Chef Showdown_A Romance

by MJ Post

  “What’s up?” he asked once they were up in that hallway.

  “I just met Hammer Chef Greek down in the pantry.”

  “You didn’t eat?”

  “No.”

  “You need to eat.”

  “Just listen, Toby. You know who he is, right?”

  “Not really. Should I?”

  “He let slip he was going to be on the show some time. I think it’s supposed to be a secret.”

  “But you’re telling me the secret?”

  “Yeah. Like I said, I want you to be successful. Let’s just the two of us know about it, okay?”

  He looked thoughtful. “Who would I tell?”

  “Don’t tell your girlfriend.”

  “My who?”

  “Eloise. Don’t tell Eloise.”

  “Kacie, stop the bullshit. She’s not my girlfriend.”

  “No, I know. I mean, a girl who’s your friend. Like, I could have girlfriends, too.”

  Toby looked confused. “I thought girlfriend means…”

  “Yeah, it means that, too. I’m just saying, you can’t trust Eloise. You taught her your recipe, and she tried to use it to beat you. Just don’t trust her.”

  “But I should trust you?” he confirmed.

  “Yeah, trust me.”

  “Why should I? You keep changing on me. I don’t know if I’m coming or going with you.”

  “Which one is which?”

  “Which is which what?”

  “What does it mean, coming or going? Which one is which?”

  Toby scratched his head. “You must know what I’m talking about. Why would you be telling me to start dating Eloise a half hour ago, which I don’t want to do, and now tell me not to trust her? Which advice should I listen to?”

  Kacie realized she’d slipped up. It was impossible to play mind games with Toby because she was too drawn to him. “Okay, okay. Listen to what I’m saying now.”

  “Are you going to flip and start telling me to be with Eloise?”

  “No.”

  “Do you want me to do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Do you want me to be with Eloise?”

  “You can do what you want to do. You’re a grownup.”

  “I know I’m a grownup, and I know I can do what I want to do. I’m asking you what YOU want me to do. Do you want me to be with Eloise? What do you actually want?”

  Kacie was unable to force out a lie. “No. No, that’s not what I want.”

  “Then don’t bullshit anymore about Eloise. Okay? I don’t know what that was all about. You think you’re helping my career by saying that? I’ll take care of my career, like you’ll take care of yours. What I want is to take care of you, and you take care of me. Can we do that?”

  “Sure. That’s why I told you about Rokos.”

  “That’s career stuff. Thanks, by the way. But I mean personally. If you’re stressed, you talk to me. If I’m stressed, I talk to you. If you need to talk something through, a decision or whatever, you come to me, and the other way around. How’s that?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

  “Good.” He tapped the end of her visor. “Let’s go get you some food.”

  ∞∞∞

  Seven chefs went up to Kitchen One after dinner for the cook-off. Eloise was still out with her father. Madame Queen took up her position next to a table with a cloth covering a heap of shapes that appeared to be melons. The judge announced, “Some people look good and let you down with what is inside them. My ex-husband, for example. Right, Chef Brutus?”

  “I love you both,” Toby said, spreading his hands for the camera.

  “Love,” answered Madame Queen, “is a mischief that arises when you don’t work hard enough to perfect yourself. What do you say, Chef Camacho?”

  Vegas was pouty-faced from having received a strike before dinner, but responded, “I have a family, so loving them is what keeps me working hard. But maybe you know better, Madame.”

  “Ah! Family. My own family, chefs, were kind enough to rid themselves of me when I was fourteen. They freed themselves for more agreeable occupations, such as drinking and dreaming of easy money.”

  “Let’s move on,” said Shelley.

  “I wish to impart my wisdom to the television audience.”

  “I wish to keep my crew from passing out from fatigue,” said the director. “And the overtime is no joke either.”

  Madame Queen looked at Ricky, who as usual was kneeling shooting her at an upward angle. “Must I hasten my words, Mr. Rybczinski?”

  “Yuh,” said Ricky.

