Chef Showdown_A Romance

by MJ Post

  Madame Queen went to take a break.

  Toby was asked for sound-bytes. For his loss, he said: “I guess those gourmet ketchups I used were too salty. My bad.” For his match against Eloise, he said: “Chef Hamilton is very versatile, and she can give an elegant touch to most any ingredient. It’s a tough match-up.”

  Shelley asked, “Are you the underdog?”

  Toby answered, “I respect all my opponents, but I’m not an underdog against anyone.”

  He listened to Eloise’s interview in her turn. She said, “I really like Korean food, and it makes for a great contribution to fusion cuisine. I’ll chalk this one up to being out of practice preparing it.” About him, she said, “He’s an amazing chef, especially for regional comfort foods. My best chance is to get an ingredient he hasn’t used much. If we get something in his bailiwick, I’ll be more vulnerable than otherwise.”

  Shelley: “Do you have an edge?”

  Eloise: “It really depends on the ingredient. If it’s shellfish, Chef Brutus probably has the edge. Poultry or vegetable ingredients should favor me. Red meat, we’re probably pretty even.”

  Damn, she was long-winded, but she was probably right on all counts.

  Madame Queen returned and recorded some promotional spots with Shelley, Derrick, and Ricky. Toby paced the kitchen. Eloise leaned against her station, writing in her notebook. He saw Kacie approaching and walked to meet her.

  “You got this, country boy?” she asked him, punching his shoulder. “Going against your buddy?”

  “I don’t figure there’s ever a sure win on this show,” he answered. “And, tell you the truth, I don’t think I have any buddies around here. You can be my buddy if you want.”

  “Okay, buddy. Good luck.”

  “Help me with dinner?”

  Her eyes brightened for a moment, but then she lowered them. “Yeah, maybe not a good idea.”

  Probably she thought there was no need to repeat the drama from the previous night. “You’re welcome to change your mind.”

  “Maybe another time. You just focus on winning.”

  Eloise, notebook in hand, joined them. “You need help with dinner? I want to learn your dirty rice recipe.”

  Well, this was awkward. “Kacie, you sure you don’t want to help out?”

  She shrugged. “Another time.”

  “Okay. Eloise, do you know where Vegas is? I was going to ask him, too.”

  Kacie frowned and walked away.

  “What’s with her?” Eloise asked.

  “I think she’s really excited about seeing her dog.”

  “Huh. Okay, see you upstairs. I’ll tell Vegas if I see him.”

  ∞∞∞

  Toby found a few whole red snapper in the pantry for the protein he’d use to cool dinner. Eloise helped him with the dirty rice, and Vegas with the other prep, while he filleted the fish.

  Except for Ricky, who had helped recruit him, none of the crew had yet tried his food; it was their first chance. He was pleased when the photographer, the boom operator, and two other staffers approached him with empty plastic containers asking to take some home for their wives.

  The only awkward moment came when Derrick arrived in line, asking not only for his own portion, but for an additional plate for Madame Queen. “She’s staying upstairs in her office,” he explained.

  “What’s that about?”

  “No clue,” said Derrick.

  Toby told Eloise and Vegas to go and enjoy their portions, and was about to start the clean-up when Alia, Louie, and Kacie arrived with their empty used plates.

  “We’ll clean up,” Alia said.

  “Yeah, you go get ready, country boy,” Kacie added.

  “Your dog?” Toby asked.

  “Whitey will be here after filming. My sister is bringing him in an Uber. They won’t let her come up, they said. Ozzy will bring him.”

  “Can I meet Whitey?”

  “Sure.”

  Grateful for the break, he turned over the kitchen to his three competitors and sat at the dining table. Louie, the acknowledged coffee expert, started the espresso maker, while the women loaded the dishwasher.

  His thoughts drifted until he heard the chair next to him slide back and turned to see Eloise there.

  “Sorry, have to try to beat you,” she said. “Nothing personal.”

  He studied her face, the bright eyes and firmly set mouth, and realized what she had in mind. “Are you thinking of making the dirty rice in the cook-off?”

