Before I can answer, Mama Bear says, “That’s garbage. He’ll draw in a younger crowd. He’s a big cutie, all tall and cuddly. He will appeal to groups you’re not even thinking about. More important, his food is great. He’s just right for this contest.”

  As Mama Bear and the other interviewers argue, I grab plates and forks off a nearby table. I load generous portions onto three plates. As far as looks and image go, I may not be what they’re after. But I know if they try my food, I still have a chance.

  I put the still-warm food down in front of them. I watch Blake’s and Beth’s faces change as the aroma of my food reaches them.

  Beth almost shyly takes a bite. “Mmm,” she says with a sigh.

  Blake takes the tiniest bite. His eyes get wide. He takes a bigger bite.

  “I told you,” Mama Bear says. “Just. Right.”

  Reaching for another forkful, Blake says, “Mama Bear, food is one thing. But we really do need to consider our contestants as a whole in terms of image and representation. Who we are, who our clients are. Is this kid HEAT?”

  “Absolutely. And I’m not going to stop harassing you until you let him into the competition,” Mama Bear says, snatching up the third plate. “So what if he’s a cub? He’s also the best cook we’ve had today.”

  When Mama Bear matter-of-factly calls me a cub, I don’t mind. I probably would have if Blake or a gay guy from my high school had said it. But I am gay, young, husky and a bit furry. I’m not a monster or a giant blob. I’m a cub. It fits.

  Blake looks at me and purses his lips. “Fine. I will think about it. Mr. Childs, please fill out this form. We need to know more about you. We’ll be in touch.”

  I reach for the form. All the plates are empty.

  Chapter Four

  “Hi. This message is for Theo. I think I called you before. Anyway, I’m phoning to let you know that you have been accepted as one of HEAT’s competitors. Congratulations! There will be four rounds over the next four Saturdays. Someone will get eliminated each week. Look for an email with more instructions. Oh, one last thing. As well as the cash and prizes, KCC may offer the winner a job at one of his restaurants. Good luck! Bye now.”

  I find Di working in one of the sewing labs. She’s zipping yards of red fabric through the machine, her bare foot working the pedal. She’s wearing her canary-yellow catsuit and has kicked off the matching platform shoes.

  I tell her about the voice mail.

  “This is crazy,” I say. “I could end up with a job. With KCC. At one of the best restaurants in the city. This could start my career.”

  “And who do you have to thank?” Di asks, blinking her lashes at me.

  I sigh. “More brownies?”

  “We’re beyond brownies. Grab that white fabric and put it on the cutting table, will you?”

  I grab the bolt. It’s a little heavy. I hoist it onto the table.

  “We should celebrate,” Di says.

  “Burgers?” I ask.

  “And milkshakes,” Di adds.

  “And poutine.” I probably shouldn’t be eating all those carbs. Soon I’m going to be in front of a crowd of people. Blake and Beth already think my looks don’t fit HEAT’s image.

  “Always poutine,” Di says, laughing. “Without it, how can it be a celebration? I need to finish up something, and then I’m good to go. Give me an hour?”

  Di’s response makes me feel better instantly. We’re going out to celebrate. I don’t need to worry about a calorie count for this one meal.

  When I go back to get Di, she’s hunched over the table. Her mouth is full of pins that she plucks out and jabs into whatever it is she’s working on. Her hands smooth out the material in between.

  “What’s going on?” I ask. I’ve seen her like this before. When Di is creating, she can be intense.

  “Come here,” Di mumbles around the pins.

  When I’m close, she grabs me and nudges me. “Stand straight,” she says, spitting the pins out and dropping them in a clear plastic box. She grabs what she was working on and holds it up against me. “I think it will fit,” she says. “But you’d better try it on.”

  “What is it?” I ask, looking down.

  “Your chef whites. You need the white coat. I made you an apron too. You need to look like the real thing.”

  I try to give her a big hug. Too late, we both remember the pins in the fabric.

  We jump apart. I put the coat down onto the table.

  “I want you to put that on,” Di says.

