An Acquired Taste

by Kelly Cain

  “Wyatt!” Mama hisses.

  He circles back to our table, eyebrows drawn together, getting right in Mama’s face. “Ma’am?”

  She whispers, “Even if you didn’t read the rules, didn’t you just hear that woman tell us not to go in the kitchen?”

  The horrified look that passes over his face is almost comical. I doubt he cares about breaking the rules, but he definitely wouldn’t want to embarrass Lillie. That wouldn’t bother me as much.

  I’m so focused on my laptop and still giggling at Wyatt’s faux pas that I don’t notice when Knox and his brothers enter the studio. When I look up again to their table, they’re all sitting there. My face heats immediately when Knox turns to me and winks. Caught me lookin’. Weston smiles and waves. Declan scowls. Or he simply looks. I dunno, I’ve only seen him a handful of times, but that seems to be his default. He probably thinks this competition is beneath him. As the oldest, I imagine he’ll be next in line as head chef at their father’s restaurant.

  I overcompensate and rotate my head in the complete opposite direction. Oh, the Smith son is looking right at me, and our eyes lock.

  This day is not starting out as expected.

  The final family sashays in. There’s really no other way to describe the way they move. All women, sisters maybe. Cousins? They’re all mid- to late-twenties, model thin, and gorgeous. Also, I was not expecting another Black family. Out of four competing, that almost seems impossible. They notice the equally gorgeous other family and throw grins their way.

  I mumble, “Seven brides for seven brothers, I guess.”

  Wyatt laughs. “Why do you care? You hate them.”

  I shrug. “Whatever. I don’t hate them. And I don’t care.”

  Mama nudges me to be quiet as the director comes over to get this party started. This morning, the Smiths and Everhearts will square off, two challenges each. We’ll face the Dolter goddesses this afternoon with the same format but different challenges. Tomorrow it’ll be us in the morning and them in the afternoon, one challenge each. Watching our competition is encouraged. There’ll be a whole new set of families the day after we finish, and I’ll definitely be staying to scope the advancing opponents. That’s how confident I am that we’ll make it out of the first round.

  While the director gives us her last instructions, the crew has already started filming. She says, “We’ll mostly film everything as we go and edit later. The two families left for the finals will get visits to your family restaurants which will be B-roll footage. Please keep in mind that when you’re not cooking, you still may be filmed.”

  I give Mama and Wyatt pointed looks. Mama’s pretty good at keeping her emotions in check, but Wyatt has a glass face. He doesn’t even try to look abashed, only grins.

  The Everhearts don their black coats and head to their kitchen on the right. The Smiths do the same, taking up their space on the left. The hosts make their entrance on camera and introduce themselves—Aaron Jackson and Lee Varchick. They’ve hosted both seasons prior so I’m not surprised by their appearance.

  Then they introduce the judges. It’s different every season, so my mouth drops open when Michelin-star chef Lucca Buccola walks onto the set and takes a deep bow. Whoa, this is huge. He has thirteen restaurants throughout the world, all but one with at least two Michelin stars. And according to the trades, he just partnered with another well-known chef to create a restaurant consulting business. They’re hiring different positions of expertise, including chefs to fly around the world to their clients and consult on overhauling or creating restaurants. Not that I would ever be interested in something like that—I just want a bigger place for us and more control—but the concept fascinates me and would be a great opportunity. I glance at Mama, grinning, and she lifts an eyebrow, not understanding my excitement.

  The other judge is introduced and just when I’ve closed my mouth, it falls back open, hitting the floor this time. Cassia Ellerson is a professor. No, check that, she’s a dean. And we have history. She was the dean of our school. A very nice woman, but tired of our shit quickly.

  I can’t help but look Knox’s way when Dean Ellerson is introduced. He’s staring straight at her, not even blinking. Her dazzling smile is just as bright as I remember. She was made for the camera. Knox’s frown is just as it was during our many strife-filled meetings with her, deep and intimidating. His eye color ice blue.

  Knox Everheart is angry.

