmet ketchups in the pantry, so was able to keep the color consistent in each container. Lemon juice, paprika, finely minced garlic and onion, mustard, a blend of white and black peppers. A few more dry ingredients just his own.
He quickly rushed to take the okra out of the water bath, then back to his cook station.
After more mixing, all three sauces were blended. He tasted a tiny spoonful of each. The blended one didn’t look good, he decided. He threw the bowl and contents into the concealed busboy tub underneath the sink of his station.
Shelley and the cameraman were right up on him. “Tell us about these sauces.”
“They’re kicked-up versions of Mississippi comeback sauce. It’s a simple preparation you can make at home for dipping your fried fish or spreading on your sandwich. But of course, mine’s above average. Have a spoonful if you like.”
“But you’re making your dish in the immersion circulator, right? Instead of frying.”
“Just back up and watch me work.”
Toby was sure the smile he gave the camera did not seem sincere. All the same, he turned and rushed to the immersion circulator to check the color of the catfish. It looked done, so he took it out and laid the bags alongside the okra on his cold flattop. Now where had he put the maltodextrin?
Oh, there it was sitting on Buster’s station. He went over to Buster. “Thanks for swiping my stuff,” he said, and took it back.
“Yeah, I was done with it,” Buster answered.
He spooned maltodextrin into a measuring cup. What was the percentage again? Sixty-forty, but which one was which? Oh, and he needed a tamis, a flat mesh strainer. Still carrying the maltodextrin container so Buster couldn’t snatch it again, he went to the shelf of utensils. No tamis was in sight. He scanned the rest of the room, didn’t see any of his competitors using it.
“Shelley!” he called. “Do we have a tamis?”
She was occupied with filming Louie stuffing taco shells.
“Shelley!”
She turned and mouthed “what” at him.
“A tamis!”
She shrugged.
No tamis for him, then. He took a chinois, a cone-shaped mesh strainer. It would be a pain to use.
Back at his station, Toby delicately scooped maltodextrin into each sauce until he thought the ratio might be okay, then mixed up the contents and waited for them to get dry. He put the green mixture into the chinois and, using a spoon, beat it through the mesh into a clean bowl. He now had a powdered green chili comeback sauce. He repeated the process with the red.
Toby plated and seasoned his fish and okra, setting a portion of each comeback sauce into its own ramekin to be sprinkled on the food.
When it was over, he was tired, but he’d put some damn fine food on the plate, he thought.
With his work complete, he had time to look over his competitors’ dishes. Louie’s taco filling was a little bit muddy. Kacie’s sweet and sour soup, pork dumplings, and caramelized onions smelled incredible. “What’s that sauce you’re making?” he asked over her shoulder.
“Oyster dipping sauce. What were you making before? It looked good, the three bowls.”
“Comeback sauce. I’ll make it again sometime in the next couple of days, and you can try it.”
“Okay, great. Now get out of here and let me work.”
∞∞∞
He was busy in the kitchen making dirty rice and scallops. He’d made these dishes so often that he was sure he had even beaten the version at City Grocery back in Oxford. He accompanied each serving with a small cup of IPA. Eloise and Vegas helped.
Soon the crew were noisily eating and laughing. Toward the end of the meal, as Toby was thinking of starting the cleanup, Madame Queen appeared in the kitchen, circled to look in all his pots. She opened the refrigerator, took out a fresh bottle of IPA, and handed it to him to open. He popped off the cap with his thumb and handed it to her.
“You season your dishes too much like my ex-husband,” she announced loudly. Toby realized that Vince the cameraman was behind her filming. “I simply must wash the burn out of my mouth.”
Toby realized he only had a few seconds to figure out what to say. “Boris taught me a lot about seasoning,” he answered quickly. “But so did you, Nina. And maybe I taught you guys a few tricks, too.”
“Well,” she said, “aren’t you precious? Hmph. Where’s your beer?”
He scanned the counter to find one of the tiny glasses of IPA he had poured out before and lifted it. She clinked her bottle against it, and they both drank.
“Enjoying your beer, Chef Brutus?”
“Sure.”
“Don’t get too drunk. You may be in the cook-off tonight.”
She withdrew, taking Vince with her.
“That was strange,” said Eloise.
“That was fucked up,” said Vegas.
“That was Nina, pretty much,” said Toby.
∞∞∞
“You see, Chef Lee,” said Madame Queen to the camera. “You’ve turned last night’s loss into today’s triumph. Clearly, I inspire you.” The camera followed her hand to the dish where Kacie’s dumplings had been heavily sampled. “These are the best pork dumplings I have had in years. You are the winner of today’s daily prize, a visit from a family member. Now, since we have a number of prizes of this sort up for grabs during the competition, we shall start small. You shall receive an overnight stay – from your dog.”
Toby watched Kacie. Would her eyes light up with gratitude? Or grow wet with tears?
No. Her body shook with a spasm of, what was it, relief? And then, her mouth curled into a triumphant smile. “Whitey will be in the dorm with me?” she asked.
“Obviously, we can’t have a dog in the food preparation area.”
“Who’s bringing him up?”
“We’ll discuss these details later, Chef Lee. Congratulations on your win. Now, as to the matter of the cook-off…”
Staffer Derrick and cameraman Vince went with Kacie for a lounge interview. After some still photography, Madame Queen picked up where she had left off.
“Having tasted all of the dishes, I have decided that tonight’s cook-off will be between Chef Brutus and Chef Hamilton. Chef Brutus, I have tasted your comeback sauce before and found it excellent, but those powdered versions were salty and gross. I did not care for your okra, either. Chef Hamilton, first of all, you served a Korean rice dish with chopsticks – a gauche move in the extreme, when a spoon is preferred, something you ought to know. Second, your dish lacked the garlicky bite that I associate with a really good Korean-style sauce.”