Harlequin Heartwarming June 2021 Box Set

by Patricia Johns

  Etoile chuckled. “Looks like you have everything under control here. Have you cooked with rose petals before?”

  “Mostly as a garnish in salads. Wild roses are common in Alaska, but my grandmother taught me to wait until August when the rose hips are ripe and use them along with raspberries to make jam.”

  “Sounds delicious. Contestants, ten minutes,” she called out.

  The syrup had thickened satisfactorily. Rowan would have liked to give the flavors more time to meld, but she didn’t have that luxury. She strained out the rose petals and lemon rind, leaving a ruby-colored elixir to drizzle over the goat cheese slices stacked on top of the shortbread rounds. She’d just finished transferring six to a serving plate when Etoile called, “Time!”

  In the fifteen minutes it took for the other five contestants to bring their offerings to the judges, answer questions and listen to comments, and move offstage, Rowan’s emotions bobbed up and down like a cork in ocean swells.

  The first contestant reminded Rowan of a neighbor in Tokyo who practiced the art of amezaiku, sculpting rock candy into goldfish, dragons and other wondrous creatures. The contestant had created the most beautiful onigiri, the rose petals and Himalayan sea salt turning the rice balls a rich shade of pink. All three of the judges exclaimed over the color and two loved the flavor, although the cookbook author found them bland.

  The second and third contestants had both created variations of rose petal chutney. The judges weren’t particularly kind to the volatile guy who had stalked out earlier, finding his Greek yogurt and chutney dip too salty. Maybe after insisting on the Himalayan sea salt, he’d felt obligated to feature it. They were more complimentary of the other man’s chutney although one judge complained the ginger overpowered the rose petals. He’d served the chutney alongside tiny sausages that were one of his signature items.

  A white-haired gentleman whose vowels conjured up pictures of oak trees draped in Spanish moss was next. He’d added rose petals to an apple-based chicken salad and served it on tiny slider buns. The judges couldn’t say enough good things about that combination. Rowan hoped there would be enough left that she could get a taste later.

  The young woman just before Rowan served up fresh arugula salads with rose petals and figs with a lime vinaigrette. All the judges rated it well, although the cookbook writer mentioned she had hoped for something more ambitious.

  And then it was Rowan’s turn. Drawing on years of practice smiling calmly no matter what might be going on inside, she carried her plate of canapés to the judges. They each took one and tasted a bite. The nods as they ate were encouraging.

  The restaurant owner commented first. “Nice texture contrast with the crisp of the shortbread and the creamy cheese. It’s easy to overdo rosemary, but you’ve got the right balance.”

  The cookbook writer finished chewing. “The rose petal syrup adds a nice floral note and sweetness.” She wrote something on a pad.

  “I want to know about the cheese,” the food critic said. “It’s extraordinary. There’s a wonderful tanginess in the shortbread.”

  “Both the soft cheese and the cheddar are made from goat’s milk,” Rowan explained. “My sister-in-law is a master cheesemaker.”

  “She certainly is. Are these cheeses available commercially?”

  “Yes. Now and Forever Farm cheeses are in stores in central Alaska and also available by mail order from the website.”

  “Will we be seeing more of this cheese in future rounds?” the restaurant owner asked.

  Future rounds! That sounded encouraging. “These or others. I brought six different cheeses as my signature ingredients.”

  “Excellent. Thank you, Rowan.”

  “Thank you.” Rowan gave a little bow and withdrew. Caro whisked her offstage to where the others were waiting, out of sight from the judges.

  “They’ll call us back in a few minutes,” Caro told them. “The judges will announce the four who will move to the next round. The two who are eliminated will exit the stage this way. The rest of you, please wait at your stations until I get back.” She touched the receiver in her ear. “They’re ready for us. Everyone, please return to your cooking stations.”

  In a process that seemed unnecessarily long and dramatic, the judges announced the winners of the first round were the pink onigiri rice balls, the rose petal salad, the chicken salad sliders and, after an interminable wait, Rowan’s shortbread and goat cheese. Rowan closed her eyes and let out a breath.