  I grab Di and hug her properly. We’re a good size for one another. I’m a bit taller and wider, so she fits snugly against my chest.

  “Thanks,” I whisper.

  Di slides her arms around me. She squeezes back. “One of your bear hugs is a way better thanks than your brownies any day.”

  Chapter Five

  Four stainless-steel cook stations are arranged on a small platform stage. The long table now faces the stations.

  Mama Bear, in a silk robe, hurries over to me. He’s got streaks of different-colored sparkles through his beard and in his chest hair.

  “Hey, I was wondering when the cooking cub would show. We need you backstage.” Mama Bear leads me to a curtained-off area near the entrance to the kitchen. When I see the other competitors, I can see exactly why the judges were concerned about my image.

  The first contestant is busy on his phone, thumbs flying. He glances up briefly as Mama Bear introduces him: Zack. He’s blond and looks like he barely eats, all sinew and bones.

  “I’m doing a live feed,” Zack says without looking up.

  The next contestant, Jeff, works as a personal chef. I’d put him in his thirties. He looks fit under his printed button-down. He shakes my hand before turning away.

  Dixon, number three, has muscles on top of muscles. We shake hands. His grip is firm. His forearms bulge with veins.

  I must be staring at his arms because Dixon lets go of my hand, then pats my belly. “I’m a personal trainer. If you ever get tired of your muffin top, call me.” He holds out his business card.

  “Thanks.” I shove the card in my pocket quickly. My face burns to the tips of my ears.

  “Ignore him. He’s a gym bunny,” the last contestant says. He has a full head of hair with silver strands running through it. “I’m Dennis. Nice to meet you, Theo.” He tells me he’s just a home cook.

  Blake and Beth enter the curtained-off area.

  “Welcome, everybody,” says Blake. “So. Each round is going to have a different theme. We’ll line you up, Mama Bear will do his hosting thing, and then he’ll announce this week’s challenge. Then you do your thing. After the judges do their tasting, one of you will be eliminated. Cool?” he asks. He doesn’t wait for a reply. “Good luck. We’re starting in a few.”

  I pull my chef’s jacket and apron out of my backpack and put them on.

  I hear a snicker and look over to catch Jeff and Dixon watching me and talking in low voices.

  “Don’t pay them any attention. Just do your thing,” Dennis says. “Your coat fits you perfectly.” He fixes my collar as we line up.

  Blake and Beth return as Mama Bear leaves. I hear Beth introducing the competition over the speakers. We are told to walk single file to our stations and not stop to look around or wave.

  The last instructions weren’t needed. As I walk out, the stage lights make it hard to see anything past the cooking area. As my eyes adjust, I start to make out shapes. Slowly those shapes turn into people.

  I hear someone whistle and see fabric swishing like banners. Di is in the front row.

  “Welcome, everyone,” says Mama Bear. “Before you get started, I want to introduce you to today’s judges. They know what it means to be in the line of fire.” As Mama Bear tells us their names, I realize I have seen them before. They are servers from HEAT, two girls and a guy.

  Introductions done, Mama Bear continues. “Down in the Village, nothing says Sunday like brunch. Chefs, your task today is to update a brunch classic. It should be able to stand up to Saturday night’s drinking and be tasty enough that we forget our figures.” Mama Bear pushes out his belly and rubs it. “You have one hour. Ready, set, HEAT!”

  I take stock of my station as I think about what I like for brunch. My favorite is eggs benedict. I think its various components will show enough skill to get me through to the next round. I make a mean hollandaise sauce and know how to poach an egg perfectly, so it has that sunny, runny yolk. I get my pots going, English muffins split and eggs cracked.

  Feeling confident, I think about what to serve on the side. As I wait for my water to come to a simmer, I peek around. Dixon and Jeff both have eggs and English muffins at their stations. They’re probably doing eggs benedict too. Damn. Well, it’s an obvious choice for brunch.

  “A second eggs benedict,” Mama Bear confirms as she reaches Dixon’s station.

  Dixon grins. “Well, mine is going to be healthier than Jeff’s. You won’t have to pay the price on Monday for Sunday’s brunch.”

