The Doughnut King

by Jessie Janowitz

  “Situation,” Randy repeated. “Okay. I’ll tell you when to send them in.”

  My eyes were tearing from the light, so I closed them. Something cold squirted onto my nose and cheeks. Then I felt someone smearing it around.

  “Okay, we’re done here,” Barry said.

  I shaded my eyes and looked at myself in the mirror.

  My face was the color of the inside of a cantaloupe, and there was so much gunk on it, you could scrape my name in it. “It’s itchy.”

  “Tough,” Barry said.

  “No scratching. Up, let’s go,” Randy ordered, hustling me back to my station.

  Harper took one look at me and burst out laughing. “You guys think he looks better now?”

  I hate the competition.

  The next minute, Chef JJ was marching across the set, Dieter a few steps behind. “Greetings, minions, seems like we were a little slow out of the gate this morning. Beginning to crack under the pressure, are we?” I guess that thought made her really happy, because she smiled a big, toothy smile right then. “You know what I always say…”

  “If you’re not standing the heat, get out of the kitchen,” Dieter said.

  Chef JJ rolled her eyes. “How many times do I have to tell you? It’s can’t stand the heat. If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen!”

  “If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen,” Dieter repeated.

  “Well, I said it already now.”

  My face was so itchy, I swear I could feel the tickle in my teeth. I scratched at my palm and tried to convince myself it was my cheek.

  Snap. The cameras began rolling.

  “With only three contestants left, this is the last challenge before the East Coast regional finals. Whoever is sent home today will have come so far only to be sent home with nothing.” One of the Transformer cameras stretched its neck toward Chef JJ as she crossed the set. “Let’s see how Harper is handling the pressure.”

  “Bring it on,” Harper said. “Oh, I have something for you.” She unpinned a button from her jean jacket and held it up.

  “‘Winners never quit and quitters never win,’” Chef JJ read. “I like it.”

  Dieter took the button, wiped it down with a handkerchief, and handed it to Chef JJ.

  “I knew you would,” Harper said.

  I liked it better when Harper was trash-talking. I’d take a trash-talker over a suck-up any day. It didn’t even seem like Harper. Maybe the pressure was getting to her even if she couldn’t admit it.

  “And what about you, Keya?” Chef JJ said. “How are you managing?”

  “A tad nervous.” She smiled. “But I’m trying to just take each challenge as it comes.”

  “What a…nice attitude.” The word “nice” made Chef JJ’s mouth pucker like she’d sucked on a lemon. “And last, quite possibly least, Tristan?”

  “I’m just happy I’m still here representing Petersville, the best small to—”

  “What’s wrong with your face?” Chef JJ said, scowling at me.

  “CUT!”

  The next second, Randy was there, squeezing between me and Chef JJ.

  “Tris was…pale this morning, so we had Barry give him a little extra.”

  “He is looking very”—Dieter’s eyebrows inched down his forehead as he leaned in to study me—“apricot.”

  “Don’t worry. We can even out the color digitally,” Randy said.

  “If you say so.” Chef JJ was still examining my face like she was trying to identify something stuck to the bottom of her shoe.

  When the cameras began rolling again, Chef JJ announced the challenge: One Ingredient Masterpiece. This was no surprise. One-Ingredient Masterpiece has been a challenge on every season except the first.

  I’d found my one-ingredient masterpiece before I’d even gotten the email about the callback. I’d spotted it in one of Mom’s Sweet Life magazines while clipping articles she’d marked. She’d promised me new hockey skates if I organized them in a binder for her. When I saw the recipe for a chocolate mousse made with just chocolate and water, I had to try it. Mostly because I didn’t believe it would work. How could you make mousse without eggs or cream?

  If I’m being totally honest, chocolate mousse with eggs and cream is better. But as long as the chocolate you’re using is good, the one-ingredient mousse is too.

  It was the perfect recipe for One Ingredient Masterpiece. The rules of the challenge allow you to use unlimited spices, herbs, oil, and butter to cook and flavor your one-ingredient, but I’d get extra points for a recipe that was truly a single ingredient. Water didn’t count.

