Chef Cutegirl: A Sweet Lesbian Romance

by Nicolette Dane

  “Right,” said Raina. “And strip down to your panties and have a pillow fight with her.”

  “What?” I laughed incredulously. “Raina! I definitely didn’t expect that from you.”

  “Expect the unexpected,” she beamed.

  “So you’d just want to get Pema down to her panties,” I started, lifting an eyebrow in Raina’s direction. “Then what?”

  “Stop!” she cried with embarrassment, fighting another bout of the rolling giggles. God she was cute. My heart was thumping hard.

  “No, I want to know,” I said, unable to suppress my excited grin. “What would you do to her?”

  Raina broke out in a full laugh and smacked me on the shoulder. A couple of the other chefs looked our way as Raina cackled. I just smiled at the others who, after a moment of staring, returned to their own conversation.

  My assumption was that Raina wanted to do to Pema exactly what I wanted to do to Raina.

  “I would…” Raina began, looking away. I could see that she was lightly bushing. “Nothing!” she belted out finally, still laughing to herself.

  “You’re a peach, Raina,” I said. “You’re so cute. I’m going to start calling you Chef Cutegirl.” At this hearing this nickname, Raina tittered and knitted her fingers together. I think I had worked her up into a bit of an embarrassed agitation. The smile wouldn’t leave her face.

  “Stop,” she said again, turning away from me, her arms wrapped round herself. I could still hear the giggles.

  *

  The next evening we were all exhausted from the Cutthroat Challenge, which was the main event for each Hot Chef episode. The way it worked was that you’d watch the chefs on the show do the Speed Chop, a quick competition for a prize, and then we’d move to the Cutthroat which was a bigger challenge that always ended in the elimination of one chef. On TV, it appears to take place in the same day but in the reality of shooting the show, it’s actually filmed over subsequent days. The magic of editing.

  So all of us sat together in an area of the set that looked like the pantry of a kitchen. Chrome wire shelving all over, various pots and pans, small somewhat uncomfortable seats. We had spent the day devising our meal plans, shopping, and cooking hors d’oeuvres for 200 people at some wine event at the Art Institute in Millennium Park. With a total of 5 hours to shop and cook, preparing 200 servings can be, um, a bit of a challenge.

  A couple of the chefs nursed beers as we waited to be called in, everybody chatting with uncertain and dour expressions. It was then that Dale slipped in.

  “Hey chefs,” said Dale. I caught his eyes glance over to Raina and linger on her for a moment.

  Everybody lowly murmured a greeting. It had been a difficult first contest. A number of people were upset with the food they put out.

  “So we’re going to begin filming,” said Dale. “Just chat about the challenge, your struggles, why it was hard, how you think you did,” he said. “After a few moments, Pema will come in to invite you to the Chop Block. Any questions?”

  Nobody spoke up.

  “Good,” said Dale. A couple of cameramen walked in with their cameras hoisted up on their shoulders. I could tell they were already rolling.

  “This is it, Chef Cutegirl,” I whispered over to Raina, who sat next to me. I gave her slender leg a light smack. I hadn’t performed as well as I’d liked and I was going into this judgement with trepidation and worry.

  “You’re fine,” she whispered back. “Some others definitely did worse.”

  Although in my mind we were having a personal conversation, I had forgotten that we were all mic’d up and every word could be heard. Just part of being on a reality TV show.

  “I never should have made that pea puree foam,” I heard Jason say across from us, just simply talking to anyone who would listen. Perry, our roommate, sat next to him and slowly nodded. “It just melted into a gummy mess.”

  “At least you didn’t undercook potatoes,” said Perry, looking down into her own lap. I felt bad for her. She was a really nice person and a talented cook. “I mean, how the hell do you undercook potatoes in this competition?”

  After a bit more conversation, Pema walked in through the door that lead to the Chop Block set. She wore a muted gold sparkly dress, hair done up fancy. We had all just come back to the set from the Art Institute event and while the judges remained in their dress attire, us chefs were allowed to change into clean white uniforms.

