The Doughnut King

by Jessie Janowitz

  In front of me, Keya turned around. “Maybe you could ask the medic for a Paracetamol,” she said quietly.

  “What?”

  “Oh, sorry—I meant a Tylenol.”

  Why couldn’t this girl mind her own business? “I don’t need anything. We should go.” Randy had already led the group out of the room, and I slipped around Keya to catch up with them.

  I was fine. I was. Believe and achieve, right?

  Chapter 15

  “Listen up, I’m going to call your name, then tell you which counter you’re assigned to.”

  I blinked against the lights. They were everywhere.

  And how many cameras did they need? I counted two enormous ones on wheels that looked like Transformers at the front of the set, and six smaller ones that people were holding on their shoulders at each end of three long counters.

  “There are two of you to a counter.” Randy held up two fingers like maybe we needed a visual aid to understand the number two.

  “Izzy?”

  “Here!” The Disney character’s arm shot in the air.

  Randy waved her forward. “You too, Harper.”

  Trash-talker joined Izzy. I noticed she’d put on her jean jacket even though it was superhot from all the lights, and I wondered whether it was some good luck thing.

  “So you two are together at station one.”

  A woman in green hospital scrubs with a gummy smile waved from the first counter.

  “Guys, that’s April. She’s the medic.” Randy looked at her clipboard. “Okay, next up… Phoenix?” Skinny Jeans raised his hand. “And Gordy?”

  The boy who reminded me of Fozzie pumped his fist in the air. “Can you cut it!” he called like he was leading a cheer at the Super Bowl.

  “You two are together.”

  “Excellent.” Phoenix rolled his eyes. “When does Chef JJ get here?”

  “When you do what I tell you to. Now go to your station.” Randy clicked her pen over her head like she was firing warning shots.

  Phoenix made a face and dragged his feet over to his counter where Gordy was already bouncing around touching all the equipment.

  “So that leaves…” Randy clicked her pen at Keya.

  “Keya,” the girl said.

  “Keya, right. You’re with Tristan—Tris.”

  “Hello, again,” Keya said to me.

  “Hey.” I felt my mouth break into a smile against my will. Not smiling at Keya while she was smiling at me was like trying to sing “The Star-Spangled Banner” in a stadium full of people singing “Happy Birthday.”

  Why couldn’t I have been with Phoenix, someone I could hate and who would hate me right back?

  We followed Randy to our counter where someone was squatting in front of the shelves under it, checking things off on an iPad.

  “This is Marco.” The man stood up, and I recognized him as the guy who’d interviewed me at the callback. “Marco is an assistant producer. His job is to… he helps keep the show exciting.” Randy’s face broke into a smile, a real one with teeth. “And we don’t know what we’d do without him.”

  “Stop or you’ll make me tear up in front of the kids.” Marco gave Randy a one-armed hug. “So, who are the latest victims?”

  Randy introduced Marco to everyone, then took us through the day’s filming schedule. Since Chef JJ shot the intro to the show separately, she and Dieter would jump right in with introducing us and then go straight into the first challenge.

  “What else? What am I forgetting?” Randy flipped through papers on her clipboard. “Oh, right, interviews! Over the course of the show, we’ll be pulling you aside and interviewing you individually. Given the way the show works, sometimes the interviews happen after you’ve been cut. We know these can be hard, but we’ll try to make them fast so you can get out of here.”

  Just then, the woman with the toothpaste commercial smile I remembered from the callback rushed onto the set and whispered something to Randy.

  “Okay, everybody. This is it!” Randy called.

  Seconds later, Chef JJ walked out of the camera lights onto the set.

  For a moment, everyone, camerapeople unspooling cable, kids checking out their equipment, people adjusting lights, stopped what they were doing.

  Chef JJ gave a round-the-room wave. She was wearing a leather vest over the whitest T-shirt I’d ever seen, so white and clean, it was like she was daring us to spill something on it.

  “And we’re off.” Marco jogged to the front of the set. “All right, everybody excited?”

  We all “yeah-ed.”

