Where There's a Whisk

by Sarah J. Schmitt

  I hear Hakulani’s footsteps coming down the hall. “Hey,” he says, coming around the counter to stand next to me.

  “Final four,” I say.

  “When?” he asks, giving me a knowing look.

  I grab a piece of paper and write, “After the next Landmark Challenge. Before the elimination.”

  He nods in agreement.

  I hand him the pitcher. “Make yourself useful.”

  “Yes ma’am,” he says, leading the way.

  Once we’re upstairs, Hakulani fills a glass and hands it to me before filling one for himself and passing it on.

  Once we all have a glass, Malik begins the toast. “To Lola and Dani.”

  I raise my glass. “It’s no secret that Dani and I weren’t friends. Still, I have to admit, the girl knows her way around a kitchen.”

  “And Lola,” Paulie adds, “is going to reform the buffet. Ten bucks says she’ll have a chain before we’re twenty-five.”

  I laugh, but mostly because it’s true.

  Hakulani raises his glass. “I have no doubt the culinary world is going to welcome them both with open arms.”

  We spend the rest of the night around the firepit, reminiscing about everything we’ve done since we got here. I don’t know what it is about being in the final four, but it screams time to reflect.

  “Do you think you’re a better chef than when you came here?” Malik asks.

  I think about his question for a moment. “I think I’ve challenged myself to do things I wouldn’t have thought of before coming here. They haven’t always turned out the way I wanted them to, but I’ve learned a lot.”

  “I would agree with that,” Paulie says. “But I think the people I’ve learned the most from are you guys. Like, we’re supposed to be each other’s competition, right? But yet everyone has been willing to share tips and secrets.”

  “Like how to make fancy French cookies with two old eggs,” Hakulani says, raising his glass in my direction.

  “Exactly,” Paulie says, smiling. “I didn’t know that.”

  “Okay,” I say, “I’m going to bed. This lovefest is getting to be too much.”

  “It wouldn’t be a lovefest if Dani were still here,” Malik reminds me.

  “True.”

  Everyone stands to follow me downstairs, but I stop them. “I didn’t mean to break up the party.”

  Malik picks up the pitcher. “It makes sense to go to bed. Who knows what they’re going to throw at us tomorrow.”

  “Good point,” I say. “Okay. You may follow me.”

  When we get back to the kitchen, there is an envelope on the island.

  “Was that here before?” Hakulani says.

  “I was the last to leave the room and it wasn’t there,” I say. “The PA elves have struck again.”

  “Open it,” Paulie says, nudging Malik.

  Malik reaches for the envelope and pulls out a card with four prepaid credit cards, four subway tickets, and a map titled Food Trucks of New York City.

  “It says, ‘Take tomorrow off and explore the to-go foodie world on us. The camera crew will be ready to follow you around at noon. Have fun, but don’t go crazy. Love, Jessica.’”

  A slow smile spreads across my face. “Does that mean that we get the run of the town tomorrow?”

  “No challenge?” Hakulani says. “Are they serious?”

  “How much is on the cards?” Paulie asks, picking up the credit card on top and flipping it over. “This says one hundred dollars.”

  “We each get a hundred dollars to eat for one day.”

  “This is going to be a blast,” Hakulani says. “And, with that, I’m going to bed.”

  “Need to rest up?” Paulie says.

  “Absolutely.”

  We scatter without another word. As excited as I am, I don’t know how long it takes me to fall asleep, but if I had to guess, I would say it could be measured in less than ten seconds.

  The next morning, I wake up and stretch. Not having to get up early to get to the studio is a luxury, and one I’m not willing to give up so easily. I check the clock and realize that even though we don’t have a challenge today, it’s probably a good idea to get up and get ready.

  After showering and throwing on some jeans and a top, I head to the living room, where the guys are playing pool again. “You guys are always playing. I bet you could walk into a bar and run a hustle.”

