I set aside the cheesecloth filled with soggy cereal and stirred the ice cream mixture a few more times to add some air into it.

  Lucky for me, things like water, ice, salt, and pepper, were available to everyone and there was no limit, so I scooped up some ice from the freezer into a separate bowl. I put the bowl with the mixture on top and whisked continuously until it began to harden.

  The ice melted a little, so I added a handful of fresh ice cubes to keep it cold enough. When the metal bowl and ice had served its purpose, and the ice cream was as solid as it was going to get, I covered the bowl in cling wrap, and put it in the industrial freezer they’d provided for the remaining time.

  As long as I remembered to take it out five minutes before the timer ended, and plated it up, then all was going to go smoothly.

  There was nothing left to do other than smash up a bunch of the golden roasted peanuts for another topping, and when that was done, I tried one of the corn clusters. The crunch was perfect, and the taste was just as good. They would provide an amazing textural contrast to the dish.

  I caught at least five contestants stealing panicked looks at me and working faster after they saw that I was done. I saw one of them cut something incorrectly in their haste, and crouched down and rested their forehead against the station as if they were trying to hold themselves back from a breakdown.

  After my rocky start, I hadn’t expected to finish early, so I wasn’t sure what to do with the free time. There were only around ten minutes left, and everyone other than me was still hard at work. The woman with the duck leg, turmeric, and chocolate, was looking at a dish in front of her that didn’t actually look too bad, and the man with the chicken wings was checking the crispiness of the skin.

  Blakely was plating up already, and her preparedness comforted me. There was something subtly joyful about the look on her face as she added the thin slices of marinated bacon to what looked like crêpes.

  I imagined she was thinking about the memories she mentioned of her dad and her having the pancakes.

  I got caught up with watching all of the movement around me, the intense faces, the hands moving on autopilot, that it made my craving to work in a kitchen triple. I decided that one of the first things I would do if I won was find some way of cooking for people as my career, whether it be working in a kitchen of some random restaurant, or starting up my own place. I’d have extra money after I paid The Boss, so the world was mine to play with, at least to a small extent.

  There was another loud buzz to mark the final five minutes, and as soon as it hit our ears, the energy on the set went crazy. The contestants rushed to finish whatever it was they were doing and plate their food.

  Chicken wing man appeared fairly confident, while the duck lady was holding her head in her hands and muttering what sounded like curses under her breath.

  I retrieved my ice cream from the freezer, and put three scoops of it into a black bowl so the white of the ice cream would pop against the dark. I sprinkled the corn cereal clusters on top, and then sprinkled the golden peanut bits on top of that.

  There couldn’t have been more than thirty seconds left when I made the decision to add an extra drizzle of sesame oil over the inside rim of the bowl to let it drip down.

  The final buzzer sounded, and the noise that replaced it was a cocktail of sighs of relief and groans of catastrophe.

  Ramy danced away from the contestant he was standing by, and reapproached the main group of cameras in front of the stage.

  The judges marched out to join him, and their presence sent an uneasy vibe throughout the cooking stations. No one wanted to be voted out, but from the second that buzzer went off there was nothing we could do about it anymore.

  My fate was in their hands.

  Chapter 16

  “Round two has ended, and now it’s tasting time,” Ramy announced. “I’ve been speaking to a few of the contestants as they’ve been doing their things, and I’m excited to see what they’ve all made.”

  “As am I.” Marie smiled.

  They started at the first contestant, and I was too worried about my ice cream melting to pay attention until they got to Egg Man. He’d stopped sweating so much, or the heat of the stoves had made the liquid on his shirt evaporate, one or the other. However, it didn’t matter whether the judges could see his sweat or not, because there was a constant look of panic written on his features that he couldn’t shake.

  “Hello, Tony,” Ramy said.

  “Hi,” Tony said.

  He changed the angle of his plate as the judges looked it over.

  “What have you made for us with the mystery ingredients?” Ramy asked.

  “I’ve made fried, crispy tofu, with a chimichurri-inspired cilantro sauce, a yuzu plum sauce, and a soy egg puree,” Tony said.

  “Interesting,” Ramirez said. “And how does it fit into the theme?”

  “My grandmother always cooked with tofu, and I used to spend the majority of my time at her house as a kid,” Tony said in his shaky voice.

  “That’s a sweet story,” Marie said. “I used to spend most of my time with my grandfather in Italy.”

  Thomas reached in and picked up a crispy piece of tofu, without taking notice of the sentimental moment Tony and Marie were having. He dipped it in the puree and two sauces before putting it in his mouth. He nodded slowly.

  Ramirez and Marie did the same and chewed mindfully.

  “The egg puree was a risky idea,” Marie said. “But I think you’ve managed to pull it off. It’s got that umami, fermented taste, but without the texture of boiled egg white that can often give people the ick.”

  “And that sweet sauce works splendidly with it,” Ramirez said.

  “Thank you,” Tony said to the judges.

  The next contestant to be judged was the woman with the duck leg, chocolate, cucumber, and turmeric.

  “Interesting…” Marie said as she looked at the mess of food she’d picked up on her fork.

