Chef Cutegirl: A Sweet Lesbian Romance

by Nicolette Dane

  “Got it,” I said.

  “Good,” he said, quickly turning away from us and storming off.

  “That guy’s fucking crazy,” I said to Raina when I was sure that Dale couldn’t hear us.

  “Yeah,” she mused, still intensely focused on her dish. She was beginning to organize her plates now, a little ramekin for her pork soup, an area for her salad of guava and habanero. Raina’s work was always impressive. Quickly turning from her station with a pan in her hand, she set it on the stove top and meticulously set the flame. She then began plopping her scallops down into the light coating of oil.

  Things were a bit of a blur after that. Both of us were rushing to get our plates set, people were speeding around us on all sides, both the other chefs and the production staff, and it was difficult to maintain your personal space. Still, in these difficult circumstances you had to keep your cool, focus on your work, and put your best effort in if you wanted to impress the judges and advance to the next round. Both Raina and I, using the same stove to finish up our dishes, had probably turned to look at our food ten times. I was finishing up some grilled octopus for my shrimp head stew and Raina was working on her scallops.

  Then I heard a gasp out of Raina. I turned to catch her at the stove, looking immensely distraught.

  “What happened?” she mourned, tilting her head to look at her pan, and then quickly turning off the flame of her burner. “My burner was way up. These scallops are going to be overdone.”

  “No way,” I said, gazing back to her, seeing the sadness in her eyes, feeling empathetic deep in my soul. This kind of mistake was not typical Raina. “How did that happen?”

  “You didn’t touch it?” she asked, her brow furrowing, a mild anger rising up in her face like I’d never seen before.

  “Me?” I asked. “Oh my God, no way. No, I was focused on my food. Maybe one of the production people or other chefs bumped it when they ran through.”

  “This is so fucked,” said Raina. I’d never heard her even say “fuck” up until that point. It didn’t sound natural coming out of her mouth. Raina had taken her pan from the stove and was gently removing the scallops from it, delicately placing them on the various plates in front of her. I watched as she lightly prodded at one of the scallops and just shook her head.

  “Oh Raina,” I cooed, feeling immensely sad.

  “This thing is going to be so rubbery,” she said. “Ugh, I just can’t believe it. This side looks perfect,” she said, picking the scallop up and looking at the top. “But the bottom is just over-fired. They’re gonna know I screwed up.”

  “Just keep plating,” I said. “There’s nothing we can do now.”

  Raina looked resigned to the fact that she was going to be putting out a subpar meal and I could see it eating away at her. At the heart of her, she was a perfectionist, no matter how meek she wanted to play it all. And this grave mistake, something that could cost her the competition, was a huge pockmark on her otherwise spotless cooking record.

  “Just… fuck,” she said, crossing her arms, watching as the waitstaff began picking up our plates. Her little frame steamed with anger, most likely directed inward. I wanted to help her but there was nothing much I could do. It was just about our time to go face the judges. A couple of the other chefs had already noticed Raina’s displeasure with her plate, and although they looked sympathetic I knew that many of them were probably joyous inside, excited that the perfectionist may have just made a huge blunder.

  I tried to comfort Raina with a gentle touch but she wasn’t having any of it.

  *

  With a plate in each hand, Raina and I walked down a sloped walkway along with the waitstaff, carrying our dishes down toward the judges’ table. There were 10 people sitting at the table, not just our usual judges and Greg Easton, but also a few other Chicago chef-restauranteurs and a couple past Hot Chef winners. To say it was a scary bunch would be putting it lightly. They watched us as we sauntered up to them, Raina and I serving the dishes we carried to Tim and Pema, while the waitstaff set their dishes in front of the rest of the judges. I took a deep breath and tried to offer Raina a little smile. I could tell she was torn apart inside.

  “These plates look beautiful,” mused Pema, looking down into the food and picking up her fork. “Let’s start with Emily.”