  That meant the two chutneys were eliminated. The man who had demanded the pink salt turned and stalked off the stage without a word. The other cook nodded politely to judges before following. The judges went over the rules for the second round, which would be an entrée.

  Caro returned and had them remove their aprons and exit the stage. “We’ll break now to give us time to restock the cooking stations and set up for the next session. Be back at your stations in one hour,” Caro told them. “In the meantime, relax. We’ve prepared a table of your leftovers for the studio audience to sample, and you can mingle with them if you like. Good job, everyone.”

  When Rowan arrived at the audience area, Gran was waiting with a hug. “You were brilliant!” She released Rowan and reached for a plate she’d set aside. “I got you samples. I knew you’d want to taste everything, and this mob,” she said, waving her hand toward the crowd milling around the table, “they’re like a swarm of locust. In five minutes, there won’t be a bite left.”

  “Thanks!” Rowan tried the salad. “This is exceptionally good. Love the lime and rose together. Did you try it?”

  “I liked it. I like those rice things, too. Origami or something?”

  “Onigiri.” Rowan bit into one just as she spotted their creator shyly watching her. Rowan waved her closer. “These are wonderful. Have you made them with rose petals before?”

  “No, but I’ve used nasturtiums.”

  “Oh, that would be good, too, with that peppery taste, but I love how the rice absorbs the floral scent of the rose petals. And they’re so pretty.”

  “Thank you.” The woman’s smile radiated joy. “I’m Sara.”

  “Rowan. And this is my grandmother, Bonnie.”

  “Hello. You’re from Alaska, they said?”

  “Yes.”

  “I live in Tacoma. My husband and I hope to visit Alaska someday.”

  “It’s a beautiful place. I’ve lived there for more than sixty years,” Gran told her. “If you like goats, you should drop by our farm in Palmer and try the cheese.”

  “I would enjoy that. Oh, there he is. I must go. It was good to meet you both.”

  “Nice lady,” Gran commented.

  “Yes, and a fabulous cook.” Rowan finished the rice ball and tried the other items. The judges were right about the first chutney being too salty, but the one with the sausages had just the right blend of sweet and spicy. The mini chicken salad sandwich was wonderful. Rowan wasn’t sure how the judges had made their final decision. It was all so tasty.

  A familiar chime sounded from Gran’s purse. She was holding Rowan’s phone for her, since it wasn’t allowed during the competition. She handed it to Rowan. “A text from Zack,” Rowan told her.

  Between getting ready for the trip and their usual activities, she and Zack hadn’t found time to talk about her confession of love. At least that’s what she told herself. The truth was, she’d avoided being alone with Zack since that evening. Yes, he’d kissed her, and yes, she’d taken that to mean the feeling was mutual, but what if the kiss was to comfort her before he broke the bad news that he didn’t love her? She couldn’t handle that possibility while already obsessing over making a fool of herself on television.

  Still, Zack had been nothing but affectionate all week, touching her back whenever he passed by, lingering just a little when he kissed her goodbye in the morning. He’d taste-tested d
ozens of culinary experiments and insisted on driving Gran and her to the airport rather than having her leave a car in long-term parking. Surely all that meant something.

  “I told him you made it through the first round,” Gran whispered. “The audience all had to sign something saying we wouldn’t tell anyone the results until the show airs week after next, but I figured that didn’t apply to husbands. What did Zack say?”

  “He’s wishing me luck.” Which was true, as far as it went, but it was the rest of the message that made Rowan feel warm all over. I believe in you, followed by a little picture of a chef’s hat. And a heart.

  * * *

  THE SECOND ROUND was trickier, with a secret ingredient of Dungeness crab. Rowan sorted through the pantry vegetables, carrots, celery, onions, sweet potatoes, leeks, both bell and poblano peppers—peppers, maybe enchiladas? But her pantry didn’t include tortillas and there wasn’t time to make them from scratch and still bake the enchiladas. Next to the flour, she found a sack of cornmeal. Perhaps something like the tamale pie Gran used to make, but with a cheesy polenta base, and topped with crab, vegetables and Gouda. With a side of roasted sweet potatoes like the yaki imo trucks sold in Japan.

