Professor k the final q.., p.13
Professor K- The Final Quest, page 13
part #4 of Jack Rogan Mystery Series
‘Contestants, are you ready?’ asked Monti. Both Carlos and Lorenza nodded and smiled into the cameras. ‘Your time starts now!’
The countess turned to Tristan, sitting next to her in the gallery. He was watching Lorenza hurry into the pantry with a basket under her arm to collect her ingredients. ‘You are very quiet,’ said the countess. ‘Something wrong?’
‘She is going to win,’ replied Tristan, speaking softly.
‘I hope you’re right,’ said the countess.
‘I don’t.’
The countess looked at Tristan, surprised. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because this victory will come at great cost.’
‘How come?’ asked the countess, frowning.
She knew from experience that dismissing Tristan’s remark as a curious observation would be a mistake. She had witnessed his remarkable psychic powers many times before. Part Maori with an extraordinary, painful past, Tristan had inherited his gift from his mother, a Maori princess who died in tragic circumstances after saving the life of the countess’s daughter, Anna. Tristan had featured in two of Jack Rogan’s bestsellers, The Disappearance of Anna Popov, and The Hidden Genes of Professor K. Whenever Tristan’s psychic powers came into play, the countess remembered his mother’s words: ‘His gift is much stronger than mine; he can hear the whisper of angels and glimpse eternity.’
When Tristan was orphaned as a teenager, the countess gave him a home and took him into her heart. He became part of her family and had a special bond with her daughter, Anna, which had grown stronger over the years.
Bahadir watched the contest with growing anxiety and concern as it became clear from the ingredients Lorenza had chosen that she was once again turning to Ottoman cuisine as the theme for her dish. She had already demonstrated her extraordinary knowledge of Eastern spices and how to blend them into flavours that made the Western palate, unfamiliar with their exquisite properties, sing.
Damn her! thought Bahadir, clenching his fists in frustration. This was bound to once again focus attention on his humiliating defeat, especially if she was to win.
To entertain the viewers and tease some information out of the contestants that would throw some light on the dishes they had chosen, Monti conducted a casual, humorous interview in the kitchen, and asked questions about the dishes, the cooking process and the ingredients. Carlos had made seafood his theme, and was preparing a paella with a twist.
‘Carlos, from what I can see,’ said Monti, bending over the frying pan, ‘the hero of your dish is obviously seafood.’
‘Correct.’
‘It looks like a paella.’
‘It is, but with a twist …’
‘Can you tell us a little more about that?’
‘A Moorish twist,’ said Carlos, lowering his voice, the tone conspiratorial.
‘How intriguing … Anything else?’
‘It’s all in the taste …’
‘Ah …’
Monti walked over to Lorenza’s workstation.
‘Smells good,’ he said, examining the fragrant contents of the iron pot bubbling on the stove in front of Lorenza.
‘I hope so.’
‘And what is your dish?’
‘A taste-bridge between East and West. Byzantium meets Venice.’
Momentarily taken aback by Lorenza’s cryptic remark, Monti looked at her, surprised, the camera zooming in on his face. ‘How intriguing,’ he said. ‘Care to tell us a little more about this?’
‘No, not really,’ said Lorenza, laughing. ‘I will let the taste tell the story.’ She dipped a wooden spoon into the broth, lifted it to her mouth and closed her eyes. ‘A little more cumin and cardamom, I think,’ she said, smacking her lips. ‘That should do it.’
15
Villa Laurentius, Top Chef Europe Grand Finale,
day two: 21 May, 8:30 pm
‘Five, four, three, two, one!’ counted the excited spectators, cheering on the finalists. Looking down into the kitchen from the gallery above, the countess squeezed da Baggio’s arm. Da Baggio looked at her and smiled in silent reply.
Unaffected by the excitement erupting all around him, Tristan stood in the background, watching. He was trying to make sense of the disturbing images that kept assaulting his agitated brain every time he looked at Lorenza from above. What does it all mean? he asked himself, and attempted to piece the images together into some coherent sequence. But to no avail; it was like chasing shadows.