  The table was surrounded by cameramen. The table of 10 all looked up to me. I felt incredibly nervous and I just wanted it all to end. In that moment, I actually hoped that my dish was worse than Raina’s. I didn’t want her to go home for a stupid technical error that any of us could have made at any given moment. She deserved better.

  “Chicago’s own,” said Tim, smiling at me. “You’re surrounded by a group of your peers here at this table.”

  “No pressure, Chef,” I said with a nervy smile.

  “No pressure,” grinned Tim.

  “Today for you,” I began, looking down to my dish. “I have a rustic shrimp broth with green chorizo, crispy shrimp heads, and grilled octopus, dressed with a light pickled slaw of carrots and poblano.”

  “Sort of a Mexican bouillabaisse?” asked Greg Easton as he slurped up some of my broth.

  “Yeah, I guess it sort of is,” I said with a light laugh.

  “You can’t get away from the French standards,” said Tim, smiling along with me. “But you do them well, so keep doing what works.”

  “Thank you, Chef,” I said.

  “This is lovely, Emily,” said Pema. “It’s not too rich and has a nice amount of seasoning.”

  A few of the other judges who I didn’t really know began remarking about my dish, giving me positive feedback. I could feel the smile growing across my face. From what I could tell, I would be safe. The table seemed to really enjoy my dish and I could finally breath a sigh of relief. But as I looked over at Raina, she appeared like she just may cry. I hoped that she held it together but the worry was really taking over her face.

  “Thank you, Emily,” said Pema with a camera trained directly on her face. “Excellent dish. Now let’s move on to Raina.”

  “Okay,” said Raina, taking in a big gulp of air. Raina was no dummy. She had watched enough of Hot Chef to know that you don’t admit your mistakes before the judges figure it out for themselves, so her job here was to sell her dish and hope for the best. “I’ve made seared bay scallops with roasted guava and habanero, dressed with recado rojo, and a shredded pork, poblano, and tomatillo stew. Please enjoy.” With that, Raina sighed and looked away from the table. It was like she was gone, enveloped in her own mind, wound in a tizzy of obsessive disappointment.

  “Raina,” began Tim, before even taking a bite. “This plate is great. Absolutely spot on for Mexican fine dining.”

  “Thank you, Chef,” she said in a low tone.

  “Raina, you don’t look very happy,” noted Pema, slicing in to her scallop and taking a bite.

  “It just didn’t come out how I planned exactly,” hinted Raina.

  “It looks immaculate,” said Gretel, looking down the table at Raina. “But it appears my scallop is overdone.”

  “Mine is, too,” said Greg.

  “The presentation is prefect,” said Tim. “The seasoning is spot on, it’s got a nice heat. But it looks like you let time get away from you and left the scallops on the heat for too long.”

  “Mine is very rubbery,” mused Pema, offering Raina sympathetic eyes. I could tell that the judges really adored Raina, I mean… who wouldn’t? And it made them all a little upset that she had given them overdone scallops.

  “Unfortunately,” continued Tim. “We’re at the point in the competition where little mistakes like this can send somebody home. And even though you’ve been on top a lot, Raina,” said Tim. “We judge each chef on what they put on the plate in any given week.”

  “I understand,” Raina mewed.

  “That’ll be all, chefs,” said Pema.

  I looked over to Raina and smiled, but she didn’t smile back. The two of us turn
ed around together and began our walk back up the slope toward the kitchen. I wrapped an arm around Raina and pulled her close, but she was inconsolable. The waitstaff cleared our plates from the the judges and took up the rear behind us. My victory didn’t taste very sweet with Raina now in mourning.

  *

  A few hours later we were back at the Hot Chef studio, starting the filming of the Cutthroat Challenge judging. Raina had been in pretty low spirits for most of the afternoon and when she did speak to me, it was words of worry and lament. The production staff had wrangled us all together, awaiting our cue to walk into the Chop Block and face the judges. A few of the other chefs were worried, but not like Raina. And after some commiseration, it was looking like Raina’s mistake had been the largest of the day.

