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