  “Very well. Start filming, I shall proceed. Just as some people look good and let you down with what is inside, some foods are not what they appear to be on the outside. For this episode’s cook-off, I have decided that you shall both…”

  “Reaction shots!” Shelley called. Camera swiveled to Alia and Louie, whose feet were on the special taped X’s reserved for cook-off opponents.

  “You shall both use the fruit that looks ugly, smells worse, and tastes divine: the amazing durian!”

  The director: “Right, now the reveal. Angle on Madame, angle on the fruit.”

  With the cameras in place, Madame Queen swept away the cloth.

  “Line,” said Shelley. “Derrick, put the cloth back on. Madame, ‘you shall both use the fruit,’ give me that again.”

  They fussed till the shot was done perfectly. Then Louie and Alia went to the pantry, and the other chefs went to the lounge.

  After they had waited a while in the lounge, Shelley cracked the door open and stuck her head in. “Vegas, I just spoke to Yanel. She said your son Geordi’s braces are in good shape, no problem. Kay?”

  “Thanks,” said Vegas.

  When Shelley had gone, leaving them to wait even longer in the lounge, the five of them discussed what they would each do with durian. It looked like a cross between a pineapple and a green coconut, smelled like mustard, onions, and decaying vegetation, and tasted like garlic caramel with chive notes. Pickling, ice cream, pound cake flavoring, sweet and sour soup, mixed with vermicelli, enhancing lamb, enhancing pork ribs. Kacie didn’t enjoy eating durian in general, but thought it would be good for an aspic, such as they had made a few days before. Toby didn’t say anything.

  Buster fell asleep toward the end of the discussion. Vegas followed him to sleep, and then Maryann also passed out, still scowling from her discontent about their failure to worship her soup ideas. Only Toby and Kacie were left awake.

  Kacie said, “What are you waiting for? Go ahead, go to sleep.” If he went to sleep, she could look at him without his knowing. Free from the pressure to cook again that night, and free from the self-imposed pressure to push him toward Eloise, she wanted just to relax a little.

  Toby closed his eyes. She looked at him. He needed a shave. His ponytail lay across his neck. She thought he looked better with his hair loose. Could she tell him that? He’d take off the scrunchy if she asked. She could run her hands through his hair – probably even right then, on the spot, if not for the possibility of people watching.

  It would be so much easier to give in to those feelings, to let go of worrying about victory and career, to indulge her attraction to Toby and not care if she lost on the show.

  No. No, that was wrong. A woman shouldn’t give up her own ambitions for the sake of a man she desired. For centuries, men did things and women were there to support them. She, Yookyung Lee, was not giving up her ambitions for a man, not even the sexiest man on earth. Which she pretty much felt he was at that moment, though.

  He hadn’t asked her to give up her ambitions, of course; very much the contrary. But it was only natural for a woman to think about US, not ME. If one of US wins, we both do, right? No! That wasn’t going to be Kacie’s way.

  Derrick called them all to their marks for recording. Buster, snoring, didn’t wake up, and they left him in place. Kacie could already smell the reek of the green durians as Alia and Louie hacked at t
heirs with butcher knives, seeking the seams as best they could. Alia had difficulty pulling her durians apart, and twice Louie set aside his own labors to work his fingers into the cut she had made and tug till the jackfruit split open. Both chefs had small wounds on their hands afterwards and had to put on gloves for the rest of their cooking.

  When Buster finally appeared on the set, Shelley tossed a durian at him. “Open this up and dish it out, right?” she told him. “Least you could do after the small dinner portions.”

  “Yeah, sure.” The big chef got his knife from his workstation and got to work. “I love durian.”

  Kacie felt bad and considered helping him, but she wasn’t as strong as he was. She rolled her eyes at Toby, who rolled his back. The initial stench of the fruit turned into delicious cooking aromas as Louie and Alia got to work at their stations. As she ate the portion of durian flesh served to her in a ramekin by Buster – and he hadn’t bothered to take the seeds out, the big ape – Kacie studied the easy rapport of her two opponents even when they were supposedly competing. They floated between each other’s stations, tasting and suggesting, passing ingredients back and forth. Louie used the durian to build the flavor of his ragu and served a fruit cup with durian, cherries, and grape tomatoes topped by crème fraiche. Alia built a chicken barbecue platter, incorporated durian into her from-scratch sauce, and added fried durian pieces to her hush puppies.