  I couldn’t wait to see the look on Chef JJ’s face when I told her the mousse was just chocolate and water. It wasn’t about winning anymore. It was about showing what I could do.

  “Okay, folks, this is it. One Ingredient Masterpiece!” Chef JJ shouted. “Twenty minutes to transform one ingredient into something spectacular. Starting now!”

  Dieter blew his kazoo. “Go and go and go!”

  19:59…19:58…19:57…

  We all ran to the pantry.

  Chocolate…chocolate… I scanned the shelves. Chocolate!

  I grabbed a semi-sweet bar and ran back to my station.

  16:22…

  I pulled a large mixing bowl from under the sink, filled it with ice cubes, then set a smaller glass bowl in the ice. Next I broke the bar into pieces and dropped them in a saucepan with one-third of a cup of water. Then I put the heat on low and stirred. I’d keep stirring until it was all melted. I wasn’t taking a chance on burning the chocolate. There were lots of things you could fix, but there was no coming back from burnt chocolate.

  Standing there stirring, watching the chocolate transform from solid to liquid right before my eyes, something happened. Everything else went away. It was just me and the smell of melting chocolate, lifting me up like a magic carpet.

  11:37…

  The chocolate was smooth now, so I poured it into the bowl sitting in the ice bath. Then I whisked it as fast as I could.

  It’s easy to whip too long. You have to catch it right when the surface goes shiny, which is usually about five minutes after you start whisking. If you miss that moment and keep going, the mousse turns grainy and thick, kind of like cement. Not bad tasting, just a little gritty, but tasty cement would never fly on Can You Cut It? so when I realized I’d let it go too long, I melted it again, and beat it until it was just right.

  I finished right as the buzzer went off, and I felt myself smile, for real, no strings this time.

  Chef JJ called Harper to the tasting table first.

  “So what do we have here?” She peered over the plate Harper set on the counter between them.

  “These are Szechuan dry-fried green beans.” A bead of sweat escaped from Harper’s hair and rolled down the side of her face.

  Chef JJ sniffed the blackened beans, then raised an eyebrow.

  “They’ve got a bit of a kick,” Harper said.

  Chef JJ speared a shriveled bean with her fork, put it in her mouth, and chewed.

  And chewed…

  Her eyes flew from the plate to Harper. Her fork clattered to the table. “Cracker!” she croaked.

  Harper wrapped her arms around herself and hung onto her elbows.

  Dieter pulled a sleeve of Saltines from under the counter, tore it open, and spilled a few into Chef JJ’s hand. She mashed two crackers into her mouth at once, then held out her hand for more.

  When she’d downed a quarter of the sleeve, she glared at Harper. “Have you tried these?”

  Harper shook her head. “I didn’t have time. Too much chili?”

  “Here, you tell me.” Chef JJ picked up a clean fork, speared three beans, then handed the fork to Dieter, who passed it over the table to Harper.

&nb
sp; Harper took the fork and slid one bean into her mouth.

  “Nice try,” Chef JJ said.

  Harper slipped the two remaining beans into her mouth.

  We all watched as Harper chewed and swallowed, chewed and swallowed.

  If Harper doesn’t become a chef, she should become a professional poker player or a politician or anybody who has to bluff for a living. Maybe her throat was on fire, but you’d never know it from looking at her face.

  “So what do you think?” Chef JJ said.

  “I…I think.” Harper reached for one of the glasses of water on the table.

  Chef JJ elbowed Dieter. “Uh-oh, she needs a glass of water.”

  “I don’t need one.” Harper’s voice was scratchy. “I would…like one.”

  “Oh, I see,” Chef JJ said. “I misunderstood. I thought you needed water because eating these green beans is the culinary equivalent of swallowing a sword that has been doused in kerosene and lit aflame. I thought you’d created this dish as a form of torture for those who may have wronged you in a past life or killed a pet. But I see I was wrong. You don’t need water, because this is exactly how you wanted your string beans to taste. Is that right?”

