Taste Test (17 page)

BOTTOM FIVE

OUT

JUDGES’ NOTES:
HOLDEN PRESCOTT

Episode Seven:
EVERYBODY WANTS TO RULE THE WORLD

US diplomats challenge

Sweden and New Guinea

Challenge Ingredient—Potato

Chapter Ten

Burn Notice

“Earth to Nora …”

Four more challenges and still tied.

“Hey, Nora. Yoo-hoo!”

How is it possible that he just keeps getting better?

“NORA!”

Gigi’s voice, amplified by her cupped hands, manages to break into my thoughts. I shake my head.

“What? Sorry—I was—thinking.”

She rolls her eyes and picks up her backpack. “I was just asking you what you think tonight’s meeting is about.”

Before class this morning, we’d all received a hand-delivered message from the judges, saying that they’d be holding a gathering in the arena tonight. I shrug and doodle in the margin of my notebook.

“Who knows? Something they want a reaction about, I’m sure. Whatever it is, I bet it’s being filmed.”

“Well, duh. They film everything.”

One thing we’ve all learned over the last few months is that the show comes first. It doesn’t matter if we’re pulled out of bed at five in the morning, like we were for the Air Force challenge. It doesn’t matter if we’re up until two in the morning cooking for diplomats from foreign countries. All that matters is that they get the best shot and compose the perfect story line.

It’s funny—we take all these courses to prepare us to cook, but no one ever talks about how to deal with the show itself. And since Christian and I are locked in our own raging battle, the uncomfortable spotlight is too often on us.

The Nora vs. Christian story line has become a key part of the show, and it doesn’t help matters that we’re consistently tied for challenge wins. Even though we’re still weeks from the finale, people are already projecting that we’ll be in the final three. Part of me is flattered, I guess. Obviously I want to make it to the end. But another part of me, the bigger part, feels uncomfortable under the constant scrutiny. Honestly, I’m starting to dread challenges—class is one of the only times I feel free of the burdens that come along with the show.

After Tools of the Trade, I head to my room to finish working on my report—
Microplanes, Zesters, and the Best Ways to Garnish
. Joy isn’t home again, not that I’m surprised. I found out from Bryce that her dad rented her an off-campus apartment for the rest of the semester and she had it cleared with production. Something about her asthma and the building’s ventilation system. What a crock.

I guess now she and Prescott have a place where they can meet to hatch their brilliant plans. Like last week, when two of the microwaves shorted out for no reason. And the day that there weren’t any meat cleavers in the knife blocks, and we were working with porterhouse steaks. I can’t give ’em credit for creativity, but they get bonus points for inconvenience. I guess everything is fair game for their twisted attacks, not just the challenges themselves.

And still, I can’t prove a thing. I feel my hackles rising just thinking about it. Ms. Svincek and the other judges, Prescott included, just keep saying that all good cooks need to be prepared for accidents, for imperfection.

“Sometimes things just don’t work out as planned.”

Yeah, no kidding. Like when your roommate turns out to be a scheming ho-bag, your friend gets sliced open by a shard of metal, and a guy (a friend? an enemy?) decides to turn a rivalry into an all-out war.

The walk down to the arena tonight feels sort of eerie. On challenge nights, there are people everywhere; tonight, there are only a couple of production assistants coming in and out of the metal double doors. Once we get inside, we cross the floor and join the rest of the contestants in the seating area. Christian and Pierce are sitting right up front, so Gigi and I find seats up near the control room. I want to keep as far away from the two of them as humanly possible.

Moments later, Chef Mason stands in front of us, his hands behind his back and a smile on his face. Despite the dim lighting, I notice that Joy is still missing—surprise, surprise.

“Contestants, thank you for meeting us here. On behalf of the other judges and myself, we’d like to say congratulations for making it this far.” He claps loudly and the rest of us feel compelled to follow his lead.

Abruptly, the door behind him flies open. Joy flounces in carrying her Louis Vuitton clutch and wearing huge sunglasses, looking like a celebutante fresh out of rehab. Chef Mason waits for her to take a seat, an expression of thinly veiled disapproval on his face.

“
Anyway
,” he begins again, giving her a pointed look, “now that you’ve been reduced to half the original group, each and every one of you should feel proud of the strides you’ve made here. You are all great chefs, chefs who will do many grand things, I am sure.”

In the background, I watch a few tuxedoed men start wheeling in carts laden with food—a huge carved ham, trays of canapés, a tower of petits fours. I’m baffled—are we doing a surprise challenge? Are they going to make us work a cocktail party or something?