  “Might. It depends. You don’t have a problem with that, right?”

  “I don’t have a problem. I’m not especially confused about what you’re here for, Eloise. Making friends is a great thing, of course, but, as my dad likes to say, a vaincre sans peril, on triomphe sans gloire.” A win without risk is a win without glory.

  “True,” she answered, “but on the other hand, plus l’offenseur m’est cher, plus je ressens l’injure.”

  He knew that expression: the dearer to you a person is, the more insulted you feel. Whatever she meant by that. “Do what you want, Eloise. I don’t have a problem.”

  ∞∞∞

  Down in Kitchen One, Madame Queen introduced the mystery ingredient: Pomacea canaliculata, apple snails. It was a shrewd selection: both Toby and Eloise had been exposed to working with escargot, but neither was specialized in French cuisine, so they were theoretically even. Escargot was also a protein that was easy to complement with most vegetables and starches, so they could show off their side dish skills almost unimpeded.

  Toby assumed Eloise was making his dirty rice, and that left him three easy choices. He could make it again, on the assumption his would be better than hers; he could use his seasoning with a similar ingredient such as quinoa, which she had botched at lunch at least in the crew’s opinion; or he could go a totally different direction and make no side starch at all.

  In the pantry, he saw an ingredient that he had forgotten about since trying it at a fellow culinary student’s party several years before.

  There was about thirty minutes’ delay between their return from the pantry and the commencement of on-camera cooking. As Toby had anticipated, Eloise was busy with the dirty rice recipe, and impressively, she managed both the rice pot and the sauté pan of snails at the same time. As for him, he had to juggle cook times and seasoning levels, tasting often for both flavor and doneness.

  “Smells Indian,” Eloise said as she passed by his station carrying utensils. Ricky and Shelley were following her with the camera. “What is that?”

  “No thanks, not telling you another recipe,” he answered. “At least, not till you give me one of yours and I compete using that.”

  “Well, you certainly are being a brat today.” Eloise smirked at him, and, done with the exchange, he leaned over to his pot to check the aroma.

  A sharp smack on his butt made him stand up suddenly. He turned, saw his opponent standing behind him wielding a large wooden spoon.

  “What was that about?” he asked.

  She smiled in a way he hadn’t seen before. “Low-hanging fruit, sorry. Well, back to my pots.”

  Ricky’s camera had caught the whole thing. Toby rubbed his butt with his free hand. Eloise had done something out of character for her, and done it on-camera, probably to create interest for the show. Right? But her smile had been remarkably flirtatious.

  “What did you think of that?” Shelley asked him on-camera.

  “Well, I was surprised.”

  “Will you retaliate?”

  “No, I’m a gentleman.”

  Shelley’s eyes twinkled. “Great answer. Are you bothered that Chef Hamilton is making your dirty rice recipe?”

  “Not at all. She checked with me first. I can still make it better than her. You’ll see. Now, if you wouldn’t mind… Shoo!”

  Shelley laughed and led Ricky away.

  The cooking period ended with both competitors laying plates onto the show table. Eloise had made the dirty rice and s
autéed escargot, as well as some braised kale and a dipping sauce. After she explained her meal on-camera, focusing on New American’s desire to take the best from other ethnic and regional cuisines, it was Toby’s turn.

  “Smells like curry,” Shelley prompted. “What is it?”

  “I started with an old Mississippi River Delta recipe called country captain,” he explained. “It has fresh curry elements, so it’s usually like a curry chicken and rice. But instead of chicken, I’m serving sautéed apple snails, and instead of rice, I made the dish with a form of cracked wheat called freekeh, which is dense in protein. They call it a supergrain, but I just call it down-home delicious.”

  “So,” Shelley prodded, “Chef Hamilton took a page from your playbook, and you took a page from hers.”

  “Sure. She’s a great chef, but we know New American cooking down in Mississippi sure enough.”

  “Did it bother you that she hit you in the backside with a spoon?”

  “You asked me that already, Shel.”

  “More sound-bytes, please, Toby.”