  “Excuse me, chefs,” said Dale, popping in to our waiting area. He had a stifled, yet sneaky grin on his lips. In his hand was a small tablet computer. “Raina, can I see you for a moment.”

  Raina looked over to me and grimaced, shaking her head, as though she were asking, “could this get any worse?”

  It certainly could.

  Raina begrudgingly stood up from her chair, giving me an annoyed look, and then followed Dale into an adjoining room. Any time Dale interacted with Raina I was perturbed, and this time even more so considering that Raina was probably going to be up for elimination and she knew it. I wanted to just follow the two of them and pull Raina away from him. But I had to stay levelheaded. I had to control my emotions. I knew that the stress of the show was beginning to wear on all of us and I had to just relinquish control.

  When Raina returned to the waiting room, I could tell she was fuming. Something drastic had changed in her expression and her eyes were trained directly on me. She was angry. Her small arms were shaking, fists balled up. Before seeing her in that state, I would never have even been able to picture her looking so mad. It totally disarmed me and made me feel immediately on the defensive. Dale poked his head through the door behind Raina and he looked like the devil.

  “Are you okay?” I whispered to Raina, reaching out for her arm to give her a loving squeeze. But she batted my hand away and walked past me. The other chefs looked at us, all of them understanding that something was majorly wrong.

  Just then, Pema walked into our room and called us to the Chop Block. Raina didn’t even wait for me, as she usually did. Rather, she just walked along behind Pema, arms crossed, looking like she’d already been eliminated. Actually, she looked like she’d been double-crossed, taken advantage of, which, I’d come to find out was actually how she felt.

  This particular Chop Block was more intense than previous instances. The competition was becoming more fierce and nobody was really screwing up anymore. At the top of the heap were me, Maggie, and Richard. I couldn’t believe I was one of the judges’ favorites of the day, and for a moment I thought I had a chance of winning, but they just had too many glowing things to say about Richard. His dish won and it wasn’t even close. He deserved it. He was consistently good.

  But then came the bottom. I took a deep breath as I watched Raina get called up alongside Jason and Julio. God, they were all so good and I couldn’t imagine any of them leaving us… Raina, most of all. But I could tell something was definitely wrong with her and I knew that it somehow related to what Dale had pulled her aside to tell her. It was all just very confusing.

  “Chefs,” said Pema. “The three of you put out our least favorite dishes of the day.”

  “You know,” said Tim. “I’ve been telling you this from day one. After the first couple of weeks of this competition you just can’t play it safe anymore and you can’t make dumb mistakes. All 8 of you standing in this room are great chefs and any one of you could claim the title of Hot Chef. It’s dumb mistakes that are going to send you home.”

  The four judges, Tim, Pema, Gretel, and Greg Easton, all began to go down the line of the chefs before them, telling them what they liked and what they disliked. Both Jason and Julio actually received pretty decent reviews. Jason could have used a bit more salt. Julio’s pork shoulder was a little tough. But really, they didn’t have much negative to say about either of the guys.

  And then they got to Raina. She was obviously unhappy. She could feel what was coming. The room could feel it. It was definitely a sad and defeated day for her. And through some kind of weird intuition, I felt bad things were on the horizon for the two of us.

  “And now we come to Raina,” said Pema.

  “It wasn’t a bad dish,” said Tim. “It looked beautiful. It was on par with Mexican fine dining, you really nailed the challenge.”

  “But my scallop was really overcooked,” said Gretel.

  “They were all overcooked,” said Greg.

  “Raina, can you explain to us what happened in the kitchen?” asked Pema lightly.

  “Yeah,” said Raina, kneading her fingers together. “Somehow,” she began in an accusatory tone. “My flame got turned up way higher than I had initially set it. This was after my flip of the scallops. Once they were flipped, they cooked too fast and that was it.”

