Chapter 8
here were three more rounds of Pantry Pick-Up. Oliver won a mandolin and a kitchen torch and Rae won a food scale.
“Why did you pick that?” asked Caroline.
Rae carefully placed the scale into her toolbox, then looked up. “Recipes from other countries use weight as a measurement, not cups and tablespoons. Now I can make anything.”
Chef Nancy had to take two camera cards away from Tate. “You can’t look directly into the camera and smile.”
Tate slumped and shuffled his feet. “I know, but my mom always says Smile for the camera. So it’s hard not to. She trained me.”
Chef Nancy tried to hide her smile. It wasn’t the excuse she was expecting. “Okay, but please try to ignore the cameras while we’re filming.”
Tate nodded, but then frowned.
Rae looked at Caroline and made a sad face. Poor Tate. The mini-challenges were over and everyone had a prize except for him.
⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅
After lunch, it was “camera time.” That’s what Chef Nancy called the extra shots Steve the producer wanted. They filmed some close-ups: Rae’s hand picking fiddleheads from the pantry, Tate filling up his basket with rainbow carrots, Caroline opening the heavy fridge door, and then the rest was all Oliver . . . and his hand. Oliver’s hand was like the superstar of the day! There were close-ups of his hand holding a cantaloupe, choosing arugula, reaching high on the spice shelf for anise, picking up oyster mushrooms off the floor to put back into the overturned basket, and then finally holding a small quail’s egg. Oliver acted like it was no big deal, but it was obvious he loved it.
I’m super excited to show the judges my idea for my food truck if I win. I don’t want to give it away, but it has something to do with this charm on my necklace. I make charms all the time. This one’s for my grandma. I made a clay teacup, because we have tea together every day at four o’clock. She’s the one who started me cooking and crafting. My two favorite things!
⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅
Oliver, Rae, Tate, and Caroline were in the filming studio, waiting. The judges were late. It was hard to be excited and still at the same time. Tate did some jumping jacks. Chef Nancy rushed over and straightened his hair. She was pickier when the judges were around. Suddenly a door opened and Chef Gary, Chef Aimee, and Chef Porter walked into the room. Instantly, everything got a lot more exciting!
While the judges got themselves seated at the big table, Chef Nancy whispered some last-minute instructions to the junior chefs. “Cameras are on. Remember: Don’t look at the cameras. Look at the judges.”
The judges were going to call them up separately for a sit-down chat. This was a lot more special than lining up in a row. And they’d all get the exact same question. If you become the Next Best Junior Chef, what will your food truck be?
My food truck is called the Crafty Café. It will serve food and will have all sorts of craft kits for sale. People will come to eat good food and do crafts together.
My food truck is called Bistro Revilo. I’ll serve organic and locally sourced food. The menu will be creative bistro food. Revilo is Oliver spelled backwards. It’s perfect, because I did a twist with my name and I’ll add a twist to bistro food, too.
My food truck will be called Diner Française. I love American diners, but mine will serve diner food with a French twist. It’ll be a creative mix of flavors. The first thing I want on the menu is croissants filled with cereal-infused pastry cream.
My food truck will be called Stuff My Face. I’ll serve a mashup of foods; there won’t be a set menu. One day it could be Japanese inspired, the next Korean, or Greek. People will come back because they will want to try new things. And if someone asks where they’re going for lunch, they can say, “I’m going to Stuff My Face!”
⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅
The judges really liked the Crafty Café, Bistro Revilo, and Diner Française. When Tate presented Stuff My Face, Chef Gary laughed, Chef Aimee smiled, but not Chef Porter—she only frowned.
“It’s clever,” said Chef Gary.
“It’s funny,” said Chef Aimee.
“It’s fine,” said Chef Porter, but her face looked as if she’d just eaten a super-sour pickle.
Tate withered like spinach in a pan—all his energy instantly gone. He took his place next to Oliver, close to tears.
Chapter 9
hef Nancy looked at Tate. The double negative—no wins and a bad review from Chef Porter—had taken its toll. He stood motionless, head down and shoulders drooped. Thankfully there was still time to turn things around. Knife skills were next. She looked at her watch—yes, there was time. She’d add a chopping challenge. Tate was a master chopper, and hopefully this would improve his mood.
Chef Nancy glanced around the filming studio. The contestants were at their workstations, the Gadget Wall was in place, and the medics were seated. Medics were present for all cooking and knife-related lessons and challenges. Safety was important.
She made her announcement. “Next up we’ll have a knife skills lesson and then a chopping mini-challenge.” She snuck a peek at Tate. He was listening and straightened up, surprised.
Chef Nancy always started the knife lesson with a paper test. A sharp knife was a chef’s best friend. A dull knife was dangerous. She had everyone hold up a piece of paper and then slice it in half. That was the test of a truly sharp knife.
Everyone knew the basics: pinch grip for holding the knife, and claw grip for holding whatever you were cutting. Safety and calm were essential when using knives, so timed challenges were out. Chopping challenges were graded solely on skill. Chef Nancy held up three carrots. She sliced the first one paper-thin, then used the batonnet cut to turn the other two into sticks. She held them up for everyone to see, and then chopped some more until she had an assortment of large, medium, and small cubes.