  Harper nodded slowly. You had to hand it to her. She was so going down—we all knew it—but she would not let Chef JJ break her. She wasn’t going to blubber like Izzy or lose her cool like Phoenix.

  But Chef JJ was done with admiring Harper’s toughness and cooking technique. People watched the show to see her crack kids, and it was time to crack Harper.

  Chef JJ tapped her fork against the plate. “So this is exactly the way you like them, is it?”

  “It is,” Harper said, standing so straight, it seemed like she’d actually grown a few inches.

  “Okay, so finish them.” Chef JJ pushed the plate across the table. “Now. Eat every last one.”

  “What is this, an eating challenge?”

  “Sure.”

  “You know what I’m thinking?” Dieter turned to speak directly into the camera. “Harper is”—he waved his arms like he was conducting everyone watching this at home on their couches—“making excuses.”

  “I don’t do excuses.” Harper picked up the fork and began gobbling string beans.

  In seconds, streams of sweat were rolling down her face. “Fine! Fine!” She waved the fork in the air. “I misjudged the chili. Happy now?”

  “Yes.” Chef JJ sighed, then smiled. “I am.”

  “CUT!”

  • • •

  When we came back from break, it was my turn. I brought up the mousse in two small bowls and set them on the tasting table.

  Chef JJ sniffed, dipped her spoon into the mousse, then held it up to the light, and inspected it. If it were at all grainy, she definitely would have seen. I couldn’t see any sandy spots, and if she did, she didn’t say so.

  Finally, she put the spoon in her mouth, then swallowed, and gave a little shrug. “Meh.”

  “Meh?” I said.

  “You know, ‘meh’ as in, ‘ish.’ Not good, not bad. Just kind of there.”

  “But I only used one ingredient. Just the chocolate.”

  “That’s true. But that’s really its only virtue, isn’t it?” This wasn’t an act. She really wasn’t impressed. “Although after those green beans, I guess you get points for not causing me physical pain, so there’s that. Bravo for blandness.”

  Dieter clapped. “Bravo for blandness!”

  Yay, me. I moped back to my station.

  “Keya, let’s see what you’ve got back there.”

  Keya walked forward slowly as if she had a book balanced on her head, and when she passed, I realized why. On her tray were two mugs filled to the brim with a steaming, foamy liquid.

  I couldn’t believe it. Keya was fancying things up with those milk frothers? For a while, each new restaurant in New York Mom dragged us to was serving everything bubbly—soups, sauces, anything that could be frothed, was. And it did look cool, but you know what bubbles taste like? That’s right, nothing. No way Chef JJ was going to fall for an airy, tasteless soup, no matter how cool it looked.

  Chef JJ put her face over the mug and inhaled. “Cardamom?”

  Keya nodded.

  “And turmeric?”

  Keya nodded again.

  “And…” Chef JJ took a long sniff. “Cloves?”

  “Just a bit.”

  “I’m intrigued. Tell me what we have here.”

  “It’s a spiced butter tea. My own take on traditional butter tea that we drink in the north of India. I spend summers there with my aunt. I don’t love the classic version. It’s more…practical, keeps you hydrated, warm. Gives you energy. This one does that as well, but it tastes quite nice too. At least, I think it does.”

  “Let’s see.” Chef JJ picked up a mug with both hands and sipped once…twice…three times. “Taste it,” she said to Dieter.

  He picked up the second mug and drank. “Mmm. Ginger too, yes?”

  “The tiniest pinch,” Keya said.

  “And brown sugar, right?” Chef JJ sniffed again at the steam rising from the cup. “Salt too. I love the sweet and the spice. It’s the perfect blend.”

  Keya lit up like someone had flipped a switch. “Really? You don’t understand. I did so much experimenting before I came up with the right mix of everything. My family is so sick of tasting it for me.”

  I wanted to taste spiced butter tea. It sounded so different from anything I’d ever had. And it was Keya’s own creation. If I didn’t get to taste it now, I never would.

  Chef JJ took another big swig. “I’m having this every morning for breakfast.”

  Keya giggled.