  “Both excellent,” said Madame Queen after tasting. “Chef Kamara, your dish is none too creative in terms of plating, but the barbecue sauce is a revelation. Chef Alpharetto, your marinara is a bit sweeter than I care for, and the fruit cup is – meh. Strike one.”

  As chefs and crew thanked each other for a good day’s work and a good day’s eating, Kacie thought how amazing it was that Louie showed no anger at his loss, nor did Alia show a feeling of triumph at her win. They did their interviews together, overlapping each other’s sound-bytes with assent at what fun it had been to cook together and learn from each other.

  She grabbed Toby’s arm and slowed him as the rest slouched toward the elevators. He put his arm around her shoulders.

  “If we do a cook-off, how will we handle it?” Kacie asked.

  “I know one thing,” said Toby, He whispered in her ear, “I’ll be a little harder to beat than Louie was tonight.”

  Kacie put her arm around his waist, just for a second. “Sure. Bring it on.”

  MADAME QUEEN’S CHEF SHOWDOWN

  DAY 4

  Winner: Eloise

  Strike One: Buster, Eloise, Kacie, Louie, Maryann, Vegas

  No strikes yet: Toby, Alia

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “I’d rather”

  Vegas woke Toby up to help with breakfast burritos: whole wheat tortillas stuffed with scrambled eggs, potatoes and peppers, and pico de gallo. Toby brewed some sweet tea, which would go better with the meal than hot coffee. As he stirred the pitcher of tea, he thought about what a hard time Kacie had given him yesterday, but how sweetly it had finished with a friendly cuddle on the way to the elevator. She was still testing him to make sure he really liked her and not Eloise, but her touches were sweeter than her words, and felt different from a friend’s or a sister’s. He had a chance, he thought.

  As he was helping with clean-up, Eloise came into the kitchen carrying her tumbler of tea. “Great salsa,” she told Vegas. “Hey, Toby, listen. It was so great seeing my dad and getting out of this stuffy studio. I thought about you stuck back here and I felt bad.”

  “Well, you won,” Toby said. “You earned it.”

  “I wouldn’t mind being stuck here, if I could Skype my kids or something,” Vegas added.

  “You’ve been to Eleven Madison?” Eloise asked Toby.

  “Nope. I just got to the city and came here.”

  “I know, but you could have visited the city before. Anyway. I asked Shaun if we could take you along last night, but he was being a stickler, you know? So, here’s the deal. My dad will be in the city for maybe two weeks more. He’s meeting with, cough cough, someone from another network. When we get out of here, the three of us will go back there together. My treat.”

  Toby figured Eloise was plotting something. “Love a good meal,” Toby said. “But I sense a trap.”

  “Yeah, I guess Dad’s always scouting talent. I might’ve told him you were good. I mean, you beat me the other day. Not that it would happen twice.”

  “I think it could,” Toby said. He tried his most intimidating smile.

  Eloise tapped his arm and pointed out into the common-room at Kacie, who was bent over her plate eating with an adorable serious look. “How’s your friend holding up? Did she get a big head after that win, and the dog staying over?”

  “I don’t know. What would be a big head? She’s as good as she thinks, just like you and me.”

  “Maybe, but I know I can beat her. The dog’s nice, though. I never saw any of that breed before. Really pretty, sweet-natured. Nicer than she is.”

  “I think Kacie’s nice.”

  “You do? You think she’s nice?”

  “I know she is.”

  Toby had finished scrubbing one pot and passed it to Vegas.

  “You think the Korean girl’s nice?” Eloise asked.

  “Yeah, pretty much,” said Vegas. “It’s Maryann I’m scared of.”

  ∞∞∞

  Toby realized what the dish challenge would be just as they entered. Three gigantic towers of croquembouche were set upon the display table, one in each of three colors, chartreuse, mint green, and azure blue. The French sticky dessert, invented in the early 1800s, was made of balls of choux pastry built into a tower with caramel to attach it. It was challenging to prepare in terms of structure — badly built, one could easily collapse. Also, the texture had to be perfect. Toby hadn’t made one, but he’d made profiteroles, which used the same dough. It wasn’t as hard a dish for a pro as it looked to amateurs, so it would be flashy for the cameras and impress the viewers, but he figured he could handle it, and most of his competitors could as well.