  All three turn to me with a look that says whatever I just said is ridiculous.

  “Never mind.”

  A knock at the door lets us know that the camera crew is here, and just like that we are ready to roll.

  “Who has the cards?” I ask, and Hakulani stands and hands a set to me.

  “I’m so excited that I’m finally going to ride the subway.”

  There are two great things about an around-the-world food tour of street carts and food trucks. One, you don’t have to agree with your friends on what to try next; and two, since you’re walking the entire time, you burn off the food almost as fast as you consume it. Okay, yes, the drawback is that sometimes the spices from India and Thailand don’t always play well with each other, but by the time we return to our designated meeting point, I’m moments away from falling into a food coma.

  Another thing I learn is that there are a million different food trucks in the city. Some we find through the map; others just appear on our path like magic.

  “How do you think they’re going to spin this into a challenge?” Malik asks.

  “No idea,” Paulie says, slouching down in the seat. “But you know it’s something about a food truck.”

  “Obviously,” Malik says. “But I mean, what are they going to have us do?”

  The conversation turns to possibilities, and I try to listen, but honestly, what I need now is a nap. Between the heat of the city and the superhuman amount of food I’ve just consumed, I have a hard time staying awake on the subway, until Hakulani stands and offers me his hand to stand up.

  Then we lead the way onto the platform and up the stairs to the street.

  As we approach the apartment building, the camera crew still in tow, I remember the first day I entered this building. It feels like a lifetime ago, even though it’s only been a couple weeks. In other news, I’ve almost started to forget about the cameras, but not completely.

  “Anyone up for a roof night?” Malik says.

  I shake my head. “If I don’t get off my feet and under my covers, I’m going to die.”

  “Okay, grandma,” Paulie says.

  “Joke’s on you. My Grams never went to bed this early. Night.”

  Before falling asleep, I realize this show is turning me into a baby. All I do is eat, sleep, and feel like crying. And I’m okay with that tonight.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  MORNING COMES TOO SOON, AND BEFORE I KNOW it, we are back in the studio with Jessica smiling at us.

  The disembodied voice tells us to line up, and we move quickly.

  Jessica smiles at us. “This is going to be a fun Landmark Challenge. Yesterday, you spent the day roaming the streets of New York looking for the best food trucks the city has to offer. I hope you took notes, because you’re going to need them.”

  A chorus of affirmative greetings rings out, and she beams. “That’s good because now you’re going to take those flavors and combinations and work in teams of two to plan a menu for your own food truck.”

  We whoop and holler, but deep down I’m nervous. I mean, I love a good food truck as much as the next person, but we don’t know the first thing about running one.

  As if reading my mind, Jessica adds, “And to make sure you don’t violate any health codes, I would like to introduce your coaches, Eddie and Oscar Brown, co-owners of Gourmet Grub to Go, New York’s hottest food truck franchise.”

  “We stopped by your truck on Church and Fulton,” Hakulani says quickly.

  Eddie nods with approval but says nothing.

  Jes
sica continues. “Hopefully you were all inspired by the amazing cuisine you can find all around the city because you are…”

  I look at Hakulani. I’m pretty sure I know what she’s going to say.

  “… going to run a food truck of your very own for one whole day. The winner of this Landmark Challenge will be determined by your total sales at the end of the day.”

  “No judges?” I say in surprise.

  Jessica shakes her head. “Not unless you count the entire population of the city.”

  “I’d rather not,” Paulie says.

  “And since you worked so well together in the previous challenge, that’s your team for today.”

  I look up at Hakulani and grin while Malik and Paulie do their special handshake.

  “With the help of our guest chefs, you’ll set the theme, the menu, and the prices. We’ll provide the location and truck.”

  I try to look excited but have to force the smile on my face. As much as I loved eating my way through the city via food truck, I also remember the long lines and the hot, cramped kitchens.