  “I’m serious. You’re writing down the recipe. This is my new go-to breakfast.” Chef JJ took another gulp. “Congratulations! You’re the winner of One Ingredient Masterpiece!”

  “Really!” Keya jumped up and down, and before Dieter could stop her, she threw both arms around Chef JJ, who froze like she was playing Red Light, Green Light.

  “CUT!”

  “Remember? No touching!” Randy shouted as she raced out from behind the lights.

  “Oh, sorry!” Keya quickly let go. “I just—”

  Chef JJ put up the stop hand, then hurried off the set, muttering to herself.

  “I’m really sorry,” Keya said to Randy. “I just forgot. Is she going to be okay?”

  “Sure, she just needs a nice, long decontamination.”

  “She has a special machine,” Marco explained. “Kind of like a—”

  “TMI, Marco,” Randy snapped.

  “Sorry.” Marco pretended to zip his lips.

  “We were done for today anyway,” Randy said. “Keya, Tris, go get some rest. The finals aren’t until Friday so you have tomorrow off. Harper, you need to stick around for your interview.”

  “The finals? You mean, I’m in,” I said.

  “Wasn’t that obvious?” Randy said. “Bravo for blandness, remember?”

  “It was obvious to me,” Harper said. “I knew I was out the moment she compared eating my green beans to swallowing flaming swords.”

  Harper was out, and I was in the finals?

  What was I thinking? My cheating wasn’t over. I was still there on the show. I was there, and Izzy, Phoenix, and Harper were gone. Who knows who’d be in the finals if I hadn’t cheated?

  “Good luck.” Keya was holding her hand out for me to shake. “May the best chef win.”

  My hand felt like it was weighted down with bricks, but I forced myself to lift it and give her hand one quick shake. “Oh, yeah, good luck to you too.”

  Chapter 22

  Mom would not stop talking.

  She started the second I saw her in the greenroom and was still at it when we sat down for dinner at Barney Green
grass. Dad had taken Jeanine, Josh, and Zoe to a movie so it was just the two of us.

  Did you see JJ’s face when she ate that string bean?

  Wouldn’t you love to taste that tea? I’m dying to try it.

  Do you think JJ will hire a bodyguard to protect against future hugging? Keya’s not getting within two feet of her again.

  Not sure Mom even noticed that she was both asking and answering her questions.

  Zippo came out of the kitchen tying an apron around his waist. “Hey, so how’s my favorite TV celebrity?”

  “He’s in the finals!” Mom said way too loud. Was “bravo for blandness” really something the entire Upper West Side needed to celebrate?

  “Way to go.” Zippo gave me a thumbs-up. “The usual?”

  I nodded. It didn’t matter. I wasn’t hungry. Plus, I was worried what would come out when I opened my mouth. I had that fizzy feeling I’d had that night at Nom Wah.

  “You know what? I’ll have matzoh ball soup tonight too,” Mom said. “And a side of white fish. And an onion bagel.”

  “Coming up.” Zippo noted the order, put the pen back behind his ear, and disappeared into the kitchen.

  “I’m so excited for you,” Mom said.

  And I could tell she really was, and it killed me, sitting there with her looking all proud and happy and clueless.

  We’d all agreed not to tell Mom what we’d learned at El Mariachi. She would have felt awful, and it wouldn’t have changed anything. But I still couldn’t help blaming her for how everything had gone down. I’m not saying it was her fault that I cheated. That was all on me. But who knows what would have happened if I hadn’t gotten on the show because Mom was Chef JJ’s leech? Wouldn’t everything have been different?

  Mom took out her phone, dialed, then held it to her ear.

  “Hey, Walter, just checking in.” As she listened, the hand that wasn’t on the phone went to her mouth. “Okay, so I guess we just need to pull back to four mains. And cut the steak… I’ll think about it.” Tap. Tap-Tap. “We may not have a choice… Yup, the finals! I’ll tell him.” She looked at me and pumped a fist in the air. “All right. See you then.” She swiped the screen and put the phone on the table. “Walter says hello and congrats.”