  With only five contestants, I can’t be the third making the same thing. I look around my station again. I see some cinnamon rolls and a jar of pickles. With the ham I was going to use with my eggs benny, I can change direction. I’ll do a take on a Monte Cristo. The cinnamon rolls look dry enough to really soak up the eggs I have already cracked. And Cuban sandwiches have ham and pickles with a mustard spread. But will these ingredients work together? It’s a risk. Combining the sweet cinnamon bread and the spicy mustard with the salty ham and briny pickles could be a genius move. Or a total disaster. I grab a fork and whisk my eggs, then slice the rolls to get them in. I’ll deep-fry the buns to give them a crunchy outside and creamy inside.

  Mama Bear arrives at my station and asks me a couple of questions. I barely have time to answer him. I’m too busy slicing the ham and pickles and preparing the dipping sauces.

  As I finish plating, Mama Bear gives the warning—one minute left. I grab an apple and a pear. I manage to fan the last of the slices onto the plates as the ten-second countdown ends.

  I don’t know how my sandwich is going to taste, but it sure looks good.

  We line up in front of the long table as the judges begin to taste our dishes.

  Zack made apple-pie pancakes. The judges say they’re a bit sweet but yummy.

  Jeff’s traditional eggs benedict have some issues. The hollandaise separated, and the eggs are overdone.

  Dennis presents mini omelets stuffed with different fillings. They seem to go over well. The judges are impressed with the ambition of one item served three ways.

  Dixon made egg-white benedicts with avocado sauce and smoked salmon. They look great, but the judges aren’t blown away by the flavor profile. It’s lacking something to tie it all together.

  The judges get to my sandwich last.

  “What is this?” one of them asks. “We thought you were doing an eggs benedict too.”

  “I was,” I admit as another judge looks at my sandwich, lifts the top and wrinkles her nose when she sees the pickles and mustard. “Then I realized you were already going to eat that. Twice. I decided I’d better make something different. It’s a Monte Cristo Cuban sandwich made with cinnamon rolls. There’s warm maple syrup with butter and strawberry jam jazzed up with some grapefruit juice for dipping.”

  The judge who opened the sandwich asks, “I admire your ability to think on your feet. But is this something you would eat?”

  “I like Monte Cristo and Cuban sandwiches,” I say nervously. “So, yeah, I think I’d eat it.”

  Jeff and Dixon laugh from their spots.

  Mama Bear gives them a look. He picks up half of the sandwich from the extra plate, the one we were told was for display only, and takes a big bite. “You think you’d eat it? You mean you didn’t try it?” he asks.

  I shake my head. Uh-oh.

  Mama Bear pushes the other half of the sandwich at me. “Take a bite.”

  I take a small bite, everyone watching. I take a second, bigger bite. The flavors totally work and complement each other. It’s delicious. Mama Bear takes another bite of his half.

  The judges finally dig in.

  “I have to stop eating so we can judge,” says the one who didn’t believe I would eat it myself. “If I’m honest, this seemed like the grossest combination of things. Just the idea of it was disgusting. The problem is, it’s disgustingly good.”

  “I think we have a dark horse,” the last judge says.

  “It’s the type of thing I’d work out all week to eat,” the first judge says between bites. “I know we need to make a decision about who is going home today, but all I want to do is finish this sandwich.”

  After the judges talk among themselves for a few moments, the first judge addresses the five of us.

  “With this dish, there were some technical missteps and a lack of creativity. We asked for an update, and we got a flawed classic. Unfortunately, that’s not acceptable in this competition. You have to nail every element.” She pauses for a moment. “Jeff, I’m afraid you have been eliminated.”

  I take a deep breath. Changing directions, taking a risk, paid off. I’m still in the game.

  “We look forward to seeing the rest of you next week.”

  Chapter Six

  Round two. Even though it’s mid-afternoon and there is no food service, the restaurant is packed. Every table is full. People are standing in any empty space available and crowding the bar to buy drinks. Zack told me backstage that his posting about last week’s results went viral. There are even reporters in the audience.

