Chef Showdown_A Romance

by MJ Post

  “Of course. The cameras love my massive self,” said the restaurateur.

  “A few words for our chefs?”

  “Of course, you are a beautiful, just beautiful group of young people.”

  “I’m forty-one,” said Maryann.

  “Well, I have fifteen years on you, darling. As I said, a wonderful group, and notwithstanding my strained relationship with Madame Queen, I do believe you are in capable hands. She remains, ha ha, the best chef I’ve ever been married to. Ha ha. Well, then, what advice can I give you?” He rubbed Toby’s shoulder. “Best look out for my boy here. He has a better palate than Jacques Pepin. Right?”

  “Yeah, we know,” Eloise put in.

  “As for general advice — well, I think the secret, of if that’s not the word, hm, yes, the strategy is to keep your composure, and the best way to keep your composure, or is for me anyway, is humor. You know, people are wonderfully funny, aren’t they?”

  “I try to be,” Buster said.

  Boris looked around at the eight chefs, said, “When people are being at their worst, there is a certain comedy in it. We are all God’s creations put on the planet to do as best we can, right? So if someone is being bad, it’s just them struggling to do their best without enough tools.”

  “Amen,” said Vegas. “Life’s too short to be mean or get mad. Shoulder to the wheel.”

  Ironic he’d say that, Toby thought, considering what they had planned.

  “Shoulder to the wheel,” Boris echoed. He surveyed them again, settled on Alia. “As-salaam-alaikum.”

  “Wa-alaikum-salaam,” Alia answered.

  “What do you cook?”

  “Healthy soul food. No pork, no alcohol.”

  “Mmm-mmm. Send me a resume when you get out of here, sister.”

  Shaun Kerr tapped his arm. “We should get up to Lou in about five minutes. I’ll come get you then.”

  “Cut,” Shelley said, and gestured.

  Boris Winfrey walked around shaking hands again. Toby held his hand and pulled him close.

  “I really want you to meet Kacie Lee — the main person here with a chance to beat me.”

  “H’lo,” said Boris. “I looked up all of you before I came to the studio. You’re just getting started, aren’t you, Kacie?”

  “Just getting started, and already the best.”

  Toby considered how to signal Boris that this was the woman he loved. “I want you guys to cook for each other,” he tried.

  “I love burgers. I looooove Korean,” said Boris. “You got it, my son.” He moved his pointing finger back and forth. “The two of you…?

  “We’re just getting started, too,” Toby explained.

  “Fantastic. Fantastic.”

  “How long are you in town, Boris?” Toby asked.

  “Couple days. Couple days. Looking for a TV gig, looking at some real estate.”

  “Will you still be around when the show taping’s over? That’s in about a week.”

  “Might be. Give me a call. Listen, Kacie, let me tell you: my son here has an absolute heart of gold. Heart. Of. Gold.”

  “Yeah,” Kacie said. “Yeah, thanks. Be right back.” She stepped away.

  “She got some trust issues?” Boris asked.

  “I think we got over that hump,” Toby said.

  Shaun Kerr approached again; it hadn’t been five minutes. He took Boris’ elbow and steered him away.

  “You call me, boy!” Winfrey called from the studio entrance. “Call me!”

  “What a friendly man,” Eloise announced as she joined Toby. “The same in private?”

  “He’ll let you know if he’s unhappy with you, in subtle ways,” Toby explained. “When I was doing my stage for him, I had plenty of sleepless nights.”

  Shelley called a break. She had to go upstairs and coax Madame Queen out of her office, she explained, and added, “Hands off the fish!”

  Toby decided to start the fake feud. What he did now might not all be recorded, but it would alert the crew, who would tell Shelley when she got back. He stepped over to Vegas.

  “Hey, chef. When’s the last time you ever broke down a fish this big? I bet you forgot what knives to use.”

  “I did it when your mother came for a private visit, man,” Vegas replied. “Like, every night.”

  “Woo!” Buster shouted. “Take down!”

  Toby did the gesture of two fingers pointed at his eyes, then the same two pointed at Vegas.

  Vegas answered, “Yeah, man. I’ll show you.”