  “Okay, here’s another sound-byte. Competing is pretty stressful for some folks, so they might like to horse around a little bit. I didn’t think Eloise was that type, but it’s no big deal anyway. As they say, Beaucoup de paille, peu de grains.”

  “That’s French, right? What’s it mean?”

  “Means it’s no big deal.”

  Left to stand around and wait for Madame Queen, the chefs circled the two cook stations sampling the leftover food. Buster declared that Eloise was going to win. Vegas declared for Toby. Kacie wasn’t there. Toby asked Alia, who told him she was maybe downstairs reuniting with her dog.

  “Did she see that thing with the spoon?”

  “Yeah, I think so,” Alia said. “But don’t worry about it. She’s a grown-up.”

  There was a bustle of activity. Shelley shouted for him to report to the table for the tasting. He repeated his explanation to Madame Queen’s face. Then Eloise explained her dish again. Then Madame Queen tasted both.

  “I want us to go to bed early,” she declared, “so I’ll call a winner right away. Chef Brutus, I’ve had your country captain before, but this time you have outdone yourself. The curry is especially pungent, and the texture of the freekeh is particularly satisfying. Chef Hamilton, to begin with, the snails are perfect, but I expected nothing different. This cook-off was really about choice of sides, and in that category, I believe you may have been a little bit overconfident, attempting another chef’s recipe after only practicing it once. Because of your exceptional skills, the rice is still restaurant-quality, and I very much like the kale. However, strike one to you.”

  When she was gone, Eloise put her hands on her hips and said, “Well, how do you like that?”

  “I like it a lot,” Toby answered.

  ∞∞∞

  On his way to his own dorm, he stopped at the closed door to the women’s room, where he heard sounds of panting and sweet talk. He knocked.

  A quick woof confirmed that the dog was inside. Kacie came to the door in sweat pants and a t-shirt. She was accompanied by a beautiful white dog almost two feet high at the shoulder with sharp, pointed ears that were brown inside. It had dark eyes, a pointed muzzle and a lolling pink tongue. Toby knelt, extending his hand toward the dog. Its Korean name, that Kacie had mentioned just once, came back to him. “Hey, Hayangi.”

  The dog came forward and licked his hand.

  “Usually he’s shy with strangers,” Kacie said. “He trusts you for some reason.”

  “Dogs can read feelings, by smell maybe,” Toby said. “He probably knows I came here just to meet him.”

  “How’d you do with your buddy?”

  She was still calling Eloise his buddy, still suspicious. Toby stroked the dog’s soft head. “This is my buddy here, aren’t you, boy?”

  Kacie knelt also and came into his eye line. “Is your ass sore?”

  “No, that was nothing.”

  “Who won?”

  “I won.”

  “I thought yours looked better. Great idea to do freekeh. If she was stealing a recipe from your specialty, you stole an ingredient from hers. That was badass.”

  They were so close, it was all Toby could do not to stroke her face. He stood up instead. Kacie stayed low, petting her dog. “I think you’re the one who was badass today,” he told her. “You won the one that counted.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I was. Sorry you had to beat your buddy.”

  “She’s not.”

  He heard footsteps behind him and shifted to allow Maryann into the room. As Kacie stood up, the dog, startled, ran behind her and issued a single yip of protest.

  “Nice dog. Keep it out of my bed, please. Thanks. Hey, Toby, congrats on your win.”

  “Thanks.”

  Maryann entered the bathroom and shut the door.

  “Okay, I think we’re going to bed,” Kacie said. “Congratulations hug? For both of us?”

  “Yeah.”

  She stepped toward him, arms extended, and he did the same. It was done too quickly for Toby, who felt he could hold her sweet form against his forever. The hug over, he stood and looked at her. What amazing curves, what beautiful breasts. “You’re doing lunch tomorrow, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Need help?”

  “Let you know. Okay, good night, country boy.”

  Toby knelt and stroked the dog again. “Good night, pretty woman.”

  MADAME QUEEN’S CHEF SHOWDOWN

  DAY THREE

  Winner: Kacie

  Maryann: still one strike

  Buster: still one strike

  Kacie: still one strike

  Eloise: One strike

  Other chefs: no strikes

  Chapter Twenty

  Trust Me

  Kacie woke disoriented, again, briefly sure she was in her own bed because Whitey was there with her, as he always was at home.