Down below, Lorenza put the finishing touches to the presentation of her dish. She knew that the eyes prepared the way for taste. The appearance and presentation of the dish were therefore of critical importance. First impressions counted, a lot. Lorenza sprinkled some finely chopped parsley on top of the eggplant, wiped the side of the plate with a cloth and stepped back. Done! Let Hunkar Begendi weave its magic, she thought, and waved to her father and grandparents applauding in the gallery just above her workstation.
‘Time’s up,’ said Monti, his face flushed with excitement. ‘Very soon, ladies and gentlemen, we’ll know who will be Europe’s new Top Chef. The contestants have done their part, now it’s all up to the judges. Ready judges?’ The judges stood up and waved.
Carlos was first. Smiling into the camera, he carried his dish confidently over to the judges, and placed it on the table in front of them. The dish, a seafood paella presented in a large, flat copper pan, looked spectacular.
‘Tell us about your dish,’ said the French celebrity chef on the panel.
Carlos was ready for the question. He described his dish with great precision and flair, listing each item of seafood used and how it had been cooked. He then turned to the gother ingredients and described their specific roles and how they influenced the taste. He then spent some time talking about the importance of texture, especially in the rice. However, he had cleverly saved up the best for last: taste. His was a paella with a Moorish twist, he explained, and this was reflected in the all-important spices he had used. Because he had grown up in Malaga, the use of certain exotic spices brought across from North Africa gave the dish a unique quality only found in southern Spain.
The judges looked impressed. ‘Let’s taste,’ said the French judge. He reached for a large wooden spoon and began to serve the dish; one small plate for each of the three judges.
Lorenza’s spirits sank as she heard Carlos’s impressive description of his dish, delivered with eloquence and style. She had no doubt that the taste would match the description and spectacular appearance of the dish. She had to admit that by comparison, her dish looked rather modest. But as usual it would all come down to taste. And then of course there was this additional element, a very personal one, which would form part of the score: the connection between the dish and its creator. Feeling better, Lorenza smiled. She was very confident about taste, and she knew she had quite a story to tell about the unique dish, what it meant to her, and why. She was ready to surprise the judges, and had worked out exactly how she would do that.
The countess turned to Tristan. ‘Don’t look so glum,’ she said. ‘I know he was good, but she is better, you’ll see.’
‘I’m sure you’re right,’ said Tristan, still feeling uneasy, and unable to make sense of the disturbing images. Then, it all came together in a flash of recognition. All the images had one thing in common: danger!
Not bad, thought Bahadir as he watched the judges taste Carlos’s dish. He could win this.
Joseph Weindorfer, the Austrian chef, pushed his plate aside and looked at Carlos standing in front of the judges’ table. ‘Please tell us why you have chosen this dish, and what it means to you,’ he said, and sat back.
Bahadir listened intently as Carlos spoke about his childhood and what it was like to grow up in Malaga, about going fishing after school with an old man he had befriended, and then cooking the catch over a driftwood fire on the beach with the other fishermen, as tradition demanded. Carlos charmed the judges with his description of his early attempts at cooking and mastering the spices, and entertained them with stories of his spectacular failures and modest triumphs, until the connection between the dish he had chosen and his passion for cooking became obvious and easy to understand.
After conferring briefly, the judges reached for their scorecards, scored the dish, and then put the cards aside. The scores would be revealed at the end.
Now it was Lorenza’s turn. Feeling exhausted, Louis wiped his brow with a handkerchief as he watched Lorenza carry her dish to the judges’ table. What a remarkable young woman, he thought. Carlos was outstanding; she has a hard act to follow.
Lorenza gave the judges her best smile, and placed her dish on the table in front of them.
‘We were intrigued by your remark,’ said the Italian judge, ‘that your dish is a taste-bridge between East and West. ‘What exactly did you mean by that?’