  “You know, sometimes mistakes are made in the kitchen,” said Tim evenly. “But this late in the competition, you guys can’t be making these kind of errors. It’s just too tight right now.”

  I could tell Raina wanted to say more, but she kept her mouth shut.

  “We all loved the recado rojo,” said Gretel. “And your pork and tomatillo stew was excellent.”

  “Right,” said Tim. “But those scallops were the main protein and they just weren’t executed well.”

  “Thank you, chefs,” said Pema. “We’re going to deliberate and we’ll let you know.”

  The production team ushered us all back into the waiting area, allowing us to take a seat and have a beer. Richard celebrated his win, of course, while the rest of the chefs gossiped about their dishes and what might happen, careful to not assume that any of those on the bottom were safe. It was a waiting period pregnant with fear.

  “Come on,” I whispered to Raina. “What is wrong with you? Why are you acting like this?” The two of us hung off from the rest of the chefs, trying to catch a moment of privacy, though neither of us noticed that there was a camera pointed directly at us. We had gotten so used to the cameras we had simply forgotten about them.

  “You did it,” said Raina.

  “Me?” I said. “Are you crazy? I didn’t do that. Why would I sabotage you?”

  “I saw video of it,” she said. “Dale showed me video from earlier. I saw you go up to our shared stove and fiddle with the burners.”

  “Raina,” I said, flabbergasted and upset. I had no idea why she would believe Dale over me. It was infuriating to be accused of something you didn’t do. “I don’t know what you saw in the video but I didn’t do it. There were tons of people rushing around by us. It could have been anybody.”

  “I saw you,” she said.

  “No,” I protested. But I could tell by the look on Raina’s face that she believed what she saw on the video. I suddenly felt heartbroken. Everything we had together was now crashing down. “I mean, why would I?” I said again. “You know how I feel about you.”

  “I feel betrayed,” she said. “Like, used.”

  “No,” I said again. “Raina, please.”

  Before I knew it, Raina, Jason, and Julio were all standing again in front of the judges. It was Chop Block time. I really couldn’t watch. I put my hand over my eyes and felt like I could weep. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. It was supposed to be Raina and I in the finale, the best woman winning, and then the two of us running off into happily ever after land, smiling, laughing, collaborating on a restaurant together and embracing our newfound fame. But now that was all slipping away.

  “Chefs,” said Tim. “It’s crunch time here on Hot Chef and the tiniest mistakes can send you packing, even if you’ve done well all season. As we saw today, the three chefs on the bottom all executed at a high level, but it just wasn’t
enough to keep them safe from elimination.”

  There was silence as the judges looked on the three of them. And then Pema spoke up.

  “Raina,” she said. “Please sheath your knives and leave.”

  “Look Raina,” said Tim. “We know what you can do, we know you’re talented. I expect a lot out of you in Rebound Kitchen. Remember, you can still win your way back into this competition.”

  “Thank you,” said Raina meekly. “It’s been a pleasure.”

  Raina turned from where she stood in front of the judges and began her walk to the back of the room. I watched her the entire time, hoping she’d look up and see my pleading eyes. I needed to convince her that I was innocent, that there was some scheme against us, all orchestrated by that asshole Dale. But there was too much emotion running through her, too much fury. She didn’t look in my direction. Instead, she walked quickly, watching her own feet, until she was gone out the door.

  When I got back to the loft, Raina and all her stuff were nowhere to be found. It was over. Raina had disappeared from my life just as quickly as she’d entered it.

  *

  “What the fuck was all that?” said Richard as he slumped into the couch back at our loft, taking a long gulp from his beer bottle. Now there were only 7 of us and I felt undeniably alone there with the chefs absent Raina. The other contestants knew that Raina and I had grown close in our short time on the show, but nobody knew how close. I was pretty sure it would all come out once the season began airing on television. But for the time being, I could be discreet about it all.

  “I can’t believe it was Raina,” said Julio. “I thought for sure I was going home. She’s way better than me.”