  Toby headed for the bathroom. Eloise and Kacie followed. “What was that?” both asked at the same time.

  “Just a little to get them interested. Derrick saw it?”

  “I think so,” said Eloise.

  “That’s not like you, Toby,” Kacie protested.

  “Vegas knows it’s coming.” Toby ducked into the bathroom.

  ∞∞∞

  About thirty minutes later, the challenge began when the sullen Madame Queen, gesturing with a half-eaten plum, told them to grab their fish. Buster barreled ahead and took a slightly smaller one. Louie carried Alia’s fish to her station before fetching his own. Kacie got her own fish, flung it over her shoulder. Toby, watching, thought how spunky she was and how much he loved that about her. He formed an image of them making love atop the crushed ice, her eyes shining, her saying “Fuck me, country boy.” So distracting.

  Eventually they were all at their stations with large fish in front of them and two knives at hand, one large for forceful cut, one medium sized and narrower, more flexible. Derrick reminded them to wear the plastic gloves in the top drawer of their stations.

  Maryann answered, “No, they’ll slow me down.”

  Toby remembered her saying that she had been a fishmonger in her twenties — that might give her the edge in accuracy, although she was diminutive compared to all the men, which might slow her down.

  Each chef was equipped with two trash buckets, one for the edible discards, and the other for the inedible guts and fins. Toby realized he and his opponents would have to go to one of two larger sinks in the back of the room that had extensible spray nozzles when it was time to hose out the blood. These things were frequently done on the fishing boat, or at the fishmonger’s, rather than by the chef, but he had worked in both those settings during the summers of his high school years.

  “Strike your timers!”

  Toby hit the button on his digital timer and set to work. Easy enough. He found the gill plate with his hands, then inserted the large knife and cut forward on both sides to separate the collar. Looked around and saw that Alia and Maryann were already past this step. Probing with the knife, he cut away a membrane inside the gut cavity. Now he should be able to dump the guts out, but no, they weren’t coming loose. Right, he’d forgotten something. He got the smaller knife and probed the underside near the tail till he found the fish’s anus, cut a ring around that and chopped it off, threw the small part into the trash can for inedible parts. Now the colon would come loose when he pulled on the rest. With main strength, he cut through the neckbone, twisted and broke the head free, tugged at it. Guts and a spurt of blood came out. He tossed the head, collar to nose, into the trash can for edible parts. The guts dangled over the side.

  Toby carried the headless fish toward the sinks, open cavity pointed at the ceiling. Maryann and Alia were neck and neck returning to their stations. He was third, with Louie coming right behind him. He rinsed out the blood with a few spurts of the spray nozzle and threw the fish over his shoulder. On the way back, he would take his first on-camera shot at Vegas. He strode up behind the older chef, whom he now saw had skipped the rinse and dumped the blood into his station sink, with a lot going to the floor.

  “Pretty sloppy, chef,” he said right near Vegas’ ear. “Your station shouldn’t look like the deck of a longliner.”

  “Man, you just don’t know who you’re messing with,” Vegas answered. “I was doing this as a teenager at L.A. Fish Compan
y for minimum wage.”

  “Well, I see why you never got a promotion.”

  “Yeah? Yeah, just — just go back over there.”

  Toby had wasted no more than half a minute, but he saw cameras pointed at him as he slammed his fish back down. He leaned into the nearest one, head sideways, and said, “He’s a butcher, but he has no chops.”

  He had just broken off the tail and thrown it into the trash can for inedibles when Madame Queen was by his side. “What is troubling you, Chef Brutus? Your behavior is most uncharacteristic!”

  “Trying to make him step up his game,” Toby answered as he felt around the tuna’s starboard pectoral fin for the fish’s armpit. “I think he’s gotten a little lost. No fire.”

  “Hey, shut up!” Vegas spat. “I’m a hardworking individual.”

  “We shall discuss it later.” Madame Queen waggled her finger at him.

  Alia left her own station, came to Toby’s, pulled his head to speak into his ear. “What’s gotten into you?” she demanded.

  “Go back,” Toby said. “Don’t waste time with me. Vegas is a big boy.”