  “Good evening, chefs,” said Pema in a low, serious tone. “We’d like to see all of you on the Chop Block.”

  With some grumbling, we all stood and followed Pema to our judgements.

  The Chop Block set was big, dark, and ominous, with the judges all sitting behind a long table at the front. There sat Tim, Pema, Gretel Simon, who was one of the other regular judges, and Chicago local celebrity chef Rich Barnett who had his own cooking show and ran a handful of upscale Mexican restaurants. The judges all had serious expressions on as we lined up to be told our fate.

  With cameras all around us, focused lights beaming down from above, I could feel myself starting to sweat. I was worried that I might be going home. And I have to say, actually being there on set for Hot Chef was a lot more stressful than just watching at home. I mean, naturally, but it’s hard to imagine until you’re actually there.

  “Chefs,” began Pema. “You were tasked with serving hors d’oeuvres to a guest list of 200 tonight, given only 5 hours to accomplish this. Tonight you will be judged by chef and restauranteur Tim Cicerone,” she said, prompting Tim to wave at us. “Editor of Culinary Flourish Magazine, Gretel Simon,” Pema said.

  “Hi chefs,” said Gretel with a wave.

  “And your celebrity guest judge, acclaimed chef, author, and restauranteur Rich Barnett,” said Pema.

  “Evening chefs,” said Rich through a smile.

  “Many of you did an admirable job tonight, chefs,” started Tim. “But we also had some dishes fall flat.”

  “Let’s start with the best dishes of the night,” said Pema. “Will the following chefs please step forward…”

  I was absolutely bursting by this point. I mean, you watch this part of TV so many times but when you’re actually standing there, it’s all too real. It’s all so serious and severe. And even though you tried your best and put forth a dish that would fly in most every other situation, when you’re being judged on absolute perfection it can be intensely anxiety-inducing.

  “Richard,” started Pema. Richard pretended to wipe sweat from his bald head and smiled, relieved that he was on the top. “Maggie and Raina.”

  I looked over to Raina and widened my eyes. She was on top once again. I could see a little storm of excitement brewing in her eyes. She wanted to smile but both of us were still worried that I was on the bottom.

  “Congratulations chefs,” said Tim. “Breath a sigh of relief, because you served the best dishes of the night.”

  “First, Richard,” said Pema.

  “Richard,” said Tim. “We loved your pork and bacon terrine with the haricot vert, and the golden raisins really worked. We liked it all a lot, good job.”

  “Definitely,” said Gretel. “Great idea for an hors d’oeuvre, easy to eat while socializing at a party.”

  “Maggie,” said Pema. “Your avocado gazpacho was a hit with the guests.”

  “I loved the subtle spice,” interjected Rich Barnett. “And the sprinkle of pico de gallo on top. I think you made this with me in mind.” Maggie laughed and looked down to her feet.

  “And Raina,” said Tim. “On top again. It appears you didn’t need the immunity you won in the Speed Chop. Your crostini with anchovy remoulade and poached quail egg was just exquisite, great seasoning, perfect amount of salt.”

  “And that tourné jicama,” said Rich. “Some technique. Who taught you to tourné like that?”

  “I work for Hugo Kirshner,” admitted Raina. When she said this, a number of the other chefs went wide-eyed and looked at each other. “I actually lea
rned it from him.”

  “Wow,” said Tim. “Kirshner, eh? You know we had Henry Gladish on the show a couple seasons ago, he also works for Hugo.”

  “Yeah,” said Raina. “I’m sous chef under Henry.”

  “You work at Latch?” countered Tim, his face changing to a highly impressed look. “You know you’ve just made us all raise our expectations of you.”

  Raina let out a nervous giggle as the other chefs were stunned by her culinary lineage.

  “The winner of tonight’s Cutthroat Challenge is…” said Pema, trailing off. She looked at each of the three chefs separately, building the moment. “Raina.”

  All the other chefs began hooting, applauding, and generally commending Raina who just looked happy and stunned. She turned her head back and looked behind her, catching eyes with me. We smiled together.