  At the end of the round, the winners were Rowan’s crab on polenta and Sara’s elegant crab tempura on a bed of arugula, mushrooms and snow peas.

  “We have our two finalists,” Etoile stage-whispered. “The next round will determine the winner.” But it wasn’t until Rowan saw the excitement on Gran’s face that it sunk in. She could actually win this!

  For the final round, dessert, the secret ingredient was locally grown fresh pears. Rowan loved pears! Her favorite was pears with brie, but that wasn’t so much a recipe as, well, pears with brie. And once again, no time to make a puff pastry and bake a brie en croute with roasted pears. But thanks to all her practice with Becca lately, she could stir up a drop sugar cookie dough in no time.

  She shaped the dough into two ten-inch rounds. While it baked, she poached pear slices in a caramelized syrup and added in fresh raspberries for color. She blast-chilled the brie and then cut it into pieces and roughly chopped peppermint leaves. She glanced over at Sara, who appeared to be stirring together some sort of chocolate batter. It would be hard to beat pears and chocolate, but Rowan was committed now.

  Once the giant cookies were done, she spread the red pear and berry mixture on top, arranged slices of brie, sprinkled them with mint and returned them to bake just until the brie began to melt. They came from the oven looking like classic Margherita pizzas. While the cookies cooled, she used fine sugar to glaze small clusters of mint leaves and whole raspberries, which she would use to garnish each serving.

  Once the dessert pizzas were cool enough to hold their shape, she transferred them to a cutting board and was slicing them into wedges when she heard the crash of broken glass. She turned to see flames leap up and run across Sara’s stovetop. Whatever Sara had spilled—rum, judging by the aroma—had caught fire. Sara turned off the burner and snatched a large skillet filled with rolled chocolate crepes off the stove. Rowan grabbed the box of baking soda from her countertop and threw it on the fire. The flames flickered, and then died.

  Sara stood frozen, holding the pan of crepes.

  Rowan looked around for Etoile. “How much time left?”

  Etoile, seeing that the fire was out, set aside the fire extinguisher she’d grabbed and checked her stopwatch. “Four minutes.”

  “I’ll clean up,” Rowan told Sara. “Use my cooktop for your flambé.”

  “That was all my rum,” Sara told her.

  “You can use mine.” Rowan ran to her pantry, sorted through the little bottles of flavorings and liquors until she found rum and returned it to her workspace. “Hurry!”

  Sara poured the rum into the skillet to heat. Rowan used paper towels to wipe up the spilled rum and bits of glass from Sara’s cooktop and the floor. When she looked back, Sara was lighting a piece of spaghetti from the gas burner. She turned off the burner, touched the flame to the warm rum and watched as blue flames began to dance around the crepes just as Etoile called, “Time. Contestants, stop where you are.”

  “Take Sara first, before her flame burns out,” Rowan told her.

  “But—” Sara protested.

  “Come this way. Judges, we have a time-sensitive entry here.” Etoile arranged a trivet on the judge’s table so that Sara could set the skillet there.

  “My apologies,” Sara told them. “My intent was to serve in a chafing dish, but there was no time.”

  “It’s still quite elegant,” the cookbook author said as they watched the last of the flames die away. “Let’s taste it.”

  The food critic spoke first. “Excellent. The pears are tender but not mushy. The chocolate of the crepes sets them off, and the caramel rum sauce is inspired. Really extraordinary.”

  Rowan, looking on, knew that her pear and brie dessert pizza could never match the elegance of Sara’s crepe flambé. Especially since, in all the excitement, she’d forgotten to move it to a serving plate and add the garnish. She would have to serve it on the cutting board.

  But the judges didn’t mind, or if they did, they were kind about it. “Pear and raspberry pizzas on a cookie. How clever,” the cookbook author exclaimed.