  “You’re wasting more time than I am,” Alia told him. “And helping a friend isn’t wasting time, inshallah.”

  “You need to get back to work,” Louie said. He was now pulling on her arm.

  “I don’t like to see my friends go off the rails,” Alia barked. “Let go of me.”

  Louie said, “I think there’s more to it. Toby, tell us later, ‘kay?”

  “Sure will.”

  Toby returned to butchering. He hadn’t meant Alia to get involved; she had been neck-and-neck with Maryann but was now behind, and needed a higher quality score to win. His quality score should be good enough to keep him out of the cook-off, he thought; and Vegas would go in, which would give him the attention and TV exposure he wanted.

  With the serrated knife, Toby felt his way to the armpit of the fish and cut off the pectoral fin on the starboard side. The starboard bloodline started right where he ended his cut, so instead of switching to the heavier blade for the lengthier cut, he started sawing along that bloodline toward the tail.

  “Done!” Maryann called.

  Having separated the two starboard loins, Toby switched knives again and sawed through some bones, then followed the line of the spine to separate the top loin. He set it aside and switched to the bottom loin. The otoro, which he had to serve, was there. He cut it free, then sliced between the otoro and the bottom loin and set each onto the counter by the top loin.

  Alia finished next, and by the time Toby had removed the port side pectoral fin, Eloise and Louie were done. Buster and Kacie finished before him. Vegas finished after. Madame Queen checked and secretly scored all the fillets while they cleaned their stations. Then each competitor cut a piece of the otoro and set it onto a small dish. They were called to their marks and stood while Madame Queen examined and scored their bites on-camera. At last it was time for the result.

  With cameras ready, Madame announced, “The winner is Chef Chen. Your prize is a day off. You are immune tomorrow — you do not have to cook. Additionally, I will return your phone to you for one hour only, to make supervised calls to your family. No business calls. Understood?”

  “My family is my business.” Maryann seemed almost to be shaking, from exultation, from frustration.

  “Supervised, Chef Chen. Now, as to the rest of you. Chef Kamara, well done. Second place. Chef Alpharetto, Chef Hamilton, very good. Chef Wayne, sloppy butchering, but your muscularity helped you to finish faster than some whose cuts were also not so good, and your cut of otoro was the best. Chef Brutus, your behavior annoyed me immensely, so you will go into your third cook-off. ”

  “Fine,” Toby answered. Time to follow up on the fake rivalry he and Vegas had that morning conspired to create. “I can beat Chef Camacho, no problem.”

  “No, no,” said the judge. “That is what you want, isn’t it? I do not reward ill-mannered behavior. Chef Camacho was rattled by your amateurish tactics. He should not be exposed to risk. Tonight you will cook against an opponent you will have more difficulty to defeat. Your opponent is Chef Lee.”

  “Wait,” Kacie interrupted. “I get the stress of a cook-off because Toby was a jerk?”

  “No, let me do it,” Vegas burst out. “I’m ready to go, Madame. I’m the best! I can beat him, man!”

  “Your queen has spoken.”

  “Nina, come on,” Toby said. “Kacie’s innocent of this. She didn’t know what I was up to.”

  “But I did,” said Madame Queen. “Seeking more exposure for yourself at the expense of an opponent you do not respect? How blatant and petty! For your punishment, your good friend is now exposed.”

  “It’s unfair.”

  “Strike two, Chef Lee,” said the judge. “There, Chef Brutus. If you win, she is out. What do you say to that?”

  “It’s bullshit,” said Toby. His plan to help Vegas was way out of control. Why was Nina doing this?

  “So is your behavior. Chef Lee, I remove the strike. Chef Brutus, strike one. Go take a shower.”

  “You’re not my mother,” he fired at her. “You can’t tell me to...”

  “I am your QUEEN! Get out of my studio.”

  Toby had never cursed out anyone, let alone done so in front of a TV camera. He wouldn’t now either. A hysterical calm descended. His stomach was boiling with anger, but his thoughts slowed to a crawl. He balled his fists and stalked off-camera. Shelley pursued, caught up by the elevators.