‘Byzantium meets Venice?’ interjected the French judge.
Lorenza smiled. The judges had just given her a great opening. ‘I grew up in Venice. In fact, I still live there. My family – the da Baggios – were traders who made their fortune importing spices from the East, from Byzantium. These spices had a profound influence on Venetian cooking through the ages. Their influence can be seen to this very day and give Venetian cooking that special, almost exotic edge, unique to the region.
‘The dish I have chosen is called Hunkar Begendi, the Sultan’s Delight,’ continued Lorenza, ‘and it clearly reflects this. The original dish dates back to the sixteenth-century, but has been modified through the ages, especially by my late mother,’ she added, the sadness in her voice obvious, ‘and by me. We added certain Venetian aspects to the dish ... and often joked that perhaps now it would delight both the sultan and the doge.’
The judges nodded appreciatively.
‘Tell us about your dish,’ said the Austrian judge.
‘This dish has two heroes,’ began Lorenza, ‘lamb, and aubergine. Instead of competing, as heroes tend to do, they complement one another and are bound together by a unique blend of Eastern spices usually found in the bazaars of Istanbul rather than the markets of Venice. What makes this dish so unique are the spices, and it must have been the spices that delighted the sultan and gave the dish its name. In essence, this is a lamb stew served on a bed of creamy roasted aubergine puree. But the simplicity of the dish is deceptive. The flavours are sophisticated and subtle. Cumin and cardamom rub shoulders with saffron and black pepper and the other spices to tease the tastebuds, but in a harmonious way without one dominating the other.’
Very clever, thought Louis. She makes your mouth water with words.
The judges looked at each other.
‘Gentlemen, let’s taste,’ said the Italian judge, and began to serve Lorenza’s dish.
16
Florence, Top Chef Europe Grand Finale,
day two: 21 May, 9:30 pm
‘Quite a girl, don’t you think?’ said Gambio, and poured Luigi Belmonte another drink. Gambio didn’t believe in wasting time. He had invited Belmonte to his home so they could watch the Top Chef Europe final on TV together. In the event that Lorenza turned out to be the winner, they could refine the audacious plan and work out the best strategy.
‘She lives in Venice, did you hear?’ said Gambio, laughing. Right in the middle of your patch. Certain things are meant to be, buddy; cheers.’ They touched glasses.
Gambio knew that in Belmonte he had the right man for the job. The daring assassination of Mario Giordano the day before had been the final test. Belmonte had lived up to his reputation: he had carried out the assignment with professionalism and imagination that had impressed Gambio. And most importantly, he hadn’t made any mistakes. Had he done so, he would be floating somewhere in the river by now, instead of having a drink with the capo.
Third generation Mafia from Palermo, Belmonte was loyal to a fault, and ruthless to the core. In short, he had an impeccable criminal pedigree. Having grown up in a family where murder was discussed at the dinner table, and extreme violence was considered normal, he had no formal education to speak of and was barely literate. However, what he lacked in education, he more than made up in natural cunning and fearless common sense that had kept him alive and had earned him the respect of men like Gambio. And what Belmonte craved more than anything else in the world was respect.
After several audacious assassinations in Palermo reaching to the very top of the judiciary and the police, he had become “too hot” even for the Mafia, and had to leave Sicily before the outraged authorities caught up with him. He had changed his name from Raffaele Bangarella, the notorious “Archangel of Palermo”, to Luigi Belmonte, and ended up in Venice where he had set up his own unique gambling “business” that had brought him to Gambio’s attention.
‘So, what’s on your mind?’ asked Belmonte, carefully watching his business partner – boss would have been more accurate, but Gambio was happy to let the relationship rest on a little fiction to pander to the man’s ego. In the end, Gambio held all the cards and pulled all the strings. He was content with that. For a habitual gambler like him, risks and high stakes went hand in hand, and Gambio needed both, or he quickly lost interest. Gambio had lived his entire life as one big gamble, only the stakes got higher with age, and the risks more daring.
