by Lynn Cahoon
“I think I heard the guard saying that you have to have a wristband to buy. Maybe that’s what they’ll do at the contest?” Ian pointed to Felicia. “She had to go to a different table and get tickets to buy the drinks.”
Just then, Felicia waved Ian over. When Angie started to stand, she shook her head. Ian laughed. “So much for her buying. I think they need two people’s ID for three drinks. Stay here and guard the table. Others are watching us closely.”
“I’ll guard the castle.” Angie leaned over the table, her arms outstretched, making Ian laugh.
He kissed her quickly. “We’ll be right back with refreshments.”
Angie leaned back in her seat and started thinking about the competition tomorrow. Twelve teams, and then there would be nine. Just like that. All they had to do was survive from day to day. The hair on the back of her neck bristled, and she got a chill. Was someone watching her? She scanned the crowded bar area and finally found the source of the ill will.
A man sat near the bar, beer in hand, staring at her. When she met his gaze, his eyes narrowed, and he lifted his bottle to her in some sort of salute. Angie glanced over to where Ian and Felicia stood. Had they given off the wrong impression? Did the creepy man think she was here single and looking for a hookup?
Felicia and Ian walked back to the table. Ian set a beer in front of Angie. He studied her face. “What’s wrong? Did someone bother you?”
Angie shook her head, feeling silly. “No. Someone was just watching me. It’s nothing.”
Ian scanned the area. “Who? Do I need to go defend your honor?”
She giggled, which was probably what Ian had intended. “No. Just a guy. He’s over there.”
But when she pointed, the seat where the man had been sitting was empty. And as she scanned the area, he was gone.
“He must have gotten the message,” Felicia said, then she took a piece of paper out of her back pocket. “I was thinking… If you want to deep fat–fry tomorrow, you could set the team up this way…”
Chapter 3
The group gathered promptly at nine to hear the judges’ decision on just what type of appetizer they’d be making. Matt, Hope, and Felicia all stood next to her, in front of the booth. Next door, the chefs from Copper Creek were gathering too. Sydney waved at Angie, then counted out her staff.
“You know you have one too many cooks in the kitchen, right?”
Angie stepped closer. “Felicia’s just here to see us off. Then she’s going to go play for the day. How have you been? I haven’t seen you since you guys came to chef table at the County Seat a few months ago.”
“Busy, as usual. I’m trying to get everything set up before I go off on maternity leave.” Sydney patted her belly. “It seems like we’ve been planning for this forever, but now that it’s close, there’s so much I need to get done.”
“Congratulations. When are you due?”
“October seventh. But who knows with babies? I’m planning on a natural childbirth.” She went on about all the things she was expecting when the baby came. In too much detail.
When the head judge called for quiet, Angie gratefully slipped back over to her team, promising to finish the conversation later.
She hoped she’d be too busy to keep that promise.
“I’m so glad to greet you all this beautiful summer morning.” Ann Cole, the mayor of Garden City, where the fairgrounds were located, spoke clearly into the microphone. Even though most of the contestants were in tanks and jeans, Ms. Cole was dressed in a bright coral linen suit that made her look more like she was going to tea in New York than judging a cooking contest in Southwestern Idaho. All five of the judges were in suits, and Angie wondered how many were like Ms. Cole, politicians on the next voting ballot.
But then again, she’d always been cynical. At least that’s what Felicia said. Angie realized that the woman was done welcoming them to the small city being swallowed up by metropolitan Boise and was now talking about the rules.
“Tomorrow morning, we’ll meet here again to announce tomorrow’s challenge, along with the nine teams that will continue on in the competition. The winner will also get an advantage, which we’ll announce tonight after judging at six p.m.”
Angie glanced over to Felicia and saw the man from the beer garden last night standing by one of the restaurant booths. He must be another chef. She glanced up at the signage. Bien Viveres. He saw her look and smirked at her. So, he wanted to play, did he? Angie kept herself from rolling her eyes and turned back to Ms. Cole, who seemed to be winding down. The woman glanced at the oversized digital clock. “You have four hours to shop, cook, and be ready to serve a hundred invited guests at twelve thirty. Your challenge? Make us the best corn dog we’ve ever had.”
Groans came from several groups, but Hope bounced up and grabbed Angie’s arm. “You guessed it.”
Anger flashed over the Bien Viveres chef’s face, but just as soon as Angie saw his expression, it was gone. She leaned in to Felicia and nodded to the guy, who was now circled together with his team, barking orders. “We’re going to have to watch that one.”
“Miquel? Why? He seemed nice when he came to eat at the County Seat last week.” Felicia frowned as she studied the group.
“He came to eat at the restaurant?” Had he studied the competition? Or was this just a coincidence? Either way, she didn’t have time to deal with anything but the task at hand. “Okay, Felicia? Take off. Hope and Matt? Let’s get planning.”
“Good luck, guys.” Felicia waved as the three disappeared into the booth.
“I take it we’re making our own sausage for the corn dog?” Matt stood at the end of the booth, glancing around at the options. “Is there a meat grinder?”
