Taste Test (26 page)

It isn’t easy to get my head back in the game after Dad and Billy leave. After an afternoon of recipe drafts and ingredient lists, I decide to practice a couple of potential dishes in the dorm kitchen. Christian walks in about twenty minutes after I start my polenta. I stiffen, remembering the volatile exchange not twenty-four hours before.

“Grits?” he asks, approaching me with something like caution. I shake my head.

“No. Polenta.”

We stand there for a second, not speaking. I stir the cornmeal vigorously and drop in a generous scoop of butter. Christian gestures to the zucchini and yellow squash I have lying next to a cutting board.

“You want me to dice them up?”

I glance at him sideways. “Why, so you can throw them at me?”

He sighs and sort of throws up his hands in mock defeat. “Look, about last night—I’m really sorry if I offended you or your family. I—I guess I was just … caught up. In the competition.”

I shake my head and turn to face him. “It’s fine. It’s done. We both said things we didn’t mean. Let’s just move on.”

“Okay … great.” Christian sounds surprised and a little relieved.

We work silently, side by side, for several minutes. Finally,
my heart gets the better of my head and I can’t help but ask the question that’s been plaguing me.

“So … how long have you been with your girlfriend?”

When I glance up, Christian looks confused.

“What do you mean?”

“Your ‘guest’ at the reunion challenge?”

Christian shakes his head and laughs a little. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Oh, I’m sorry—are you afraid of labels? Don’t want to be committed?” I try to sound like I’m teasing, but it comes out a little like an accusation. But Christian’s shaking his head.

“No, no. She isn’t my girlfriend or my friend with benefits or my hookup buddy or anything.” He takes a deep breath. “She’s my dad’s fiancée.”

I raise an eyebrow. “And you’re telling me you kiss your dad’s fiancée on the lips?”

He shrugs. “She kisses everyone on the lips. She kisses her dog on the lips.”

“Doesn’t say much for you, then, does it?”

“Or my dad, actually, if you think about it.”

I let out a snort of laughter.

“You know,” I say slowly, “she seemed a little … young … to be engaged to your dad.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re telling me. She’s twenty-three—I know, I know,” he says when my mouth falls open. “It’s gross and weird. Imagine how I feel.”

“I don’t think I can.” I try to picture my dad with someone just a few years older than me. It’s pretty nauseating.

“So, anyway,” Christian leans back against the counter,
“my mom was supposed to come but couldn’t and my dad was on a book tour, so Mel came instead.”

“Oh. Right.”

I’m floored. I don’t know what to say. I’d been sure of what Christian was and who he was with. It seems that the guy I was convinced Christian was is actually someone completely different—someone complex and troubled. Someone I don’t know everything about.

I put down my spoon, trying to decide what to say next, just as he scoops the diced squash into a sauté pan and wipes his hands on a dish towel.

“Well, good luck with your recipe,” he says, smiling his lopsided grin at me.

“Oh—okay, thanks. You too,” I manage to stammer, wanting him to stay but unable to ask him to. Instead, my heart kind of hiccups as I watch him walk away. It takes a sudden smoky haze and horrible smell to remember my polenta, now burned to the bottom of the pan. I cough and my eyes fill with involuntary tears.

Here you go again, Nora, wasting something with great potential.

Contestant Interview

Christian Van Lorton

Producer (P):
     So, tonight’s the night—the judges will be choosing the top three contestants for the finale. How are you feeling?

Christian Van Lorton (CVL):
     Pretty good.

P:
     Confident?

CVL:
     Of course. You know me.

P:
     [smiles] So, who do you think is your greatest competition? Or do we even need to ask? It’s been Christian vs. Nora for weeks now.

CVL:
     Don’t discount Pierce immediately—he’s talented and can cook one hell of a steak. I’ll bet he blows ’em away tonight with some red-meat wonder.

P:
     So, you’re saying that Gigi isn’t a threat at all.

CVL:
     [shrugs] I didn’t say that.

P:
     Right, but you made it sound like Nora and Pierce were the only competition you’d need to be concerned about.

CVL:
     A) I didn’t say anything about Nora, you did, and B) no one is competition for me. I’m a head above the rest.

P:
     What do you think the others would say about that?

CVL:
     Who knows? I’m sure they’d come up with some elaborate game plan to dethrone me. And I’d remind them that I’m the one with the most challenge wins.

P:
     Actually, Nora won the last challenge, which makes you tied.

CVL:
     Well, as of tonight, we won’t be.

P:
     Do you mind if I tell Nora you said that?

CVL:
     Knock yourself out. I’d love to see her face when you do.

Contestant Interview

Nora Henderson

Nora Henderson (NH):
     He said WHAT?

Producer (P):
     That he had the most wins and that you were no competition for him.

NH:
     [laughs] Right. He’s so full of it.

P:
     So do you see
him
as competition?

NH:
     Um, DUH. Of course he’s competition. I’m not arrogant enough to think I’m going to win, or win easily, when I’m up against cooks like Christian, Pierce, and Gigi.

P:
     So you see Gigi as a fierce competitor? A talented chef?

NH:
     [brows furrowed] Sure, of course. She’s still here, isn’t she?

P:
     That’s true. But Christian may have hinted that he didn’t see her as much of a threat.

NH:
     Yeah, well, he doesn’t see
anyone
as a threat, apparently.

P:
     Something about the way he referred to Gigi though was different. Like he didn’t think she deserved to even be here.

NH:
     [shakes head] He’s a piece of work, isn’t he? Who knows what he means—I sure don’t.

P:
     You sound more amused than annoyed.

NH:
     At some point, you gotta just laugh at the guy. Someone that delusional is clearly not worth arguing with.