She picked up one of the tiniest cubes. “Does anyone know the name of this cut?” Tate, Oliver, and Caroline all raised their hands. Chef Nancy pointed to Tate.
“Brunoise cut.” He grinned, bouncing up and down. It was his specialty.
Steve and the camerapeople came in just as the lesson was finishing up. Mark and Janet quickly took their places.
A minute later, Steve gave the start signal. “Rolling!”
Chef Nancy held up an onion, a turnip, and a potato. “This challenge is not about time—it’s about perfection. I want you to turn this potato into tiny cubes, this onion into paper-thin slices, and this turnip into perfectly julienned strips. You may begin.”
Tate peeled his potato, cut it in half, then used the batonnet cut, just as Chef Nancy had demonstrated. Minutes later perfect tiny cubes fell onto his cutting board. When Tate was chopping, his feet didn’t bounce and his concentration didn’t waver. He was calm and careful. At the end of the challenge, Tate had the largest amount of perfectly sliced onions, julienned turnips, and cubed potatoes.
“Congratulations, Tate! You are the winner. You may choose an item from the Gadget Wall.” Chef Nancy breathed a sigh of relief.
Tate jumped up, high-fived the air, and raced off to the wall. Seconds later he was walking back—carefully—holding a Santoku knife.
“Nice choice.” Chef Nancy nodded approvingly.
Tate grinned.
Oliver was surprised by Tate’s win. “Tate has knife skills?”
Rae beamed. “I know, isn’t that great? Now we all have prizes.”
Caroline didn’t say anything, because she was crying. The tears were mostly from the onion, but a few were for something else. Chef Nancy was holding one of her camera cards.
“I’m sorry, Caroline. You can’t turn your back and try to hide from the cameras. They need to be able to see what you’re doing.”
Caroline sniffled and nodded. The cameras were always watching, ready to catch any mistake. Just thinking about it made her hand shake. Not a good thing when she was in the middle of chopping up a turnip.
I’m glad Tate won. His food truck i
dea was kind of a bomb. This might help him feel a little better. It’s hard when you disappoint the judges. That’s not something you can easily forget.
Chapter 10
fter dinner, the junior chefs had time to video-chat with their families.
Even though we’re away from home, It’s not so bad, because I get to talk to my grandma every day. She wants to know everything I’m doing. If there was a Next Best Grandma Chef, she’d win for sure. She’s a great chef and she likes learning new things.
Tate told his mom about smiling for the camera.
She shook her head. “You’re right! It’s my fault. Forget I ever said it! Don’t listen to me!”
He didn’t tell her about Chef Porter and his food truck idea. Moms didn’t need to know everything.
Before saying goodbye, his mom leaned forward until the whole screen was just her nose and a giant eye. “And you be careful with those knives! Do you promise?” And then she whispered, “Master Chopper.”
“Mom!” Tate put his hand over his heart. “I promise.”
⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅
Rae sat on the side of her bed and went over the day in her head. She felt comfortable in her workstation, she’d learned her way around the pantry, she’d had good interviews, and she’d even won a mini-challenge. That was a lot for one day. And best of all, everyone was happy. She’d been worried about Tate, but at the last minute . . .
“. . . Tate won!”
Caroline sat up and leaned over. “I know! I’m happy for him too!”
Rae turned, surprised. Was Caroline a mind reader?
Caroline smiled. “You talk to yourself. That’s okay—I do too, but not as much as you.”
Rae blushed.
Caroline lowered her voice. “Poor Tate. Chef Porter’s a little scary.”
Rae looked up. “A little?”
Caroline laughed. “Okay, a lot.”
Rae shook her head. “She doesn’t like kids.”
“Except Oliver.” Caroline’s face got serious. “You can tell by the way she looks at him.”
Rae scrunched up her nose. “That’s because Oliver is like a grownup in a kid body. He doesn’t act like a kid, or even look like one. He wears shirts like my dad. Don’t you think he’s a little strange?”
“But he saved you,” said Caroline.
“Caught me,” corrected Rae. “Saved and caught are different.”
“Well, I think he’s okay. Maybe not super friendly, but Tate likes him.”
“Tate likes everybody.”
Caroline laughed. “Not true.” And then she made a face like she’d just eaten a sour pickle. It was a good Chef Porter impression.
Rae dissolved into giggles.
⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅
Tate and Oliver were supposed to be sleeping, but Oliver had a question. Something he needed to know.
“That knife thing today—how come you were so good at it? Did you take lessons?”
Tate shook his head. “Not really. I just watched some YouTube videos and then practiced a lot.”
“So no one came over and gave you lessons? Or gave you lessons at a restaurant?”
“No—do people do that? Is that a thing?”
Oliver lay back down. “Maybe.”
Tate wasn’t giving up. “Do you know someone who did that?”
Oliver grumbled, “I know someone who wants to sleep.” Then he turned and pulled the covers right over his head.
Sunday
Chapter 11
hef Nancy watched everyone file into the filming studio. Caroline and Rae were whispering to each other, Tate was hopping up and down next to Oliver, and the King of Calm seemed cool and collected. This was the way to start a day.