  “That doesn’t sound very excited,” Marco said. “Let’s try that again. Everybody excited?” He cupped a hand over an ear.

  We “yeah-ed” louder.

  I felt like I was at a first-grade birthday party.

  While Marco was pumping us up, three guys wearing enormous earphones and carrying long poles with microphones attached to the ends positioned themselves around the room, two on opposite ends of the set, and one next to Chef JJ.

  “Thanks, Marco,” Chef JJ said. “Now I’m excited. You guys are going to rock this challenge. Just remember!” She pointed to the tattoo on her arm. “Never…”

  “Give up!” we all shouted. Marco had done his job well.

  “Hello, hello, hello!” sang Dieter as he walked out of the camera lights wearing a suit the color of Astroturf.

  “Okay, guys, one last thing,” Randy called. “Marco will be running on and off set. Don’t worry. He gets edited out, but the cameras are always rolling. Take it away, Samara.”

  Samara, all toothpaste smiles, ran out from behind the cameras with a mini chalkboard and held it up in front of her. “Can You Cut It? Season 6, Take 1.” Then she clapped down a lever on the board with a loud snap, and we were off.

  Chef JJ and Dieter crossed the set to Izzy and Harper’s counter trailed by a woman piloting the Transformer camera and a guy suspending the pole with the microphone over their heads.

  “So, why don’t you tell us a little bit about yourself?” Chef JJ said to Izzy.

  “I’m Izzy Ban-Newton. I’m from Portland, Maine. I’m eight years old.”

  “Okay, Izzy, and how long have you been cooking?”

  “Since I was four.”

  “And did I hear you’ve got some kind of cooking business?”

  “Oh, yeah. Lunchbox. Parents hire me to make healthy bento box lunches for their kids and then they pick them up from me and Mom before school.”

  “Well, isn’t that so…useful?”

  “Very useful.” Dieter nodded.

  “And, Izzy, what’s your favorite dish to make?”

  “Oh…” Izzy twirled a finger in a pigtail.

  “Tick-tock,” Dieter sang.

  “Pie?” Izzy said.

  “Pie, huh? Good pie takes real skill. You know why, right?” Chef JJ asked.

  “Um…” Izzy chewed on a thumbnail.

  This was one question I could answer even before I started training for the show. It’s the crust. Fillings are easy. But to make a crust that’s perfectly flaky, you have to know what you’re doing. The trick is cold butter. I’ve started putting the whole pie in the freezer for a bit right before I pop it in the oven. Works like a charm.

  “Maybe taste the fruit before so you know how much sugar you need?” Izzy said.

  “Come on, Izzy. Any kid with a subscription to Cooks Illustrated knows that.”

  Izzy’s chin quivered.

  I was beginning to understand what Izzy’s role was. She was the one you were supposed to feel bad for. She was there for the aww effect.

  “What about you?” Chef JJ crossed from Izzy’s station to Harper’s. “You are?”

  “Harper Gonzalez, thirteen.”

  “And do you, Harper Gonzalez, thirtee
n, know why pie takes real skill?”

  “The crust. Most people’s crust tastes… Well, it’s really bad.”

  “Too true,” Dieter said.

  “So, what’s the secret?” Chef JJ asked.

  “Butter. It’s got to be cold.”

  Chef JJ nodded. “Exactly. Gold star for Ms. Gonzalez. And how did you learn to cook?”

  “My parents. They met at the French Culinary Institute, and now they own a food truck in Philly.”

  “Food truck, huh?” Chef JJ rubbed her arms like the thought gave her the chills. “What kind of food?”

  “Chinese. Szechuan,” Harper said.

  “And they’ve never wanted to own a real restaurant?”

  Harper pressed her lips together as if she were trying to keep something dangerous from popping out. “I think they think it’s plenty real.”

  “I guess it’s all a matter of perspective, right?” Chef JJ said, giving Harper an icy smile.

  Next up was Phoenix. He was twelve, from Vermont, had five brothers, and they were all homeschooled.