  *

  The first competition is making a meal for four people for under twenty-five dollars. Two courses, a main and dessert. The pantries are stocked with everything a professional chef could possibly need, but price tags are attached. They have an hour and a half.

  My mind races through the endless possibilities of what I would make. Then I think about what the Everhearts will create. Knox cooks with passion but is impulsive. Paired with Declan’s penchant for originality and it’s anyone’s guess what they’ll come up with. Weston will play it safe with his dessert, especially during the first competition.

  The Smiths are politely speaking to each other, no hurry, no fuss. It’s difficult to tell who the leader is, because they’re just so nice to each other, everyone having input. Their communication is what makes them dangerous. If a team doesn’t communicate in the kitchen, they’re set up for failure.

  Unless you’re an Everheart; they can read each other’s every thought. I shift my focus back to them, and my brain flutters. Knox’s eyes are aquamarine—focused—and seeing him standing over a mound of flour, cracking eggs within its well, takes me back to our first year.

  I’d walked into my first cooking class, and there he stood. Tall, dark curly hair well past the collar of his coat, crystalline topaz eyes, tanned skin like he’d just come from the beach. He looked at me, and we held that look until another student bumped into me in passing. I blushed furiously and found my name tacked on the station across from this beautiful chiseled Greek god. We made pasta that day, and it would go on to become his specialty although it isn’t served in his father’s restaurant for some strange reason. At the time, I only knew him to be the finest man I’d ever laid eyes on. I was just out of high school so it’s not like I’d had a ton of exposure, but I knew real beauty when I saw it.

  When the class ended, I made for the door, and he followed me out, turning in the same direction. Not surprising considering it was a small-ish school and we were on the same track.

  The god spoke. “Looks like we have the next class together. American Lit?”

  I took a deep breath, calming my nerves. “Yes.” I probably didn’t need the breath for that bit of nonsense. I rolled my eyes and tried again. “I guess I have the first-day jitters. You really seem to have an aptitude for pasta already. Mine was a glutenous mess.”

  He laughed and it was a magical sound. One that I could get lost in all the days of my life. “My mother was from Italy, and she taught me from when I was very little.”

  Hmmm was. Should I have just guessed she died and offered condolences? Then again, maybe she ran off with the milkman. This is where being an introvert all my life had gotten me; I couldn’t even have a simple conversation without exuding awkwardness.

  Along with mastering pasta on the first day of culinary school and being the most handsome boy in the universe, he was a pretty good judge of character and saved me. He offered me a slightly crooked smile, sadness marked all over it. “She passed away several years ago, but I haven’t forgotten anything she taught me.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  He shrugged and pulled a pack of gummy bears out of his pocket, offering me some. I took one out of politeness, but I hated the way those sticky, chewy candies felt against my teeth. We arrived at our next class. The door was open and we crossed through. “Thank you. I still have my dad and two brothers, and I’m grateful for that. How about you? Where’re you from?”

  I opened my mouth to answer, but before I did, he said, “I’m sorry. You have the most beautiful amber eyes.” He
pulled at his bottom lip—a most sexy gesture. “Please continue. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “It’s okay. Thanks.” My skin heated until I was sure the chestnut turned russet. I’ve never been one for taking compliments well. “I live with my mother and little brother. My parents are divorced but my father is close by. I’m from Round Rock, it’s a suburb of Austin. How about you?”

  He furrowed his brow and tilted his head. “Are you Rowan Townsend?”

  I matched his furrowed brow and pursed my lips. I was thoroughly confused how someone like him could possibly know my name. Then my eyes widened in surprise and recognition, having had trouble reconciling what I’d heard from my mother about him and the person who stood in front of me. Next, I clenched my jaw in anger. This was the golden boy who cheated his way in. “Knox Everheart.”