  “Very,” Ramirez said. “To say the least…”

  All the judges’ faces portrayed the perfect picture of skeptical and nauseous as they bit into the food.

  “Clever choice to burn the chocolate and use it as a charred flavor in the dish, instead of a sweet one,” Marie said. “But I’m afraid there’s just no saving this concoction.”

  “I agree.” Ramirez nodded. “The burned chocolate was a good call, especially since you turned it into a marinade with the curry spices, but it’s just too much going on at once.”

  “I was trying to make it have a tandoori flavor, but without a tandoor,” the contestant said, and her voice was tight in her throat.

  The contestant looked like she was on the verge of tears, and when Thomas simply stated that the dish was horrific, she burst out crying. The judges were ushered to move away from her quickly, and they lined up beside my workstation with their eyes glued to my dish.

  “Roman,” Ramy said. “What have you made for us here? It looks great, if I say so myself.”

  “There are a few ingredients missing that I would want to add,” I admitted. “But this is my attempt at tres leches, cereal milk ice cream, with a butter sesame corn crunch, and roasted peanut crush.”

  “I’m so excited for this one,” Marie said. “Cereal is still my go-to midnight snack.”

  “What was your inspiration, Roman?” Ramy asked. “Do tell us.”

  “I went a little more general with the theme…” I said. “I mean, come on, what kid doesn’t love ice cream and cereal?”

  Ramy, the judges, and the crowd all chuckled at my comment.

  Then Ramirez, Marie, and Thomas scooped a piece of each component involved into their mouths, and their faces lit up.

  “It’s like my childhood in a bite,” Ramirez said. “Only better because I don’t feel like I’ve got to rush to school after I finish it.”

  “I love the way you’ve handled the flavors.” Marie went in for two more bites. “The sesame brings a whole other layer to the dish that takes it to a new level.”

  “Subtle, creative, nostalgic,” Thomas said while the other two were filling their mouths.

  Marie almost choked on the ice cream from surprise.

  “That’s high praise from you, Thomas,” Ramy said. “It’s making me wish that I could have a bite.”

  “Go ahead,” I said and pushed the bowl toward him.

  “No, thank you.” He put a hand up. “I’m on the keto diet.”

  I wasn’t sure what that meant exactly, but any diet that said I couldn’t eat ice cream wasn’t one that I wanted to partake in.

  “It’s no secret that you were everyone’s biggest competition for this round,” Ramy continued. “And now you’ve shown us why.”

  “I’ll try not to fall from grace,” I said with my best attempt at a charming half-smile for the cameras.

  I had hoped to have enough of my dish left to let Blakely or Quinn try some, but the next time I looked down at the bowl, Thomas was scooping up the last bite. At least Quinn wouldn’t be opposed to licking the bowl, and that would be the perfect opportunity for me to get in a few dog jokes.

  The judges moved on to the man with the chicken wings, who every time I looked over at seemed to know exactly what he was doing. He smiled at the camera with an expression that he’d obviously been practicing in the mirror.

  “Randel, this smells delicious.” Ramy patted him on the shoulder. “Please, tell the people and the judges what you’ve made.”

  “Chicken wings two ways. On the left, we have them crispy, drizzled with a garlic aioli and parsley, and on the right we have them cooked in the garlic oil, with the meat then separated from the bone, pulled-chicken style.”

  The first sounded good, but the second way was questionable in my opinion.

  As he described his dish I realized how hungry I was, and I ate a few of the leftover cereal bits I hadn’t used. It was not the most thrilling mouthfeel or taste, but it filled a void and raised my blood sugar, and I was sure passing out wouldn’t be in my favor to win.

  The judges tried the first set of chicken wings and licked their fingers clean.

  “Did you add anything to the dredge?” Ramirez asked Randel. “I’m getting a sense of… I can’t put my finger on it.”

  “Citric acid, a very small amount, and celery salt,” Randel replied. “There was already a lot of fat in the dish so I needed to cut through it with some acid, but I didn’t want to add another sauce.”

  “Excellent choice,” Ramirez said. “Tell us about the childhood inspiration while we get the grease off our hands.”

  There was a flash of worry in Randel’s eyes that no one else seemed to notice.

  “Of course.” He smiled into the camera again. “When my grandma died, my parents took me to the local chicken wing shop to cheer me up. They’ve held a special place in my heart since then.”

  There was a collective hum of sympathetic awes from the crowd, and one from Marie.

  Randel tried to hide it, but there was a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes as the crowd fell for his sob story.

  I’d been through a lot and knew too much about reading people’s behaviors and expressions to fall for it.

  Thomas’ expression didn’t melt into a sympathetic one, and I wondered if he could read into the contestant’s bullshit as well.

  “Now let’s try the second variation,” Ramirez said when the awes died down. “Let’s just grab a fork and…”

  They dug into the pulled chicken, and grease dripped off the forks as they lifted to their mouths.

  “I think I need a drink,” Marie said.

  “This is ninety percent fat and oil.” Ramirez used a napkin to wipe the grease from his lips, but no matter how many times he wiped they still shone like a polished window.

  “You knew that you had to cut the fat with acid for the first set of wings,” Marie said. “So why didn’t you do the same for the second set?”