“Because you’ve been working so hard,” Mason goes on, “we’d like to invite you to kick up your heels for a bit. Relax, enjoy yourselves. Get a chance to mingle with each other and some of our invited guests.”

At that, he steps aside and Ms. Svincek, Madame Bouchon, and Prescott walk out from the shadows, accompanied by a dozen or so people. As I start to recognize them, my eyes widen. There’s Tressa Jackson and Jacob Warner, two of the past
Taste Test
champions. The man in a silver satin shirt is Jamie Boyle, a British chef who has a live cooking show out of Las Vegas. Two of the head bakers from
Makes Cakes
are
wearing their signature cupcake aprons. Everyone up there is either a television star or a famous chef in their own right.

“Please.” Ms. Svincek motions for us to join them on the floor. “Come and say hello. Introduce yourselves. Have a mushroom puff.”

At first, most of us are pretty hesitant—I mean, this is the equivalent of an aspiring musician meeting their favorite band. How do you talk to your idol face-to-face? But once Jacob pops open some champagne off camera and swears the contestants to secrecy, we start to relax. About an hour in, someone turns on the sound system. Within a few minutes, people are dancing to ’80s music and attempting to do the moonwalk.

“This was my favorite night of the whole season. Not a lot of people can say that they slow-danced with the hottest new chef in Miami and took a Jäger shot with the host of
Food Fixes
.”

I turn around to see Tressa behind me, watching a chef in front of us trying to break dance without breaking his back.

I smile at her and hold out my hand. “Nora Henderson.”

“I know who you are.” She shakes it and smiles back. “You’re a great chef. I’ve been rooting for you since the beginning.”

“Really?” I say, surprised.

“Really. I think you’re talented.”

“Wow. Thanks. That … that means a lot.”

We continue to watch the people around us dance. I notice Christian with his arm around a blond woman who’s got at least ten years of life (and five inches of chest) over me. I feel my lip curl involuntarily.

“Do you know who
she
is?” I ask Tressa.

“Carolyn Cleveland. Don’t you recognize her?”

I shake my head. “She can’t possibly be a chef.”

Tressa laughs. “Not quite. She’s the Butt-Naked Baker. She has a show on SEXY, the cable network.”

“And is she … naked? On the show, I mean.”

“Um, I’m pretty sure she’s sans clothing by the end of every episode.”

“Jeez.” I roll my eyes. “And of course Christian’s sought her out right away.”

She eyes me for a second before looking back at Carolyn. “What’s the deal with you two, anyway?”

“Who two?”

“You and Christian. You guys go out or something?”

“What?!” I almost spit out my miniquiche.

Tressa shrugs. “You can’t fake chemistry. Remember Bret from my season, how he and I used to fight like crazy during challenges?”

“Yeah, sure. You would always be battling each other for first place. I think you tied more than once.”

“Exactly.” She smiles at the memory. “And the reason it was so intense was because we were hooking up offscreen every chance we got.”

I almost drop my plate. “Wow. Uh, I never would have thought that.”

“That’s the thing.” She takes a swig of champagne. “You can always tell the ones that are messing around off camera. They’re the ones who’re fighting hardest on-screen.”

“Well, not in this case.”

Tressa smirks. “Don’t worry, there’s still time.”

She pats my shoulder before walking back toward the bar cart, leaving me standing there feeling a little nauseated. Warily, I look over to where Christian was sitting moments ago with Naked Baker Barbie. She’s still there, draped over one of Eat TV’s new game show hosts, but Christian’s nowhere to be seen.

I start to walk around the perimeter of the kitchen, smiling and saying hello as I pass people. A few minutes later, I spot him standing in a nearby alcove, and he’s not alone—there’s a tall, broad man with dark hair standing in front of him with his back to me. Nonchalantly, I start piling appetizers on my plate.

“What the hell do you want from me?” Christian asks. He sounds tired, weary almost.

“Just listen,” the man says. “You wanted to come here and be the best and win the whole damn contest—and yet, you’re making dishes a first-year
line cook
could pull together. What the hell is up with that?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Christian replies icily, “but I’ve won almost every challenge so far.”

“Yeah.
Almost
every one. It could be every
single
one if you worked a little harder.”

Christian starts to walk away. Abruptly, he turns back around.

“Look, you didn’t even want me to do this. I don’t know why you’re
here
right now. Was it just to tell me that I’m not good enough? Because, honestly, I’ve been hearing that from you my whole life. You didn’t need to fly up to Connecticut to remind me.”