“Over there in the cabinet. They stocked us for most anything.” Angie waved them toward the refrigerator storage bin. “I had Felicia get the ingredients for the sausage that Estebe made for family meal last month. You helped him with that, right, Matt?”
“I did.” He took out a large bin and started grabbing meat. “I’ll start cutting up the meat if you all want to get the veggies started.”
And just like at the restaurant, things started falling together. Angie had chosen correctly. Her two least-experienced cooks had been trained well by Estebe. And they knew how to move quickly.
They finished up a trial batch of the sausage in just under an hour. Angie stuck one in the freezer and then they grilled several. She’d already made up a batch of the cornmeal batter and Hope was busy working on a sauce for dipping, even though Angie was considering using a locally made ground mustard. Maybe they should have both?
They made up three samples. One grilled, then dipped. One frozen, then dipped. And one just chilled from the fridge. First they sampled a grilled sausage without the batter.
“Perfect mix. Spicy, but not crazy hot.” Angie’s praise had Matt blushing.
He nodded. “Make sure you mention that to Estebe. I changed the mixture on the peppers. His were a little too aggressive, if I remember the comments from the team at family meal.”
“I’m sure he’ll be open to changes.” Hope laughed. “Well, maybe in an alternate universe.”
“Either way, it’s a good change up, and yes, when we add it to the menu, we’ll use your tweak.” Angie smiled as Matt did a quick fist pump.
“Can I call him now?” He glanced at the clock. “I’m sure he’s going to want to know this sooner than later.”
“No. We’re on a mission. We don’t have to win, but we do have to stay alive in the competition.” Angie studied the actual corn dogs that they’d made. “I like the color of the batter. But make sure you judge the batter too. We need a touch of sweetness to complement the sausage.”
They sampled the three, and all agreed the batter worked. Then it was the issue of the technique. Finally, they made their choice, then set up a statio
n to get all the sausage done first. Angie made the batter mix, keeping the wet ingredients separate and putting finishing the mix on her timeline. It was like a dance. Do one thing too soon, and the rest wouldn’t get done. A big part of the challenge was time management. If no one could taste your food because you missed the deadline, you were out.
She hung the schedule on a wall where she could see it. Then she set a timer for the next step. Finally, she went to join Matt and Hope in making sausages.
Matt had brought his boom box and a mix of country, pop, and classic rock music flowed through the trailer as they worked. An hour into the schedule, a knock sounded at the door. Angie washed her hands, then grabbed a towel before answering. A woman with a microphone and a clipboard stood outside, with a man with a video camera. Time for the dog and pony show. Now she really wished she’d pulled Felicia in on the first day of the competition. She took a deep breath and went to slay the dragons.
“Good morning, you must be Angie Taylor from the County Seat.” The woman who was in her late fifties beamed up at her. “I’m Dee Samson from the local NBC affiliate. Do you have a few minutes to answer some questions?”
Angie dried her hands, then stepped out of the kitchen. “Just a few. And it’s Angie Turner, not Taylor.”
The woman scribbled on a notebook. “Great catch. Sometimes I can’t read my producers’ handwriting. So, I won’t keep you long. Do you mind standing over here by the front so the viewers can see your trailer sign?”
“Works for me.” Angie moved to the front and self-consciously ran her fingers through her hair. Felicia would have loved doing this interview.
“Ready, Terry.” When the man with the camera nodded, the reporter did a quick intro and then turned to Angie. “I understand that you’re a hometown favorite here. You grew up on your grandparents’ farm in River Vista?”
The woman had done her research. Or the producer had. “My Nona raised me after my parents died in a car crash. I went to high school in River Vista, then got my culinary degree here at Boise State. So yeah, I’m a hometown girl. My partner, Felicia Williams, grew up back East, but we met at BSU.”
“You moved here after closing your San Diego Mexican restaurant, correct?”
Angie nodded. This interview was getting personal really fast. “Yes. We were priced out of the up-and-coming neighborhood. But we’d always wanted to do a farm-to-fork concept, and River Vista looked like the right place at the right time.”
“Farm to fork, what does that mean?” Dee asked.
Angie knew the woman understood the concept but figured she was asking for her viewers. “I buy directly from local farmers for most of my supplies. Sourcing so close to the field where produce and meat were raised keeps the product fresh and helps the local community.”
Dee smiled, and for a second, Angie didn’t think she was going to like the next question. “I hear you found more than just fresh corn and lettuce at the farmers’ market. Is it true you’re dating the manager?”
Angie glanced at her watch. “Oh, my, look at the time. Thanks for stopping by this morning. You know the event is timed, so I’d better get in and help out my crew.”
Dee kept filming as Angie escaped. “Well, I guess that question is just going to have to be answered at another time. Thanks to Angie Turner for taking time out of her day to chat. If you’re in River Vista, be sure to stop by her quaint restaurant, the County Seat, and check out the new farm-to-fork dining rage.”
Angie banged the door shut, hoping it didn’t look like she was running away after the interview. Because that’s exactly how it had felt.
“Hey, boss, how’d the promo go?” Matt watched her carefully. Sometimes Angie felt like she had no secrets from this group of people she worked with. Which was probably true.