  “Raina, you’re definitely a force to be reckoned with,” said Tim. “And now that we know you’re a protege of Hugo Kirshner, I think all the rest of the chefs are going to understand that big things come in small packages.”

  “Thank you,” mewed Raina.

  “Chefs, you may move to the side,” said Pema, motioning for Raina, Maggie, and Richard to move away which they did. The cameramen began to reset positions, awaiting the next stage of the Cutthroat. “Now on to our least favorite dishes.”

  It felt like the air had been let out of the room. Always so deflating when this part came. You never could tell if you’d be on the bottom, up for elimination, or if you’d be safe to cook another day. Even the chefs who thought they did well couldn’t be totally certain that their name wouldn’t be called.

  “If I call you name, please step forward,” said Pema. “Mike,” she said slowly. “Jason, and Perry. The rest of you are safe from elimination and can step aside with the others.”

  I felt elated that I was safe but now I was worried for Perry. Even though we hadn’t been on the show or very long, Perry was my roommate and you develop a certain affinity with those you’re immediately close with.

  As I stepped to the side I walked up to Raina and gave her a hug. Not only was I happy to be safe, but I was totally blown away by her win. This girl was good and now everybody knew it.

  “Chefs, you all had the worst dishes of the night,” began Tim. He and the other judges began to criticize the three chefs that stood before them but I tuned it all out. Instead, my focus was on Raina. I watched her watch the judgement, her cute little nose barely peeking off her pallid face. She had a look of concern, she too worried for Perry, and she held her hands together as she bounced up and down on her toes. I really wanted to wrap an arm around her waist and pull her in close, comfort her, congratulate her, but I had to tame myself. I was too eager, too excited. The competition faded into the background as I daydreamed about Raina.

  “Perry,” said Pema finally, in a sad, slow intonation. “Please sheath your knives and leave.”

  Perry looked like she was going to cry but she held it together, offered a smile, and nodded.

  “Thank you for the opportunity,” she said.

  “It’s not over for you yet,” said Tim. “You’ll be headed to Rebound Kitchen where you’ll get a shot to make it back into the main competition. Remember, the winner of Rebound Kitchen will face off with the last three Hot Chef contestants for a spot in the finale.”

  Perry smiled once more and then began her lone walk out of the Chop Block. I felt a small pain in my heart for her but it was a competition after all, and one by one most of the people around me would take their leave.

  Next Dale rushed in and began directing us to walk out in single file, all as the camera recorded us. We were definitely all happy to still be in the competition and I was totally relieved that I wasn’t on the bottom. The judges remember you when you’re on top or bottom. You want to stick in their mind as someone who is consistently doing well, much as Raina was. She was already the obvious favorite.

  And she was my obvious favorite as well.

  Throughout all the excitement of the end of filming for the day, I lost track of Raina and suddenly looked around to find her. My eyes scanned the set as I looked, the other chefs packing up their things to head back to the loft, when I finally found Raina. She was standing next to Dale, who had his hand on her shoulder. He was leaning in close to her as he talked and she looked very uncomfortable. I couldn’t tell what was going on, but I felt this desire deep within me to run over to her and save her. Dale had this weird predatory look on his face.

  After a quick moment of deliberation, I scurried over to the two of them.

  “Hey Raina,” I said, interrupting Dale who looked up to me with a scowl on his face. “We’re heading back now. Are you ready?”

  “Yeah,” she said, looking relieved that I was there.

  “Think about what I said,” said Dale to Raina, pulling his hand from her shoulder.

  “Let’s go,” she said, her eyes pleading with me. Together we sashayed away from Dale, trying to get as far away as we could.

  *

  It’s difficult when you’re constantly around that many people, now 15 chefs, to have an open conversation. Everybody was plotting, building alliances, listening in for possible weaknesses, that I didn’t want to bring up the Dale thing with Raina until I was sure we were alone. Perry had returned to the loft with us, but she began packing her things immediately as she was now destined for the elimination house. The eliminated chefs were kept around, even once they were eliminated from Rebound Kitchen, as they were often called upon for other challenges and generally just needed to be available for the show during filming. We knew that we’d be seeing her again.