  “I ran out of time to think of something unique to do,” Randel stuttered. “I could’ve added citric acid to them both, but it seemed like the easy way out.”

  “It would’ve been better than this artery clogger,” Thomas said.

  Randel didn’t cry at the criticism, but he did straighten his posture in what I guessed was an attempt to show the words didn’t affect him, although the fact he felt the need to do the action at all suggested otherwise.

  It was Blakely’s turn, and Ramy gave her his signature smile as he approached.

  “Blakely, this smells so good, so let’s dive right into it,” Ramy said. “What is your dish, and how does it fit the theme?”

  “Here for you three, I have crispy bacon togarashi crêpes, with a chive and scallion sauce.” Blakely pointed out each component as she listed it off. “Inspired by memories of my dad and I eating bacon pancakes while watching anime on Sunday mornings.”

  The judges cut into the crêpes, added a little of the sauce, and hummed in pleasure as they chewed.

  “Excellent, absolutely excellent,” Ramirez said. “I would eat this again.”

  “This would be an amazing hangover cure,” Marie said. “In fact, I might have to steal the recipe for my next wine weekend.”

  “Thank you.” Blakely nodded graciously. “I’m glad you like it.”

  “The flavors compliment each other well,” Thomas said. “I agree. This is a good dish.”

  I was so happy for her that I could’ve run over and swept her into a hug, but I had to play it cool while the cameras were rolling and there were other contestants around. It didn’t matter though, just seeing the happy look on her face was enough.

  Ramy called a five-minute break while the judges discussed their votes to determine who would advance to the semi-final, and I decided to walk around a little to clear my head.

  After a minute, I caught sight of Blakely tossing me a small wave and headed around the back of some tall bushes and a tree, where no cameras were.

  My feet followed her of their own accord.

  “Did anyone see you come over?” I asked.

  “No, I made sure of it,” she said.

  She gave me a hug, and I hugged her back as tight as I could without hurting her.

  “You’ve done so good so far,” I said when we broke apart.

  “Me?” She raised her eyebrows. “What about you? They love you.”

  “I really did think I was screwed for that last round,” I said. “I didn’t think I would have enough time for the ice cream to set.”

  “You’ll have to make me that recipe at some point when this is all over,” she said.

  “Only if you make me those crêpes,” I countered.

  She leaned in close to me and laid her hands on my chest. She smelled so good, and I reached down to grab her ass.

  “You know…” She rubbed small circles on my chest, and the warmth of her touch seeped into my skin. “We have about three minutes before we have to be back.”

  “I don’t know if I can accomplish that much in three minutes,” I said.

  “Oh, you definitely can.” She smirked. “I know from experience.”

  I picked her up and pinned her to the tree trunk, careful not to push her too hard against the rough bark. She instinctively wrapped her legs around my waist, and I pushed my hips into her until she moaned out at the pressure.

  My hand covered her mouth, and I could tell by the way she moaned deeper, it turned her on.

  I devoured her neck with my lips, and then moved to her mouth when my hand wasn’t enough to keep her moans at bay.

  She pressed herself harder against me, but I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. I lowered her down, and she whimpered at the lack of connection.

  “Help me win this,” I growled into her ear. “And you’ll get the rest later.”

  I left the bushy area and walked back toward the competition zone. It killed me to leave her like that, but I needed all the energy I could get for the next round, and a little more incentive to win wouldn’t hurt anyone.

  I made it back to my station, cracked my neck and my knuckles, and waited for the next vote to be in. I glanced at Blakely, who looked at me and mouthed the words, “fucking tease.”

  I winked back at her.

  Ramy returned to the cameras, welcomed the judges back onto the stage, and the routine repeated as it had before.

  I waited with everyone with anticipation and anxiety coursing through my veins as the judges named the contestants moving onto the semi-final round.

  “Randel,” Ramirez announced. “Tony, Blakely, and… Roman.”

  Quinn screamed from the crowd so loud that security had to go over and tell him to shut the fuck up. I was so paralyzed by surprise, relief, and joy that I could barely move a muscle.

  Everything felt like a blur of excitement until the judges announced the concept of the next round, and the feeling of excitement turned to dread.

  “For the next round you will be put into pairs,” Marie said. “In a restaurant’s kitchen you wouldn’t be working alone, so this is the perfect chance to test your cooperative skills.”

  “You will have to produce a soup of your choosing,” Ramirez continued for Marie. “And you will have only forty minutes to prepare it.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that, and from the looks on their faces, neither did the other contestants.

  “The pairings are…” Marie left a pause, which she obviously hoped would create a sense of drama, but all it did was piss the rest of us off. “Team one is Randel and Blakely, and team two is Roman and Tony.”

  Shit.

  My mind went to the French onion soup that I’d made for the practice dinner party. Everyone seemed to love it, but could I be sure that their opinions were right? I could try and attempt something else, but sticking to a recipe I knew was at least somewhat good would probably be better. Besides, I had to see what Tony wanted to do.

  I didn’t have time to make eye contact with Blakely before the buzzer went and Tony ran up to me.

  “What should we do?” he asked with his whole body shaking.

 

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