Chapter Seventeen

Keeping an Eye Out

“I totally blew it,” Gigi groans. Pierce and Christian don’t say anything. I give her a sympathetic smile.

“You don’t know that, Gigi. There’s a lot to be said for committing to a vision. You looked at the challenge like a … a literal interpretation. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

But she shakes her head and starts gnawing at her thumbnail. “I was really hoping you and I would make it all the way to the end,” she whispers sadly.

I reach out and grab her hand, giving it a squeeze.

The Final Four challenge was unlike any we’d experienced so far. You’d think that, with fewer competitors, the challenges would be even more complex—creating a flight of soufflés, maybe, or experimenting with obscure ingredients. So when Ms. Svincek stood in front of us, explaining our directions, we just stared at her in disbelief.

“Fast food?”

Gigi and I looked at each other. When I glanced at Christian and Pierce, they looked equally baffled.

“Yes,” Ms. Svincek said. “You need to put together a fastfood meal with an entrée, side dish, and drink in thirty minutes.”

“Ms. Svincek,” I began, “it’s not that we don’t
want
to do the challenge, it’s just that … well, most fast food is prepackaged frozen junk that they just fry up before serving. We don’t have food like that here.”

“Yeah, and who wants to eat that stuff, anyway?” Pierce added, cringing. “You couldn’t pay me enough!”

“Exactly,” she said, smiling, “which means you need to use the ingredients at your disposal to come up with a fast food–
style
meal.”

Visions of deep-fried sweetbreads and mascarpone milk-shakes danced in my head. I was starting to understand—it’s like a gourmet drive-thru challenge. When the clock was set and the button was pressed, I was off like a shot to the refrigerators, yanking out every expensive ingredient I could find.

In the end, the four of us came up with distinctly different takes on what fast food,
Taste Test
–style, should actually look like. The judges loved my truffle-salted French fries and Pierce’s Verona chocolate malt. Christian did a New England lobster roll that Ms. Svincek called “a creamy kiss from the sea,” which, I think is, unfortunately, a good thing.

But Chef Mason and Madame Bouchon were less than impressed by Gigi’s cheddar cheeseburger with shoestring potatoes—they both complained about overcooked meat and
soggy fries. Ms. Svincek complimented her aioli dipping sauce, but she looked pretty disappointed overall. When we line up for Elimination, I have a sinking feeling that this will be the last time Gigi and I will be standing next to each other for a while.

“As I’m sure you can imagine,” Ms. Svincek begins, “this was the most challenging Elimination Table we’ve had thus far. All four of you are tremendously talented chefs and we see nothing but bright things in your future.

“But,” she continues with a sigh, “as you know, one of you has to go. One of you will not be joining us for the finale. And I’m very sorry to have to send that person home.”

I bite my lip hard and look at Gigi. Her eyes, full of tears, are trained on Ms. Svincek. I can’t bear the thought of saying good-bye to her.

“Christian Van Lorton.”

I snap my head forward as Christian takes a step toward the judges.

“Your lobster roll and sweet-potato hush puppies showed a mastery of both fast food and regional cuisine. Bravo—you are the challenge winner.”

Well, there it is, I guess. God knows, I’m never going to hear the end of that.

“Nora Henderson.”

I give Gigi a small smile and walk forward.

“Nora, we thoroughly enjoyed your Cajun crab cake sandwich and those delicious truffle French fries. Congratulations, you’re still in the running to win the
Taste Test
competition.”

I exhale hard. I did it—I’m going to be in the finale. Half
the weight pressing on my shoulders lifts—and the other half bears down as the judges look from Pierce to Gigi.

“Pierce Johnson.”

My heart sinks.

“You put forth a valiant effort today, Pierce.”

I wait for Svincek to say that he’s the last of the three finalists. I wait for Gigi to choke out a sob.

“I’m sorry. You’ve been eighty-sixed from
Taste Test
.”

It’s as though all the air is sucked from the room. I look at Pierce, then at Gigi. Both of them look equally shell-shocked.

“Okay … well, thank you for—for this opportunity.”

Pierce gulps back whatever he’s feeling and walks forward to shake the judges’ hands. Christian, on the other hand, is glaring at the Elimination Table with his arms crossed over his chest.

“This is complete crap,” he says, practically spitting the words.

Ms. Svincek’s expression turns icy.

“I’m sorry, Christian. If you’re unhappy with the outcome, you’re more than welcome to sacrifice your spot in the finals to Pierce. I’m sure he’d jump at the opportunity.”

“Whatever. This place is totally corrupt.”

He rips off his apron and tosses it on the floor before stomping out of the room and slamming the door behind him. I look over at Gigi, who’s staring down at her shoes.

“You’ve got nothing to feel bad about,” I tell her quietly. “The judges made their decision—and see, you were worried for nothing.”

“I guess so …”

She trails off, watching Svincek chatting with the other
judges. Seeing us still standing there, she turns and claps her hands.

“Congratulations, ladies. And welcome to the final three!”

With every step we take up to the second floor, I feel my anger growing. How could Christian have reacted like that, and right in front of Gigi? I mean, sure, her food wasn’t elaborate or anything—but maybe it was perfect just as it was! Things don’t always have to be complicated to be delicious.

I’m about to say as much to Gigi when we notice Benny and a couple of burly guys hovering outside our dorm door. When we get closer, I can see they’re security guards. Gigi sucks in a breath.

“What’s going on?” I ask, bewildered.

“Standard operating procedure. Finalists can’t live together in the same room. Gigi, you’re gonna need to move your stuff back to your old room, or we can move Nora to another one.”