  We said goodbye to Perry and goodnight to the other chefs, turning in for evening as it had been a draining day.

  I was already in my bed as Raina came out from our ensuite bathroom. She had her hair done in two tight braids against her head, wearing just a t-shirt and her panties. I could feel that familiar, sensual arousal building up inside of me as I watched her slip her bare feet across the carpet and toward her bed. Her panties were lime green with dark grey trim. I committed them to memory. C’mon, I’m not a creep… I was just crushing.

  Flipping her blanket up, Raina gingerly crawled into bed and pulled the covers over her. Our room was lit simply by one lamp atop the table between our beds. I could feel my heart intensely beating within my chest.

  “I’m beyond psyched,” mused Raina softly, her voice barely making it over to me. “I can’t believe I won the first two challenges.”

  “You’re good,” I said. “They’re all scared of you now.”

  “I’m just a sous chef,” she said. “So many other people are head chefs. There are so many great people here.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “But you work for one of the best. I’m sure your restaurant holds you to a much higher standard.”

  “Maybe,” she said gently.

  “It was sad to say goodbye to Perry,” I said. Though, to be honest with you, I was stoked to have the room to ourselves. It was like my own private sanctuary with Raina. Our secret quarters.

  “I hope she does well on Rebound Kitchen,” said Raina. “But they keep that all a secret from us, don’t they?”

  “Yes,” I affirmed. “We won’t know who wins that until the very end. When you and I are headed to the finals.” I caught Raina grinning.

  “I hope it’s us in the finals,” she said. “Because I would love to beat you senseless.” I heard her giggle to herself.

  “After today, I’m not so sure I’ll make it,” I admitted. “I didn’t expect the time crunch to be as tough as it was. That’s what really did me in.”

  “Naw,” said Raina. “Just keep trying. You’ll get there.”

  “Thanks,” I said, smiling to myself and getting comfortable under my blankets.

  We laid there in silence together for a moment, the light still shining low, the jovial sounds of a few of the other chefs could be heard in a muffled din through the walls.

>   “Hey,” I said, continuing on. “What was that thing with Dale earlier?”

  “Oh,” said Raina, the tone of her voice changing slightly. “Um, I don’t know. He’s, like, flirting with me.”

  “What?” I questioned. “Really? That’s weird.”

  “Yeah, it is weird,” she said. “He’s just kind of creepy. I think he’s obsessed with me.”

  I knew the feeling. Lime green with dark grey trim.

  “Well, that’s not right,” I said, feeling the slightest bit jealous. “I mean, he’s a producer on the show. That’s not cool of him to make you uncomfortable.”

  “He told me he can help get me to the finals,” said Raina with a sad sigh. “If I, like, sleep with him.”

  “Oh my God!” I exclaimed. “That’s fucked up, Raina. You should tell somebody.”

  “Like who?” she said. Her tone was growing more morose. “Tim or Pema? I don’t think anyone would believe me.”

  “You’re not going to do it, are you?” I asked with a hint of fear.

  “Hell no!” she said. “No, ew, just no. He’s slimy, plus, you know, I don’t even like guys.”

  Despite the gravity of our conversation I suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of joy course through my veins. Raina was a lesbian. I totally knew it. I silently celebrated.

  “So what are you going to do?” I asked, trying to hide my happiness. I needed to be empathetic to Raina. I wanted to be there for her.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Just ignore it I guess and keep trying to play the game.”

  “I guess that’s all you can do right now,” I acceded. “But I’ll keep my eye on him and I’ll try to save you if he ever corners you again.”

  “Thank you,” Raina said. I could hear her smile in her voice. She released a contented sigh. “I can’t let something like that get in my head,” she went on. “I just have to do the best cooking I possibly can.”

  “Right,” I said.

  “Thanks Emily,” she said sweetly. “I’m glad we’re roommates and friends. I thought this place was going to be one big competition but the chefs have all been pretty nice. Starting with you.”