  Di is sitting with a bunch of people I don’t know. I don’t think she knows them either. She’s wearing a neon tracksuit with huge, fuzzy leg warmers. Her hair is in a high ponytail.

  Today there are only two judges seated at the long table, both cooks from HEAT.

  With his usual flair Mama Bear announces the theme. “The challenge is date night. Ready, set, HEAT!”

  In front of me is a table of cute guys about my age. They all look pretty similar—shorter than me, skinny jeans and tight tees showing off their lean bodies. Awesome high-tops and cool haircuts. One of them smiles at me. I smile back. He winks, then turns to talk to one of his friends.

  I’m wasting time. I need to figure out what to make. But there’s a big problem. I’ve never actually been on a date. I wouldn’t even know how to ask a guy out. Without any dating experience, I don’t know where to even begin. I’m drawing a blank.

  If I had someone coming over for dinner, what would I make? Steak and potatoes seems like it would satisfy most guys. It’s safe, but it may also get me through to the next round. I grab a bunch of spices and decide to do a rub. I add a bit of coffee to make it more interesting. I throw some baking potatoes in the microwave to give them a head start. I will double-stuff them with some cheese, bacon and more spices. I get some peas and carrots roasting. The last thing I do before I focus on cooking my steak perfectly is mix up a quick Irish soda bread and pop it in the oven. Homemade bread should impress a date and the judges too.

  The only sounds are the audience chatting and Mama Bear on the speaker, providing a play-by-play. The other contestants are quiet.

  I glance up to see Di and the guy who winked watching me.

  I pull my steaks from the grill. They have the marks I want and need to rest so the insides are nice and juicy. The potatoes have crisp tops, and the vegetables glisten.

  My plates look like they came from a high-end steakhouse when I send them off. While I have no experience dating, I am hoping this meal would land me a second date and will get me another week in the competition.

  “Before the judging starts,” Mama Bear says, “you may have noticed there’s an empty seat at the judges’ table. Well, you all know our next judge. And he will be a permanent fixture in the competition going forward. Please welcome the chef himself, Kyle Carl Clark, owner of HEAT.”

  The crowd claps enthusiastically as a spotlight clicks on. KCC strides into it. He looks even better in person. He’s sporting a leather motorcycle jacket and white T-shirt. His square jaw has a little scruff and his hair has a touch of gray. His smile gleams. He gives a wave as he struts to the table.

  “I’ve heard good things about you guys,” KCC says as he takes his spot. “Let’s see which one of you men would cook your way into my heart.” He winks. “Or my bedroom.”

  The audience giggles. I do too, even though I am thinking of all the great bakers in my class and all the famous chefs who are women. I wonder if women didn’t apply to the contest or if they weren’t chosen because they didn’t fit with HEAT’s “image.”

  Zack is first up.

  “Is this what you’d make for me on a date?” KCC asks him.

  Zack, phone in hand, shrugs. “I’m not sure I’d be inviting anyone to my house on a first date. It’s not the best choice for personal safety. Cold cases are so not hot.”

  Everyone is silent. Then KCC laughs. And then everyone joins in, myself included.

  I’m up next. I don’t even register what the judges say to Zack. I’m hoping KCC gets the best plate out of the four. I’m too busy obsessing to listen.

  “I’ve been hearing lots about you, Theo,” KCC says as my steak is placed in front of him. “The way to a man’s heart is supposed to be through the stomach. From what I’ve heard, you should be able to cook me right out of my pants.”

  “Yes, sir,” I respond. My mouth drops open. I can’t believe I just said that. The audience laughs hard. I open my mouth several more times, trying to think of something to correct what I said.

  “Sir, eh? That might help with my pants.” KCC smiles. The audience laughs again.

  As they finish tasting, the first cook says, “It’s good but not really original.”

  The second cook nods. “I agree. Steak and potatoes. It’s standard, although you did dress it up nicely. I’m more impressed by the bread, considering the time limit. But I’m not sure I’d want this heavy a meal on a date.”

  “Me either,” the first cook agrees.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6