  The restaurant owner tried a bite. “Lovely flavor blend. The mint brightens the deep flavor of the pears.”

  “It looks like the judges have their work cut out for them,” Etoile spoke to the camera. “We’ll be back with the winner after this.”

  Cara led Sara and Rowan offstage. “Wait here, and I’ll bring your family members,” she told them.

  As soon as she’d gone, Sara turned to Rowan. “Why did you help me?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “We’re in competition. It wasn’t your fault I dropped the bottle, and it could have given you the advantage.”

  “Your crepes deserved to be judged fairly, not with the final step undone. I wouldn’t want to win that way.”

  Sara’s husband arrived as Rowan was talking. He put an arm around his wife and offered a hand to Rowan. “Thank you for what you did. You don’t know how much this means to us. Culinary school has been Sara’s dream since she was a teenager, but it’s never been possible. If she wins—”

  “If she wins, it’s because she deserves to win.” Rowan had been so caught up in the idea of proving herself, she hadn’t really considered what winning would mean. Or how much it might mean for the other contestants. “Sara is a wonderful cook.”

  “I’ll say.” Gran arrived in time to get in on the conversation. “I got a little bite of that crab you made, Sara. Best I ever tasted. Except yours, of course,” she said to Rowan.

  Rowan laughed. “Nice save, Gran.”

  “Do you think they’ll let us have some of those flaming chocolate pancakes?” Gran asked. “I’m partial to chocolate.”

  “If we ever make it to Alaska,” Sara said, “I will come to your farm and cook you all the chocolate crepes you can eat.”

  Gran beamed. “Now, that is something to look forward to.”

  Something squawked on Caro’s headset. “They’re ready for us.”

  “Okay.” Rowan squeezed Gran’s hand while Sara gave her husband a final hug. A camera panned with them as they crossed the stage to stand in front of the judge’s table.

  “It wasn’t an easy choice,” the restaurant owner told them. “We took all three rounds into consideration, but in the end, we all agreed that the winner is...”

  Rowan reached for Sara’s hand and held her breath, waiting.

  Finally, the judge smiled. “Sara Arai.”

  Sara seemed stunned. Rowan hugged her and then gave her a little push to propel her toward the judge’s table. “Go on.”

  “But—”

  “You deserve this. Go.” Rowan smiled as the judg
es congratulated Sara.

  Caro was signaling for her to leave the area. She crossed to the set to find Gran, waiting for her. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not. I just fell into this contest because Lauren liked my chicken and cheese casserole, but it’s Sara’s lifelong dream. She deserves to win.” On the monitor, Rowan could see the tears of joy on Sara’s cheeks. “I’m not sorry I came. I loved the challenge, and it was thrilling when the judges had good things to say about my food. But I don’t want to go to cooking school in Portland. Zack and Becca need me in Alaska.”

  “No regrets?”

  “None.” Rowan hugged her grandmother, the woman who had started her down this path so many years ago, and then asked, “May I have my phone? I’d like to call Zack.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “HOW MUCH LONGER?” Becca asked, clutching the poster she and Charlotte had created.

  Zack checked his watch. “It will be a while. The plane’s not due to land for another fifteen minutes.” He’d allowed extra time to drive to the Anchorage airport, in case of traffic or delays. After their long flight, he didn’t want Rowan and her grandmother to have to wait.

  Becca spotted a sign. “Frozen yogurt! Can we get some?”

  “Why not.” The shop was located right next to the security exit Rowan and her grandmother would have to pass through. He took the poster from Becca, leaving her free to wander the store and check out all the possible toppings. He glanced at his watch again. One more minute had gone by. The last three days without Rowan had been the longest of his life.

  Rowan loved him! How amazing was that? This incredible woman, who had come into his and Becca’s lives and made everything brighter, told him she loved him. But before he’d gathered his wits enough to respond to this declaration, to ask her to stay with them for the rest of their lives, Lauren had shown up waving that letter saying Rowan was in the running to win a four-year scholarship to a culinary school. So he’d tamped down his selfish instincts and encouraged her to try.