  Shrimp Louie Salad

  1 cup mayonnaise

  1/3 cup + 1 tbsp ketchup

  1/4 cup sour cream

  1 tbsp lemon juice

  1 tsp apple cider vinegar

  1 tsp brown sugar

  1 tsp paprika

  1 pinch kosher salt

  1 tsp Worcestershire sauce

  3 tbsp olive oil

  1 pound large shrimp, peeled and deveined

  1/2 tsp Old Bay Seasoning

  1 avocado diced

  8 oz cherry tomatoes halved

  1 head romaine lettuce, washed and roughly chopped

  4 large eggs, hard boiled and sliced in half

  Whisk together the first 9 ingredients in a bowl until smooth. Refrigerate until later. Heat oil in a skillet over medium-high heat and add shrimp, sprinkling Old Bay Seasoning on top. Cook through and set aside. In a serving bowl, combine the lettuce, tomato, avocado, and shrimp. Toss with desired amount of dressing and top with hard-boiled eggs.

  Yield: 6 servings

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Someone has a secret.

  The judges aren’t present during this part of the competition, and when they’re paraded out to taste the food, they have no idea who’s prepared it. Later, in the semifinals, they become a sort of mentor to the teams but still judge the final product.

  In between the kitchens, there’s a long table lined with the food that’s just been prepared. It’s all mixed in together so each dish is judged on its own merits; then the scores are tallied.

  I marvel at Knox’s duck-egg ravioli which is topped with Declan’s exotic mushroom sauce. Weston’s the middle brother and graduated from culinary school a couple years before us, but he learned at his mother’s knee—same as Knox and Declan. She was a pastry chef and Weston followed in her footsteps. In looking at the presentation of his tiramisu in dessert glasses, I would imagine he’s done his mother proud.

  The Smiths have made a solid effort, and they’ve laid out a table of comfort food—steaming chicken potpie and a cake-donut bread pudding. I can smell the pie from where I’m sitting—buttery and savory. It doesn’t matter though, because although it may taste delicious, it’s still only a chicken potpie against Knox’s pasta. His pasta will beat anyone’s anything.

  The Everhearts and Smiths make their way back to their respective tables and the judges are brought out. I can’t take my eyes off Dean Ellerson. Will she recognize Knox’s specialty? Probably not because she never actually taught us—only played referee. Unfortunately, she doesn’t know either of us for our cooking.

  They taste each dish and make notes on their tablets, keeping their faces neutral. I could be wrong, but when Chef Buccola tastes the ravioli, his eyes sparkle. Mama must notice it too, because she looks at me and bucks her eyes.

  The judges thank the families and leave.

  I let out a breath, thinking ahead to what we may face after lunch.

  *

  The next challenge of creating a raw dish passes, and the judges taste and make their notes and then we break for lunch. As I watch the Everhearts make their way back to their table, I marvel at how calm they all seem. I expect that of Knox, but even Weston didn’t break a sweat. It’s almost as if they’re used to cooking in front of an audience.

  Next to me, Mama is still, but Wyatt is fidgeting. I’m sure we’re all anxious about performing in front of the camera. I can barely eat, but I know I need to in order to keep my strength up for our two challenges this afternoon.

  I needn’t have made the effort, because although the Dolter family is quite beautiful, it becomes apparent quickly that they can’t cook a lick. Maybe it’s their beauty that draws customers to their restaurant in Atlanta because surely it can’t be their food.

  Aaron announces the challenge. “Chefs, the next challenge is to prepare a main course for four people in an hour and a half, using only the ingredients provided. You will also have staples like flour, rice, milk, butter, eggs, and spices.”

  We step over to our fridge, and Mama gasps when Wyatt opens it. The noise is small and hopefully won’t be picked up on camera. It’s stocked with crab legs, halibut, and shrimp, and different vegetables such as green beans, bell peppers, onions, mushrooms, celery, fennel, and garlic. I know what she’s thinking—seafood and the holy trinity is a Creole cook’s fever dream—but I have something else in mind.

  “Mama, let me do this one. A bouillabaisse would be perfect with these ingredients. We could really layer the flavors, and we have just enough time.”

  She narrows her eyes and moves her head back as if I’d struck her. “Child, when’s the last time you made that?”