  Jessica continues. “You have one hour to come up with a concept so our design team can get to work on your truck graphics. Then you’ll have three hours to come up with your menu and get your shopping list together.”

  “And then?” Malik asks.

  Jessica smiles. “I’d get to work if I were you,” she tells us as the clock begins to count down one hour.

  Hakulani and I sprint to the back of the room, leaving Paulie and Malik behind. On my prep station there’s a giant pad of paper and a package of colored markers. I spin the pad around and dump the markers out.

  “Okay, concept. What are we thinking?” I ask, pulling the cap off the brown marker and getting ready to write. We look at each other, but no one says anything. It’s like we have a collective brain freeze.

  “We need something unique,” Hakulani says. “When we were out yesterday, was there any type of food that you thought was missing?”

  “Hot dogs?” I say with a straight face, and we both burst out laughing.

  “There wasn’t a Spam truck,” Hakulani says. I can’t tell if he’s joking or not, so I write the idea down.

  “I can honestly say there was not a Spam menu out there.”

  “I was kidding,” he says. “We can’t serve Spam. Maybe in Hawaii where it’s more common, but I don’t think it’s going to have enough of a fan base in New York City.”

  “Probably not,” I agree, before breaking out into a big grin. “But a Hawaiian food truck could be a hit.”

  Hakulani nods. “I think that would be awesome.”

  “It sounds like we might have a concept.” I cross out “Spam” and write “Hawaiian food” on our pad of paper and gesture for our guest chef to join us. Jessica must notice because she follows Oscar as he makes his way over to us. I already see Eddie joking with Paulie and Malik.

  “Do you guys need help with a concept?” he asks.

  “I think we might have one,” Hakulani says.

  Oscar’s lips purse slightly and he nods his head as we tell him about our idea.

  “What kind of food would you serve?” he asks.

  We look at each other. “I thought we just needed a concept to start,” I say.

  Oscar nods again. “True, but you have to make sure you have enough to make a menu. You need to keep it simple but still be competitive. I’m not saying you need the entire menu hammered down now, but enough to know you’ve got a good plan.”

  I look at Hakulani. “You’re the resident expert. What would you recommend?”

  “Maybe loco moco?”

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  “A ground beef patty on a bed of sticky rice with brown gravy and either a sunny-side-up or fried egg on top.”

  “Okay,” Oscar says. “That sounds like a solid dish that doesn’t require a ton of ingredients, which is good when you’re working in a small space, but that’s a dish that is really only going to appeal to your more adventurous eaters. Since you’re making rice, I would suggest thinking of some other toppers.”

  “We could do mochiko,” Hakulani says. “It’s our version of fried chicken.”

  “Good,” Oscar says. “What else?

  “Garlic shrimp?” I suggest. “Grilled or fried.”

  “Maybe you could upsell by offering fried rice instead of regular,” Oscar suggests.

  “And if they don’t want it in a bowl, they could opt for tacos,” I suggest. “We could add a slaw taco option, as well, for the vegetarians.”

  Oscar nods. “I think it sounds like a solid concept. Draw up the plans for the truck so they can get to work on it, and I’ll be back to check on you when you’re ready to work out your menu.”

  Then we spend the next forty-five minutes chatting, debating, and sketching out the dream version of what we want our truck to look like.

  “Do you think they could attach a sign at the top that looks like multiple waves?” Hakulani asks, pointing at the top of my sketch.

  “We can ask,” I say, making a note and adding waves to the top of the truck. “Like this?”

  He nods. “Yeah. By the way, what are we going to call it?”

  “Island something,” I suggest. “Like Island Breeze?”

  “What about Ono Grindz?” Hakulani says. “It translates to ‘delicious food.’”

  “I think it’s perfect.” I lean down and fill in the space we left for the name on the side of the truck. “Our menu board can be a chalkboard square and I can do the lettering in the morning.”

  Oscar joins us and peeks over my shoulder. “Not bad,” he says approvingly. “Hopefully they can get a turquoise truck.”