Chef Nancy clapped her hands to get their attention. “Can anyone tell me what plating is?”
“Making food look nice on the plate,” answered Tate.
Chef Nancy nodded. “True, but it’s more than that. It’s an important step in sharing the eating experience. Seeing the food leads to eating the food, which leads to enjoying the food. And as a chef, your job is to make each of these steps as enticing and as pleasurable as possible.”
“What about smelling the food?” asked Caroline.
“Of course,” said Chef Nancy. “That too.”
Chef Nancy handed out big white boards and small plastic containers of sauce—a red one and a green one.
Rae rubbed her hand over the surface of the board, then rested it against her cheek. “It’s smooth and cool like a dinner plate.”
Chef Nancy nodded. “Good catch. These are porcelain boards. This is the same material used to make fine china . . . which means they’re breakable, so don’t drop them.”
Tate held up the green container. “Can we eat it?”
Caroline frowned. “We just had breakfast!”
“I know. I was only wondering.”
Chef Nancy ignored Tate and continued. She held up the red sauce. “We’re going to practice our decorating skills. You can do a lot with a thin sauce. Drop a dollop onto the board, clean the back of the spoon, and then drag the spoon through the sauce. Practice some spoon drags. Try making swirls, zigzags, and circles. The green sauce is thicker, more of a purée . . . and definitely NOT for eating!” She looked at Tate. “You’ll want to try more of a smear after you get it on the board. If your board fills up, just wipe it off and start again.”
Chef Nancy wandered around the room while everyone was practicing.
“This green sauce is impossible!” complained Tate. “It’s too blobby.”
“Don’t press so hard,” suggested Caroline. “Try smooth and slow.”
“My swirls aren’t great either,” confessed Rae. “It’s good that food goes on top to cover the mistakes.”
“Don’t give up,” said Chef Nancy encouragingly. “It’s better to practice now, when you have the time and no one is judging you.”
Oliver practiced his smears and swirls, but he didn’t need to—he was an expert already. He’d learned from the best. There were two world-class restaurants in his hometown, and the head chefs had helped him. He’d gone for lessons six Saturdays in a row. It was kind of a surprise that no one else had done that. Or maybe they were like him, keeping it secret. Self-taught sounded a lot more impressive than private lessons. He dropped a dollop of red sauce on his board and made a swirly double S.
“Perfect!” Whatever the challenge, he was going to win.
Some people have the desire to practice and some people just have talent. I’m lucky. I have both.
I know looks are important, but isn’t taste more important? I never judge food until after the first bite. That’s only fair.
Chapter 12
hef Nancy called the junior chefs up to the front table to explain the next mini-challenge.
“Each of you will be given a surprise box. These boxes contain three plates, three proteins, three sauces, three salads, and various garnishes. When we start, you’ll have fifteen minutes to assemble three beautifully plated meals. Just so you know, the proteins look real, but they’re plastic. We don’t want to waste food if we don’t have to. And remember, when I call time, I want all your hands in the air. No last-minute changes.”
She looked around the room nodding, making sure they each nodded back.
She clapped her hands. “Okay, everyone—places.”
A minute later they were starting.
“Rolling!” shouted Steve.
The first thing I did was take everything out of the box and arrange it on my table. You have to think about color and texture when you’re plating. A good dish has a combination of colors, textures, and shapes. Something fun for your eyes and something fun for your mouth.
There were rules for plating and Rae knew them. She put a few of the plastic shrimp to the side. A good chef plated in odd numbers, threes or fives, not fours. Asymmetry, an uneven plate, was always more interesting. Rae picked out a round plate and dropped three dollops of yellow sauce in the middle. S
he swirled the sauce out from the center of the plate, then placed the three shrimp in the white space between the swirls. Pale shrimp, a white plate, yellow sauce—she needed some color.
She chose a slaw dotted with bright red pomegranate seeds and arranged a small mound in the center of the plate.
The red seeds added a nice pop of color. Leaving white space on the plate was important, so Rae was careful with the microgreens—not too many, just enough to engage the eye to move around the plate.
She looked it over. “Good enough to eat, except it’s plastic.”
Oliver was just finishing up his last plate when Chef Nancy called time. He put his hands in the air—triumphant. His plates looked amazing! The edges were clean, the swirls were perfect, and the plastic food looked delicious.
Chef Nancy walked from station to station examining the plates.
Oliver scanned the room. Rae was his only competition. He knew that even though he couldn’t see her plates. She was good at decorating stuff, probably because she made all those tiny clay charms. He studied Caroline. What a mess. There was green sauce everywhere—on her face, on her apron, and on the edge of one of her plates—that was definitely not on purpose. She’d lose points for that. He wasn’t worried about Tate. Sure, he could chop, but he didn’t have the patience for plating. His plates were busy: too many elements, oversize portions, and no focal point for the eye. Oliver leaned forward, trying to see Rae’s plates, but Chef Nancy was standing in the way. He clenched and unclenched his hands. He had to win! Winning today would be an advantage for tomorrow. With three wins he’d be in the lead. He deserved that!
Lights, Camera, Cook! Page 3