  He looked around, and saw fiendish glee on the face of Buster — that was typical — and a confident smile on the face of Eloise — because what else? He moved close to Kacie and whispered in her ear, “You know how to do this?”

  “Sure, I made them for weddings at one of my jobs in high school.”

  Relieved, Toby moved back to his mark.

  They were provided with standard ingredients and only had ten minutes in the pantry. Toby wasted nine of them wandering around, then at the last minute grabbed some fresh herbs and bacon. During the cooking period, he converted these into an herb and bacon glaze which he hoped would give him the edge over anyone who followed the basic recipe. In the end he thought the glaze was too subtle and wished he had brought up some bourbon.

  Lunch that day was made by Madame Queen herself. Mini filets mignon with watercress, sweet potato mash with cinnamon, and asparagus tips with melted asiago emerged smoothly from a Kitchen One station. She refused all help, saying, “You are all working fiercely — it is time you had a ROYAL meal.”

  ∞∞∞

  They assembled in Kitchen One after the heavy lunch. Crew members brought the croquembouches out of the walk-in and arranged them on two display tables, and the eight chefs took placards with their names and placed them next to their own preparations.

  Madame Queen prowled around the tables, tapping individual choux pastry balls with her hot-pink nails, and making bland remarks like, “Interesting.”

  “Lots of interviews to do,” Shelley announced to no one in particular.

  “Yes, yes,” said Madame Queen. “All right then. Here is an announcement that was required. I will not be present for tonight’s cook-off. Your special guest judge will be TKN Chief Executive Alois “Lou” Morton. I have graciously allowed Mr. Morton to award strikes in my name, and to select the cook-off ingredient as well. Understood?”

  Vince’s camera swept across the row of chefs on th
eir marks, all of whom nodded.

  “Very well. My mood is better this afternoon, so I do not plan to award any strikes for poor performance. In fact, in visual terms, there is no terrible croquembouche to be found among your productions. Chef Brutus, although you are not the winner today, I do like the idea of a savory bacon glaze. Had you executed it better, I might have considered the win for you. Chef Lee, very good. Nearly flawless, but just nearly. You’ve made croquembouche professionally, I understand? Hm. Chef Alpharetto, you would have won had flavor been the only matter of concern; however, for excellent flavor and the most attractive presentation, the winner, for the second day in the row…”

  “Reaction shot!” Shelley called.

  Vince swiveled to Eloise. Toby saw a slight twitch in her ruby-red lips.

  “Chef Hamilton. Congratulations. Two wins in two days is an accomplishment. You do honor to your Queen. As a result, the reward is – dinner with me, tonight, at Bar 65. As for the remaining seven of you, look envious. You are all now on notice: for the first time, at this roughly half-way mark till the finale, Chef Showdown has a front-running competitor.”

  “May I say something?” Eloise asked.

  Shelley gestured, and two cameramen shot her from different angles.

  “I’ve just had a magnificent dinner out,” Eloise said. “I asked to take a friend with me, but that wasn’t allowed. This time around, I’d like to send my friend in my place. I’m not sure everyone knows that Chef Brutus came straight to the studio as soon as he arrived in New York and hasn’t seen the city at all yet. Bar 65 would be a great place for him to start.”

  “Holy shit,” Buster said.

  Shelley didn’t have to signal this time. Both cameras swiveled to Toby. What the hell was Eloise up to? he wondered. What was special about this Bar 65 place, and why would his competitor risk appearing to reject some extra time with the judge?

  Best for him to wriggle out of it. “There’s no need for that,” Toby said. “I’d like to earn whatever I get.”

  “Do you not wish to have dinner with me, Chef Brutus?” Madame Queen mugged for the camera, a fierce and challenging stare. Okay, so now it wasn’t about Eloise; now it was about Nina Lestrade.