Taste Test (8 page)

“The photo shoot for
Foodie Magazine
will take place in the empty space next to the arena,” Ms. Svincek calls out. “We’ve set up a studio for our esteemed guest photographer, Jean St. Jean, to work in.”

She smiles at a small white-haired man to her left before looking back at the crowd more sternly.

“Monsieur St. Jean has decided to take pictures of you in pairs. Your partners have already been assigned—when you enter the room, you’ll find your names listed on the wall. Find your partner, discuss some possible poses and be ready for your turn when it comes.”

She sweeps out of the room without so much as a “good luck” or even an introduction to the other judges. I guess we’re just expected to know who they are—not that any of us don’t.

Crossing the hall, the boys and girls merge together into one herd of sparkly, freshly shaven, heavily made-up opponents. The guys have neat haircuts and designer clothes. The rest of the girls, the ones I haven’t seen, are dressed similarly to me—trendy dresses and high-heeled shoes. I feel like I’m walking into an issue of
Teen Vogue
.

On the back wall of the large room, there’s a poster-sized sheet of paper with two columns. I hover in the background while people push forward to find their name on the list. As they pair off and head away from the wall, I inch up close enough to read the names.

I find my name two from the bottom. My eyes move across the page. I blink hard when I see the name opposite mine, hoping it’s just my imagination. When I open my eyes, it’s still there.

Oh, for the love of—

“Howdy, Pard’ner.”

Christian sidles up to me as though wearing chaps and spurs. I guess I should have seen this one coming.

“So, I’m thinking a nice, cozy couples shot,” he muses. “Maybe you can sit on my lap—or I can sit on yours?”

I give him a dirty look. “Not likely.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“Not yet. But I will.”

I spin on my heel and head in the opposite direction. I’m not spending one extra second with Mr. I-Think-I’m-So-Hot-Why-Don’t-You-Undress-Now. I’d rather eat my own arm.

I find Gigi over to one side of the white-sheeted set. Her long hair has been twisted into complicated ringlets and her eyes are framed in glitter. She grins at me as I get close.

“Nice partner.”

“Nice makeup,” I shoot back.

She elbows me in the side. “Hey, I don’t know what you expected. I mean, everyone’s seen you guys arguing. What did you think would happen? They want an interesting picture. They want a dynamic.”

“Yeah,” I grumble. “I guess so.”

She shoves me lightly. “So give them one! Seriously. Remember what we were saying earlier? About humiliation? Now’s the time! Think about it—these pictures are going to be
everywhere
. You can’t waste an opportunity to make him look like the jerk he really is.”

I watch the other partners pose in a variety of interesting ways—girls lifting up boys and boys holding girls on their shoulders. Angela carries a diminutive Aaron Hale, no more than a hundred and forty pounds wet, like a bride over the threshold. When Gigi and Dillon make it up there, he crouches down on the floor, grinning like an idiot, while she climbs on top of his back and stands there with her arms crossed triumphantly.

Everyone may be choosing a fun pose, but I need something different. Something that will be so funny, so ridiculous, that Christian will wish he never messed with me.

Inspired, I rush toward him and grab his arm. He cocks one eyebrow.

“I thought you were done speaking to me.”

“I just wanted to tell you what pose we’re doing.”

“And explain to me why it is that I’m just going along with your choice of poses?”

“Because you owe me.”

“For what?!”

“For telling people I’m stalking you.”

He smirks. “I don’t think I said
stalking
, exactly.”

“Whatever. Just do what I do.”

When they call our names, we reach the middle of the set and I turn so that my back is facing Christian’s.

“Now move your legs apart a little—shut UP!” I warn him, as he opens his mouth.

He grins, but pretends to zip his lips. Jean St. Jean comes out from behind the lens and nods.

“Yes, that eez pair-fect. Stand just like zat.”

I take a deep breath as he moves back to the tripod. As though in slow motion, I watch his finger inch its way across the top of the camera. Just when it hovers directly above the button, I swivel around to face Christian and aim a kick right at his manhood, stopping just short of a direct hit.

I watch the monitor as the picture flies up onto the screen. Me, red faced and determined with my leg in the air. Christian, eyes wide with fear and both hands covering his crotch.

To:
 Nora Henderson
[email protected]

From:
 Judd Henderson
[email protected]

Subject:
 

Nora,

Billy tells me you’re a little stressed about the competition. I just wanted to remind you to keep your chin up. Remember what I said before you left, North Star—you’re just as talented as anyone with some fancy culinary pedigree. In the end, we all live, eat, and breathe the same way. You may win some, you may lose some—but, no matter what, you need to stay true to yourself. Cook how you live—like a firecracker ready to ignite.

Love ya,

Dad

Contestant Interview

Angela Moore

Producer (P):
     Well, Angela. It seems like you’re settling right in.

Angela Moore (AM):
     Things are going pretty well.

P:
     And it seems like you and Nora and Gigi are becoming quite close.

AM:
     [nods] Yeah, they’re great. Easygoing. No drama.

P:
     Then, I’m sure Nora’s talked to you about her feelings for Christian Van Lorton.

AM:
     [raises eyebrows] Feelings?

P:
     Angela, you and I both know that pretending to kick someone is just another way of flirting.

AM:
     [laughs] Then you don’t know Nora. She hates that guy!

P:
     Really? She
hates
him, huh? Did she use those words?

AM:
     Well, not
hate
-hate. I mean, they’re obviously both very competitive people.

P:
     Well, competition can often spark the best kinds of chemistry. We’ve certainly seen it happen before.

AM:
     [rolls eyes] Look, the only kind of chemistry you’re going to get from Nora and Christian is the oil and water kind. Or the gasoline and fire kind. The two of them need to stay far away from each other or they might spontaneously combust.