  “And do I have this right,” Chef JJ said, “two of your brothers are on the Junior Olympic ski team, two are on the junior national speed skating team, and the youngest is a world-class… What was it?”

  “Snowboarder,” Phoenix said. “Yeah, that’s right.”

  “What are they putting in the water at your house?” Dieter chuckled.

  “And do you ski or skate?” Chef JJ asked.

  “Neither.”

  “Snowboard?”

  “Nope.”

  “Because you cook? That’s your thing?”

  “Yeah.” One of Phoenix’s eyes twitched.

  “And now you want to show them that you’re the national cooking champion, yes?” Dieter said.

  Phoenix nodded.

  “Okay, Phoenix.” Chef JJ leaned in a little closer. “I don’t want to embarrass you, but I have to ask. What happened to your eyebrow?”

  Phoenix’s eye did a double-twitch. “It was just, you know, a joke. My, uh, two of my brothers shaved off half of it while I was sleeping.”

  “Big families. So fun,” Dieter said.

  “Yeah, it’s great.” Phoenix looked like he wanted to throw something.

  Whatever role Phoenix was supposed to play, I felt like they’d just wound him up to play it.

  After Phoenix came Gordy, the puppy. They spent the shortest time with him. Basically the only thing I learned was that he was ten, lived in Delaware, and learned to cook because he loved to eat.

  Then I was up.

  “You’re here. That’s so fabulous,” Chef JJ said in a way that made “fabulous” sound like the scariest three syllables on Earth. “Dieter, did I tell you Tristan’s mother and I worked together?”

  I flinched at her use of “Tristan” instead of “Tris” but kept silent.

  “Yes, I know,” Dieter said.

  And now everybody else did too.

  Phoenix and Harper were glaring at me already.

  “Is Mom here?” It felt like Chef JJ was speaking especially loudly.

  “Uh, yeah. My whole family.”

  “Oh, big fun,” Dieter said.

  “Can’t wait to see her later. So, Tristan…” Chef JJ paused, and winked at me—was she calling me Tristan just to annoy me? “Tell us a little about yourself.”

  “And maybe too, what means ‘Petersville, The Place to Eat,’” Dieter said, pointing at my shirt.

  This was it, possibly my only chance to plug Petersville. I took a deep breath. Go slow. Don’t forget anything. “I’m Tris Levin. I’m twelve. And I’m from Petersville, which is in upstate New York, only a short car ride from New York City, Albany, and Boston. It’s a beautiful spot surrounded by mountains and farmland. And Petersville is the best small-town destination for food in the country. You get a real small town feel and top-notch cuisine at The Station House and life-changing doughnuts at my doughnut shop, The Doughnut Stop. There’s also a local cheese maker, local organic popcorn. Plus, tons of scheduled family activities in town.” I’d pointed out to Jeanine that not all of my speech was technically true, but she said we had to fake it till we made it.

  “Petersville, huh? Life-changing doughnuts, top-notch cuisine, and beautiful countryside. Sounds intriguing. Maybe we should check it out,” Chef JJ said to Dieter.

  “Yes, yes. I love the road-tripping.”

  No way. Had Chef JJ actually said “Petersville” on camera?

  Get Chef JJ to say “Petersville.” Check. And it was only day one. Plus, she and Dieter were going to visit. How many people would come to Petersville just because Chef JJ said she was planning to go even if she never actually did?

  “The whole town would flip for that,” I said. “I mean, the whole town isn’t that many people, but still.”

  “So it is a very small place?” Dieter said.

  “Oh, yeah. But we’re working on growing, you know, getting more people to visit, maybe even move there. I don’t know if you know about this, I mean, I didn’t, but some upstate New York towns are in big trouble. People are moving away, and the towns are just disappearing.”

  “I have actually heard about this, Tris,” Chef JJ said. “And here’s what I have to say about it: survival of the fittest.”

  “You mean, like, what’s it called, natural selection?” We’d learned about that in fifth-grade science. What did animals adapting to their environment over millions of years have to do with Petersville?