  Obviously not since school and she knows it perfectly well because she won’t allow it in the restaurant. I’ve been slowly trying to turn our little soul food kitchen into a bistro for the past six years, but she hasn’t allowed any major menu changes. “It’s a culinary school standard.”

  “And gumbo is a Smothered in Love standard. You can make your famous green beans.” She points at my brother. “Get to chopping.”

  When we place our offering of an especially fragrant seafood gumbo and green beans with mushrooms on the table, I’m proud of what we’ve made even if Mama overruled me. Especially when the Dolters set their uninspired steamed seafood and green bean salad next to it. They didn’t even use the fennel to spice up their cold dish; not even a hint of ocean wafting from their side of the table.

  Again, the judges silently taste our food and make their notes.

  I bite the inside of my cheek and wipe my sweaty hands on my jacket, then glance at the Everheart table, something I restricted myself from doing up until now. Knox is looking at our food, studying it, sitting on the edge of his chair. I’m sure he’s watched our every move as we cooked, not that he doesn’t have mine memorized. He doesn’t know Mama’s cooking though and anything I’ve learned is mostly applied to her dishes. He’s frowning. And his eyes are colored ice blue. He leans over to Declan and whispers in his ear. Declan looks at me and then our food on the table, and chuckles.

  I spare a moment wondering why in the world Knox would be mad and why Declan would laugh, but the hosts start talking again and I need to pay attention for the next challenge. Plus, appearing zoned out on TV probably won’t be a great look.

  Knox has my thoughts completely scattered, and I need to concentrate. He clearly sees something I’ve done wrong, but what could it have been? I bite the inside of my cheek and focus on our next task, hoping I don’t make another slipup.

  When the day’s competition is over, everyone packs up their personal items. I place my laptop and set of knives in my backpack. I know we’ve done enough to win the day, and I’m not worried about tomorrow at all. The Dolters haven’t been much competition and with one task left, we’ll advance easily. Unfortunately, the Everhearts will too. I have no doubt.

  Nearly all the families have left the studio when I spot Knox’s handwritten notes still on his chair. I contemplate my surroundings before shuffling over to the Everheart table. Could he have really forgotten these? I know I shouldn’t be doing this and anyone could see me, but I can’t help myself. I drop my b
ackpack and pretend to pick it up while pocketing the notes, then hightail it out of the studio as fast as I can to meet Mama and Wyatt downstairs at the car.

  “Did you sharpen your knives?” Mama is staring at me as if she knows I’ve been up to no good.

  I feel the pocket of my pants ensuring the notes aren’t peeking out. “Yup.” Shit, that’s the whole reason I stayed behind. Now I don’t have sharpened knives. The only time I’ll have to do it is if I leave earlier tomorrow morning.

  She purses her lips and looks at Wyatt. When he only shrugs, she narrows her eyes at me.

  I wither under her stare and my face heats. “What?”

  “Let’s get in the car.”

  I’m quiet during the ride, watching the asphalt city pass us by. It’s a short ride to our hotel thankfully, and I rush out the car as soon as it stops.

  “Where’s the fire, Rowan?”

  “Mama, you know she doesn’t go anywhere slow. Ever.” Wyatt shakes his head at me. The way these two are, it’s so ridiculous. Thick as thieves.

  I slow my steps, but my pocket is about to burn up. I can’t get to my room fast enough. The elevator creeps up to our floor and Mama never takes her eyes off me. When the doors ding open, Wyatt walks down the hall, but she holds my arm before I can speed to my own room. “So…Knox?”

  Oh God, she knows? How does she know? “I um. Huh?”

  “How are you holding up? You didn’t want to do this with him in the competition so I’m wondering how you’re feeling about everything.”

  Oh my goodness. I thought my goose was cooked for real. She would not approve of me spying on anyone, especially an Everheart. “It’s fine. I mostly try to ignore him.”

  “Hard to do when he’s cooking up such a storm, and looking at you when he’s not.”

  She knows he’s superior to me. This is as close as she’ll get to saying it. “You don’t think we can win, Mama?”