  “Sorry,” Shelley said. “I didn’t know Madame would do anything like that when I told her about the deal you and Vegas made.”

  Toby took a few deep breaths. He didn’t think there was a camera on the wall here, but he wasn’t sure. Well, fuck it, he’d be honest. “You watched that stuff we said this morning?”

  “Sure. Over coffee in my office, I watch whatever overnight footage there is. I was for just telling you guys to call it off, but Madame said she would teach you a lesson. Exposing Chef Lee, that’s awful.”

  “So talk her out of it!” Toby didn’t want to compete against Kacie. He wanted them both to keep advancing without obstacles, but if one of them had to go out, let it be him. He had more experience than she did, and he had a mentor who had cared enough to come to New York that very day to check on him. Kacie needed the win more.

  “I can’t,” the director said. “The whole cast heard it, so we can’t really walk it back without pissing off a lot of people.”

  “Shelley, I was trying to help the guy out.”

  “You should not have done that,” said Madame Queen as she approached. “Try to win, not help him to win. Stupid boy. He’s not your friend. I will not allow you to help him.”

  “And messing me up achieves what? You could’ve just talked to me, Nina.”

  “You would not have learned … so well.”

  “And if you follow this lesson all the way through, and give Kacie a strike, I might lose her. But if I throw the cook-off, she’ll feel disrespected and I’ll lose her. Do we really deserve that? Shelley, you told us to be controversial. On day one, you told us that.”

  “He’s got a point,” Shelley said.

  “My show,” said the judge. “My rules. Go over my head and I’ll walk. My contract allows me significant creative control.”

  “Oh, Nina,” Shelley said. “The contract card, really?”

  “Do not challenge your queen on this.”

  Shelley threw up her hands. “I give up.”

  Maryann arrived, pushed the elevator button. Abruptly she tapped Toby on the shoulder. “You dumbass,” she said.

  “Yeah,” Toby said. “You got that right.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Kacie vs. Toby

  Kacie found it a great release to carve the huge bluefin tuna forcefully but accurately. She had always enjoyed the precision of butchering fish, found satisfaction in locating the correct spots to begin the knife-work. There was an inexplicabl
e pleasure in getting the angle and pressure just right and having the fish yield smoothly to her efforts. Lost in this, she didn’t realize that Toby was in a conflict with Vegas and Alia until it was nearly over.

  A moment to look up and follow the action would cost her a chance to win, wouldn’t it? But actually, Maryann, across from her, was so far ahead that Kacie had little chance anyway. She risked that moment. Had Vegas started something? Why? It was impossible to tell now. She waved to Louie, who was headed back to his station. “What happened?”

  “Toby said Vegas had lost his heart.”

  “Toby started it? That’s not like him.” Was it Kacie’s fault? Had she stressed him too much the last few days? “What did Alia do?”

  “She tried to make peace. She got fired up. Got to go.”

  Shit.

  Well, if Toby had started it, he’d have to own it, for the moment. She’d compete now and talk to him later. She stole a glance; he was back to butchering, his brow furrowed. He looked okay. Alia, her face framed by a green and white headscarf, had an angry stare and frown; she looked worse off, would need support first.

  It was about twenty minutes before both of them were free of on-camera activity, and Kacie could go to her friend. “I missed what happened. How bad was it?”

  “It’s okay,” Alia said. Frown lines on her forehead suggested otherwise, and the steadiness in her voice was forced. “I overreacted.”

  “Overreacted how?”

  “Toby just started criticizing Vegas out of nowhere. It was so unlike him, I got worried he was having a breakdown. I should have stayed out of it.”

  “Yeah,” Kacie said. “I should have gone. I wasn’t paying attention.” She held Alia’s hand. “It might have cost you a win. You have a right to be mad.”

  Alia squeezed her hand. “I’m not mad. Okay, maybe a little, but nothing I can’t handle. Just catch me up when you get the story.”

  They were called to their marks, and Kacie heard the announcement that she was going into the cook-off, and she argued that. The last thing she wanted to do was to beat Toby and give him a strike. She wanted him around till the end.