  “Exactly.” Chef JJ snapped her fingers. “I think what’s happening with these towns can be explained by Darwin’s theory of natural selection. Now he was talking about animals, right? But it works here too. Places that don’t have the traits that allow them to survive get smaller and smaller until they die out altogether. That’s how evolution works. But I guess keeping a few around like museums makes sense. Kind of like the way we breed animals on the verge of extinction in zoos.” Chef JJ stroked her bare skull. “Anyway, moving on…”

  Had Chef JJ just said that Petersville deserved to die out like the dinosaurs?

  Was that what she actually thought or was she just trying to wind me up too?

  The next thing I knew, someone was shouting: “CUT!”

  • • •

  The show was deadly serious about giving us breaks, standardized-test-put-your-pencils-down-now serious. Between you and me, I don’t think anybody actually cared whether we had to go to the bathroom or were hungry, but it turns out there are laws about the care and feeding of kids when you’re making money off us. So we were hustled to the greenroom for exactly fifteen minutes—they set an alarm—and then hustled back to the set where Chef JJ, Dieter, and Marco were waiting for us.

  Marco pumped us up for a few minutes (Who here has mad cooking skills? Let me hear you say, “Yayuh!”) and then snap, the cameras were rolling.

  “This is it. The first challenge. Do you think they’re ready, Dieter?” Chef JJ said.

  Dieter pulled his 3-D glasses down his nose and looked around the room. “They look ready.”

  “Okay, then. Here it is. Your first challenge is,” Chef JJ paused. “Knife Skills Showdown!”

  Of course. Because why not get eliminated in the very first round. They couldn’t have started with a bake-off?

  “Now, as most of you know, Knife Skills Showdown is a challenge in every season, and that’s because it tests one of the most fundamental skills we chefs need. It immediately separates the weak from the strong. If you can’t cut, you’ll never cut it. Each of you has three onions in the cupboard under your sink. Take them out now.”

  I reached down, pulled my bag of onions out, and dumped it upside down. Three very large onions rolled out.

  Two of Keya’s onions could have fit inside one of mine. I checked out everybody else’s. There were a
range of sizes, but nobody’s largest onion was close to as big as my smallest.

  “Do you think somebody injected your onions with human growth hormone?” Keya said. “You should say something.”

  “It’s fine.”

  It wasn’t. I barely had a fighting chance with normal-size onions, but the few times I’d seen a kid work up the nerve to complain about anything on Can You Cut It? Chef JJ tormented and mocked them for being weak for the rest of the show.

  “Now, when I start this stopwatch.” She held up a large digital clock. “The timers on your counters will also start. There’s no time limit on this challenge. Just chop each onion into even pieces as fast as possible. You will be judged on both speed and precision. If you finish first, but I find one strip of half-cut onions, you won’t win. You have to find that perfect balance between speed and accuracy.”

  “And safety,” Dieter added.

  “Right. Get blood on your onion and you’re out. Now review your equipment and make sure you’re not missing anything.”

  Three humungous onions: check.

  Knife rack: check.

  I looked up and waited for the next instructions.

  Beside me, Keya slid a leather envelope onto the counter and unfolded it. Inside, four knives were nestled in leather pouches, each with a sleek pearly handle.

  She had her own knives? Nobody had brought their own knives since Parker in Season Two.

  Keya wrapped her hand around the largest handle, slid the knife out of its pocket, and held it up to the light. I must have been staring because she smiled that freakishly friendly smile right at me and said, “My father made them for me.”

  “Cool,” I heard myself say.

  Not only were they hers, the knives had been specially made for her! Next, she was going to tell me they had dragon heartstring cores.

  I grabbed the largest plastic handle sticking out of my rack and pulled. The knife was nothing special, but it had a short wide blade that Walter had assured me gave good control.

  So she had her own knives, so what.

  All I had to do was not finish last.

  “Okay, folks, this is it. Knife Skills Showdown!” Chef JJ shouted. “No way to fake knife skills. If you can’t cut, you’re in trouble starting now!”