  “We listed yellow or black as other options.” I point out.

  “It’s going to get really hot in a black truck,” he says.

  “Yeah, but it will really make the graphics pop,” Hakulani counters.

  “That’s true,” Oscar agrees. “Well, only one way to find out, so you better go turn that in.”

  I roll up the sheet and leave the guys to start brainstorming the menu and listing the different ingredients. On my way up to the judges’ table I run into Paulie.

  “How’s it going?”

  He shrugs. “Good. We’re going for a man’s man menu.”

  “Sounds very masculine.”

  “Better go,” he says. “I need to make plans to kick your butt tomorrow.”

  “Like that’s going to happen.” I hip check him gently as I push by him.

  When I get back to our station, Hakulani is starting on the shopping list.

  “How’s it going?”

  “Well, we’ve got good news, and we’ve got not-so-great news,” he says.

  “Okay. What’s the good news?” I say, looking over the recipes and ingredients.

  “Oscar is going to be on the truck tomorrow helping us out,” Hakulani says as he grabs a marker and adds another thing to the list.

  “That’s not good news,” I say. “That’s great news. So, what’s the bad news?”

  “To make the best fried rice, you need to use day-old rice.”

  “Oh,” I say, then it sinks in. “Oh, no.”

  He nods. “Yep, and Oscar thinks we should each make the dishes at least once so that we’re able to cover for each other tomorrow.”

  I sigh and run a hand over my face. “Do we have all the supplies?”

  He looks at the well-stocked pantry and fridge. “Yeah, I think we’re going to be okay. Jessica said if we get a list for today she can send one of the PAs out to get what we need.”

  “Well, put rice on that list.”

  “Fifty pounds?”

  “That’s a lot of rice.”

  “Better to have extra than not enough.”

  I nod. “Why not. Rice is pretty cheap.”

  Hakulani and I search the pantry for all the ingredients we need.

  “We should probably get the shopping list pulled together for the PAs,” I say
, waving Oscar over.

  He’s more than happy to help us estimate how much food we need to order for tomorrow.

  “Oscar, you are a lifesaver,” I say. “I don’t know if we would have been able to figure that out on our own.”

  “I think we still need something sweet,” I say, stirring the brown gravy for the loco moco.

  A grin spreads over Hakulani’s face as he grabs the supply list just as a PA is about to pick it up.

  “One sec,” he says, scribbling something down. “There you go,” he says, handing the list back to her.

  “Um, Hakulani,” I say, looking him directly in the eye, “you want to clue me in?”

  He grins. “There’s only one Hawaiian treat for a hot summer afternoon. Shaved ice.”

  “Like a snow cone?” I ask.

  Hakulani shoots me a glare that could melt one of his shaved ice cups. “You’ll see. Once you’ve had a real shaved ice, snow cones will be like eating gravel.” He looks over our station and then calls over his shoulder, “Hey, Oscar, you ready to have your taste buds blown? Because Ono Grindz is open and we are ready to serve.”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-NINE

  AFTER WE FINISH IN THE KITCHEN, THE FOUR OF us, along with Oscar, Eddie, and Jessica, head off to check out the trucks we’re going to be using tomorrow. As our bus pulls up to the location, I tap Hakulani on the arm and point excitedly out the window. “They got a turquoise one,” I say. “If they can put a wave on the top, it’s going to look so cool.”

  Next to our truck is a black one with orange, yellow, and red flames painted on it.

  Paulie leans forward. “I told you it was badass.”

  I look closer. “Is that a grill mounted on the back?”

  Malik laughs. “Yup.”

  Hakulani looks at them. “Are you doing ribs?”

  “And pasta,” Paulie says, looking offended. “We’re calling it, ‘Stick to Your Ribs.’” He makes an arch with his hands to emphasize each word.

  Jessica laughs as the bus pulls to a stop. “Let’s go see your trucks.”