  She lay there holding the soft dog and feeling the comforting regular breaths of her best friend until she had her wits about her. She sat up. Hayangi raised his head, too. Clearly, he had missed her over the last five days; he hadn’t budged from the bed the whole night.

  She looked around in the darkness and saw that all three of her roommates were still asleep. Good. She didn’t want to talk to anyone.

  She had won the day before, and the prize of a night with her dog, although worth less monetarily than Vegas’ knives from the first day, and worth less psychologically than Louie’s iPod from the second day, had really helped her to re-center. She wasn’t alone; she had family still; the familiar things of her life were not all wiped away by the strangeness of being sequestered for a TV show.

  Kacie had won; she had been the best chef of the eight. One win on day three would be only the beginning. She had proven herself, and she had a real chance now.

  But she wasn’t satisfied.

  Holding Whitey, she realized that the wonderful dog was not who she wanted in her bed.

  She wanted Toby Brutus in her bed. Hugging the man, the night before, she had had to force herself to let go. His trim, muscular chest pressed against hers, his taut back under her hands, had felt better than anything she had ever felt before.

  There was no limit to Toby’s ability to seduce others. Even Hayangi had trusted him. He had fooled her dog.

  No, that was ridiculous. Jindo dogs, a watchdog breed, were particularly prized for their ability to tell friend from foe.

  If Whitey liked Toby, then Toby deserved to be liked.

  Now she had to face the fact that Toby wasn’t a phony, that he wasn’t in league with Eloise against her, and that she was going to have to find some other way to deal with her feelings for him.

  It didn’t make sense that he really liked her. Maybe he was trying to deal with stress by flirting. Guys did that, didn’t they? They could fool themselves that they liked a girl just because they were lonely. She wasn’t Ms. Right, but Ms. Right Now.


  If that was it, then her best strategy to get rid of him was to put him in the friend zone, convert their flirtation into camaraderie, and nudge him into an understanding that he was a little out of his mind and would certainly get over his present feelings.

  Then she would just have to get over hers.

  Now that she felt there was a chance to win, it was her only option.

  ∞∞∞

  About an hour later, showered and dressed in the freshly cleaned TV uniform, she entered the common-room with Whitey on his leash. The assembled crew and chefs, waiting for Maryann’s breakfast, applauded the arrival of the previous day’s winner and her dog. Whitey moved to greet Toby, then made a few new friends, before the massive shape of Ozzy the security man appeared in the entrance.

  “Whitey needs to be walked,” Kacie told him. “I think he needs to pee pretty badly. Can’t you guys let me out to take care of that?”

  “Sure, we can go together,” he said. “There’s a little park a few blocks down. I’ll walk with you. Someone should be here to collect the dog by the time we get back.”

  “Who’s someone?”

  “I think it’ll be your sister again. We sent a livery service for her at about six.”

  Eunice was the family member Kacie least wanted to see, but as the only one without a job, she was the likely candidate. Most likely Whitey had been sleeping in her bed since Kacie had been away.

  “Can you guys make some plates for us? I don’t want to miss breakfast,” she asked the assembled cast of the show. She looked at Alia and Louie, who nodded to her.

  It was her first time outside in half a week. Manhattan was as noisy and smoky as she remembered. There was a tiny grassy space by the parking lot of one of the piers. Ozzy waited, gently teasing that they were missing Maryann’s dim sum, as Whitey did his business and Kacie scooped the poop into a disposal bag using a spare dish glove. They dropped the bag and glove into a wire mesh basket and walked back to the studio parking lot. As predicted, there was an Uber waiting, a dented Honda vehicle piloted by a huge guido with a chipper smile. Eunice sat in the back seat, didn’t even get out as Kacie unhooked the leash and guided Hayangi inside the vehicle. Kacie’s sister was in sweat pants and a Taeyang concert t-shirt and looked sleepy and bored as she cradled her Starbucks cup.