“Fine.” She glanced at the schedule. “How are we on sausages?”
Hope and Matt shared a look. Then Hope took out a five from her pocket and tucked it into Matt’s jeans pocket.
“Don’t tell me you bet on how the interview would go?” Angie walked over to the sink and washed her hands. “You know I hate those things.”
“Matt said you wouldn’t talk about it. I disagreed, but no matter. I hope the interview went better than you think.” Hope walked over to the veggie chopping station, pulling on her gloves as she walked. “I’m chopping the onions too.”
“You really need to stop betting. It seems like you’re always on the losing end of the game.” Angie counted up the already-made sausages. They had many more to go, and she needed time to get them grilled, cooled, to finally be ready for dipping into the cornmeal mixture.
They worked side by side for another hour or so, until finally it was close to time for service. Angie glanced out the front window. People were milling around the area, drinks in hand, and as Ian had predicted, armbands showed if they were of legal drinking age. The man knew his stuff.
“We start serving in fifteen minutes. We need at least five minutes to get ten plates ready, then we’ll just repeat. Are we putting the sauce in cups or just to the side of the corn dog?”
The three of them tried a few different combinations, then decided on a plating plan. Then they started cooking the first set of dogs.
When a bell went off, Angie went to the front to start working with the customers. She couldn’t tell from her angle how the other booths were doing, but customers seemed to love their version of a corn dog. Matt brought out a tray with the last ten dogs. “Did the judges come by?”
“I think so. I mean, I talked to a few of them, but they didn’t come in a group.” Angie smiled as she handed a basket with the corn dog and sauces to a woman carrying a baby on one hip. “Basque-style sausage with a cream sauce and a mustard sauce. Enjoy.”
Matt shook his head. “I knew I should have written out your script. Do you mind if I handle that tomorrow? You don’t sell the food enough.”
Angie was too tired to argue. Besides, marketing had never been her strong suit. Felicia and Estebe always rewrote her menu descriptions before they sent them to the printer. “You can do it for as long as we’re in the competition. Are you scheduled to work all the nights?”
“Yep. And I appreciate the extra hours. I’m so close to having a down payment on one of Estebe’s rentals.” Matt grinned as he handed out one of the baskets, waxing eloquent about the subtle spicing in the sausage and the sweetness of the corn batter covering. “I don’t think he really thought I could come up with twenty percent, at least not for a while. But I’m determined to get this deal done before he gets a new renter in there and I have to wait for another opening.”
Estebe had invested his chef’s wages smartly. He owned several rentals, and Angie thought that if he didn’t want to cook anymore, the guy could probably retire. A bell went off just as Matt handed off the last basket. Hope had joined them.
“The kitchen is clean, and the dishes are done. We’ll be ready for tomorrow’s start just as soon as we get instructions on what we’re serving.” She leaned on the bar in the front of the booth, watching people gather near the judges’ station. The winner would be announced tonight, and only that team would have the advantage of knowing exactly the item they were supposed to make tomorrow. Angie had a suspicion it would be a milkshake type of drink.
But they had an hour before they’d find out who won. And the three losers would come back tomorrow, ready for battle, just to be sent home. Angie glanced at her watch. “I’ll buy dinner over at one of the booths if we can get food and be back before six.”
“Sold.” Matt headed back to the kitchen. “Let me lock this place up. Anyone need anything?”
Both Hope and Angie shook their heads. “Meet us just outside the Restaurant Wars entrance. Then find us somewhere we can sit and eat. My feet are killing me.”
As they walked by Bien Viveres, the man from last night called out to her. “How’d you do ov
er there? Looked like you were struggling a bit to get customers.”
“Not at all.” Angie didn’t like this negative banter, so she decided not to fall to his level. “Good luck tonight.”
“Darling, I don’t need luck. I’m the best chef here,” Miquel called after them.
Hope waited until they were out of earshot. “That guy is certainly full of himself. Kind of what Estebe would be if he didn’t have such a kind soul.”
Angie pressed her lips together. Estebe did have a kind soul and a hardened exterior, but Hope was also his favorite student in the County Seat kitchen. The guy would do anything for the woman he called his “little sister.” Luckily Matt joined them, so Angie didn’t have to respond.
“Who wants fried chicken? If we hurry, we might even get somewhere to sit.” He put his arms around the two women and aimed them in the direction of Food Row. Angie listened as the two young people talked about their fair memories.
“After tonight’s announcement, why don’t you two go have some fun? I’ll do the shopping,” Angie said as they sat down at the table. They’d already ordered, and she’d paid for the meal. Now they were just waiting to eat.
“I thought I was shopping.” Matt frowned. “Don’t you have something to do?”
“If I go back to River Vista, I’ll stop at the restaurant and get in the way. You know how Estebe gets when he’s ‘in charge.’ I’ll do the shopping tonight. You can make up the hours during prep next Friday.” Angie wanted to get out of the crush of people and walk the aisles, surrounded by food. Besides, she hadn’t quite decided on what she was doing tomorrow. Or at least her Plan A until they told her the actual item they’d be preparing. Maybe walking through the grocery store would spark some ideas.