Contestant Interview

Giada “Gigi” Orsoni

Producer (P):
     Giada, tell me—

Giada Orsoni (GO):
     [interrupting] It’s Gigi.

P:
     Of course. Gigi. So, what has Nora Henderson told you about her relationship with Christian Van Lorton?

GO:
     What relationship?

P:
     Well, like I was saying to Angela, a crush is often masked by other emotions—anger and hatred being the most popular.

GO:
     If you say so.

P:
     Okay, then. What about you?

GO:
     [crossing legs] Well,
I
sure as hell don’t have a relationship with Christian.

P:
     But you must have
some
feelings about someone like him, with his background and all.

GO:
     [shrugs] Not really.

P:
     You’re telling me that it doesn’t bother you that someone with that much power—given who his father is—and that many doors already open to him is competing with you for a scholarship he doesn’t need?

GO:
     [looks down] Well, when you put it that way …

P:
     Seems a little unfair, doesn’t it?

GO:
     Trust me. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that life isn’t fair. I guess I’ll just have to beat him.

P:
     And you think you can do that?

GO:
     Sure. Why? Don’t
you
think I can?

P:
     [pats GO’s shoulder] Why not, Gigi? It’s like they always say. Everyone loves an underdog.

Chapter Five

You Gotta Fight! For Your Right! To Sauté!

I’m definitely going to puke.

Every time it occurs to me that tonight is episode one, our first challenge, a wave of nausea comes over me. We’ve done all the press stuff—the conferences, the interviews, the photo ops. But the competition officially starts tonight and the thing that really matters—the cooking—is what’s going to make the difference between who stays and who goes.

If there’s a bright side to the last hectic few weeks, it’s been Christian’s absence from my life. Ever since I pretended to kick him in the junk at the magazine photo shoot, he’s stayed as far away from me as possible.

I smile at the memory. I’ll never forget the look on his face. And the judges? They LOVED it. They thought that the picture embodied everything the competition is about. Ms. Svincek even said that they might use it as the official show photo on the website.

The only thing is—well, after the initial shock wore off, Christian didn’t seem too bothered by the whole thing. The idea was to humiliate him, but instead he played it up as if it had been his idea in the first place. He even suggested a few more takes, but Monsieur St. Jean said it wasn’t necessary: “Zee first one ’olds zee element of surprise.”

So I haven’t had to say so much as “get the hell out of my way” to Christian since. A few times he’s been in the doorway of my room, talking to Joy, but as soon as I approach, he abruptly leaves. I have a hard time believing it was that easy to shoot him down. I know he’s up to something, has something up his sleeve to get me back for the “kick heard ’round the arena.”

Regardless, I’ve had to put all that stuff out of my mind today and concentrate on what I’m going to cook tonight. In some ways, the first challenge is the most important one of all. It separates the beginners from the “professionals”—we’ll know by the end of the night who really deserves to be here.

My strategy is simple: cook what I know. There are certain dishes that all good cooks have in their arsenal. Usually you’ve got some “old faithfuls”—some good standby dishes that are sure to please, if not impress. Then there are your showstoppers, the recipes that look beautiful and taste delicious. I’ve got a handful of both. I’ve been cooking almost as long as I’ve been walking, and I’ve grown up in the most popular roadside restaurant in eastern North Carolina. I know what people like to eat and I know what makes them come back. And
that’s
what I need to show the judges, no matter what the challenge ends up being.

If someone were to bottle the nervous energy in the space outside the arena doors, they’d have the bestselling sports drink known to man. It’s funny to see the nervous habits people have, the rituals they do. There are a handful with ear-buds in, murmuring lyrics along with the songs. A bunch of girls chatter to each other a mile a minute. Me, I lean up against the wall and stare at the ceiling, trying to clear my mind and not smudge my camera-ready makeup. I smooth my hands over my TASTE TEST signature chef’s jacket and take a deep breath.

“Ladies and gentlemen.”

An armed officer greets us, holding up a hand for quiet.

“A few moments from now, you’ll be escorted into the arena. Be sure to empty your pockets of all items before walking through the metal detectors.”

“Metal detectors,” someone mutters. “Are you kidding me?”

“The metal detectors are here for your safety. As are the cameras, the motion sensors, the security detail, and every other precaution we’ve taken. You’re a hot commodity and we pull out all the stops to keep you safe.”

He turns to open the door.

“Welcome to
Taste Test
, chefs. Good luck.”

With trepidation, with excitement, with terror, we head into the arena.

Initially the lights are almost blinding. It takes a second to understand that they are actually being reflected a thousand times over by the mirrorlike finish on the brand-new stainless-steel appliances.

As my eyes adjust, I can see dozens of stoves, restaurantsized refrigerators, and different gadgets that I’ve never used
before. In a back corner, there’s a pantry the size of my bedroom at home. Jars of condiments and bottles of olive oil gleam on metal racks. Huge bucket-like containers say things like SEA SALT, ALMOND MEAL, and CHINESE FIVE-SPICE POWDER.

This place is like a cooking wonderland.

“Please, everyone! Find your places!”

The director, Marcus, a wiry man with a bushy mustache, hurries through the crowd of contestants, pointing to
X
s of tape on the tiled floor. I glance around as people start moving forward to find their assigned stations. Gigi is a few paces away, diagonal from me. Angela is on the other side of the room, plopped right between Christian and Joy. I give her a sympathetic smile.

“We’ll begin filming momentarily, starting with the introductory address for episode one. Make sure the tape on the floor is evenly positioned between both your feet.”

As Marcus passes me, he stops, backs up a bit, then yanks my left leg away from my right. I stumble a little bit and catch myself on the counter. I guess they take the whole blocking thing seriously. You’d think we were on Broadway or something.