‘I’ll tell you, but only if she wins.’
‘And if she doesn’t?’
‘We walk away.’
‘Why?’
‘You have to ask? She only gets the million euros if she wins; simple,’ replied Gambio, laughing. ‘A target without big bucks is not a target we want, right?’ Gambio didn’t mention Bahadir and the other reasons. There would be plenty of time to introduce that subject later. For now, money was enough.
‘Of course,’ said Belmonte with a broad grin. Money was something he understood very well. ‘We’ll know in a few minutes. Salute!’
Locked away in his hotel room, Bahadir couldn’t take his eyes off the TV screen. He watched the expressions on the judges’ faces as they tasted Lorenza’s dish. What he saw told him everything. Hunkar Begendi, he thought, anger and frustration churning in his stomach like two evil worms, fighting. The bitch had to choose my signature dish!
The Italian judge put down his fork and looked at Lorenza standing demurely in front of the judges’ table, waiting. ‘Now please tell us why you have chosen this dish, and what it means to you,’ he asked, posing the identical question he had put to Carlos earlier.
Lorenza had been expecting this, and was ready.
‘To give you an accurate answer,’ she began, tossing back her luxurious hair, ‘I have to take you on a little journey into history … family history.’
The judges looked intrigued.
‘Something remarkable happened in 1595 that has a direct bearing on this dish and what it means to me. Cosimo da Baggio, one of my ancestors on my father’s side, was dying, without an heir. The family had fallen on hard times, but just before he passed away something extraordinary occurred that changed the future direction of our family: the grandson he didn’t know he had, appeared on the doorstep of the da Baggio palazzo in Venice.’ Lorenza paused, collecting her thoughts.
‘Cosimo’s daughter, Catalina – a striking beauty,’ she continued, ‘had been abducted by pirates eighteen years earlier. She was presumed dead, but was in fact sold into slavery and ended up in the sultan’s harem in the Topkapi Palace in Constantinople, as Istanbul was known at the time, and became one of sultan’s favourite consorts. She was given the name Fatma Hatun. To cut a complicated story short, upon the sultan’s death, all his sons except his heir, Mehmed, were murdered to secure Mehmed’s succession. However, one son managed to escape: Osman, Fatma’s son. Two years later, he presented himself at Cosimo’s deathbed, and became his heir.’ Lorenza paused again, her face flushed with excitement. She was desperately hoping she wasn’t boring the judges with her story. She needn’t have worried. The judges were captivated, and so were millions of viewers. Taking a deep breath, Lorenza pressed on.
‘However, Osman didn’t come empty-handed. His mother had given him something rare and precious to take with him into his new life. A set of secret recipes she had copied personally from the originals that had belonged to Suleiman the Magnificent, the late sultan’s illustrious father. These recipes were fiercely guarded palace treasures that had been gathered from every corner of the empire to please the sultan and enrich his kitchen.’
‘One of those recipes was Hunkar Begendi, the dish I cooked for you tonight. It was my late mother’s favourite,’ said Lorenza, choking with emotion, ‘and the first dish I remember cooking with her and my grandmother in our kitchen in Venice as a little girl, where generations of da Baggios had prepared similar exotic dishes for the family table.’
For a long moment, there was complete silence as the camera homed in on Lorenza wiping away a tear rolling down her cheek. The judges looked at each other. Then the Italian judge began to clap and the others joined in. It was a spontaneous gesture of respect for a brave young woman who had opened a secret corner of her heart to the world for all to see.
Gambio turned to Belmonte sitting opposite. ‘What do you think?’ he asked.
‘She’s got it in the bag, I’d say.’
‘I agree with you. Here comes the verdict …’
Monti realised he had to step in to make sure the show stayed on track, and on time, and followed the script. ‘The moment you’ve all been waiting for,’ he announced, ‘has arrived. The judges are about to reveal their scores. Carlos, please step forward.’
