by Sable Sylvan
“Ginger,” said Alice. “And…paprika. Definitely paprika. That’s more Eastern European, no?”
“You have a good tongue,” said Herbert, raising his eyebrow and giving her a grin.
“Is that it? There has to be something else,” said Alice. She took another bite. What the heck was in Herbert’s sauce?
It was salty and sweet. She had already established that it contained ginger and paprika. What else could there be? She could taste something fragrant, sour, strong. It had to be something common, hence why she hadn’t noticed it before. There was also a slightly vinegary taste. She also had to account for that heat. What was commonly used with vinegar?
“Is there…garlic, vinegar and…cayenne pepper?” asked Alice.
“I don’t know, is there?” asked Herbert, crossing his arms.
Alice shot him a look before saying, “Yes, there is. That’s your sauce. Vinegar, cayenne, garlic, ginger, paprika, and maybe some other stuff, I don’t know.”
“Very good,” said Herbert. “And what do you think of my meaty balls?”
“I think your meatballs taste fine,” said Alice.
“They’re good, admit it,” ordered Herbert.
“They’re good, but to win this competition, you’re gonna need to be great,” said Alice. “Here.” She lifted up one of the trays of poppers and a mini cup of hot sauce.
“You Americans call these poppers?” asked Herbert.
“Yes,” said Alice. “Just pop it in your mouth.”
“How novel,” said Herbert. He put the fried pepper in his mouth. The popper was crunchy on the outside and the inside. There was an outer shell of deep-fried breadcrumbs, but the integrity of the jalapeño inside hadn’t been compromised. It wasn’t mushy. He tasted the green vegetal heat of the jalapeño, followed by a sweet but savory white cheese that tempered the initial heat of the jalapeño.
The next layer was the star of the show. It was the pulled pork core. The pulled pork had been slow cooked to perfection, the meat practically melting on his tongue, and along with it, the hot sauce. It had a distinctive jalapeño flavor, but there was something else there. There was a vinegar base, typical, but there was also a sour citrus flavor that was strangely sweet.
“Your sauce has…jalapeños, of course, but also, a vinegar base,” said Herbert matter-of-factly.
“And?” asked Alice.
“And…lemons or limes, perhaps both,” said Herbert.
“And?’ asked Alice.
“What do you mean, ‘and’?” said Herbert. “Are there other ingredients?
“Yes, but, what lemons and limes? What parts of the fruits? What specific cultivar of jalapeño, and from which farm?” asked Alice. “You don’t think you can go to the grocery store and replicate this, do you? If so, you have a lot to learn about this business.”
“Fine, I don’t know much about hot sauce, but I do know that this is a good sauce,” said Herbert.
“Did you just compliment my sauce?” said Alice.
“Yes, but it’s a shame it’s so mild,” said Herbert.
“Those are fighting words,” said Alice.
“I mean no offense,” said Herbert. “What’s mild to me is spicy to others. After all, I am a Scoville. We might not know everything about hot sauce, but, we’re experts on all things spice. I might not be able to tell whether you used lemon zest or lime oil in your sauce, but I can tell you exactly where in Hungary to find the perfect paprika.”
“And let me guess, the popper isn’t good either?” asked Alice.
“Why are you so eager to put words in my mouth?” asked Herbert. “There are so many other sexier things you could put in it that would please the both of us. The popper was delicious. I think you’re a strong contender. I have a feeling that we’re both going to do very well, but a Scoville always gets what he wants.”
“Why do I have a feeling that you’re talking about more than the trophy?” asked Alice, a hand on her hip.
“Trust me, by the time I leave this fair, I’ll have much more than a trophy,” said Herbert.
Then, Herbert did something Alice didn’t expect. He took one of the cups they had on the beverage table, but he didn’t fill it with watermelon sweet tea lemonade. No, he used the large gallon container of hot sauce to squirt a cup of the green sauce into the cup, and he drank it, in one gulp, before throwing away the cup and the empty popper tray.
“How awfully civilized of you to provide refreshments,” said Herbert before turning to walk off.
That man. That man. He made Alice’s blood boil with his cockiness. Who the heck did he think he was, coming after her grandpa’s recipes and having the nerve to flirt with her? He threatened her with legal action and with under the covers action in the same breath. She’d never met a man like that before, at least, since that one night that Alice tried not to think about.
Alice went back to setting up the rest of the poppers. Her sisters had been carefully placing the hot poppers in the paper trays. In a few minutes, the judges would come by to try the poppers, and then, the rest of the fair was free to come and try their fare.
The judges came by with their clipboards and magnifying glasses to inspect the poppers. Their faces were inscrutable as they wrote down their thoughts on the poppers. Of course, they tried the watermelon lemonade. Did they like what the Quincy Sisters had to offer, or were the sisters about to lose their recipes to those Scoville boys for good?
Next, people from all over the fair came to try their poppers and sauce. People were not shy to tell the girls how good they thought the poppers and watermelon lemonade was, and many promised to vote for them. However, the Quincy area wasn’t the only one with lots of visitors. The handsome Scoville boys had lots of visitors, and Alice had a feeling it wasn’t just because they had big salty, meaty balls.
Alice peered over to try and see what trick the Scoville boys had played. Were they offering a hundred bucks per vote? Had they brought exotic European candies? Maybe they’d hired a celebrity to hawk their goods.
What Alice saw was much, much more underhanded.
Chapter Five
While the Quincy Sisters had watermelon tea to cool down the fairgoers, the Scoville Brothers were heating them up. Each of the brothers was passing out trays of meatballs and potatoes, but they were all shirtless, including the eldest, who was facing a hot grill and grilling up some more meatballs.
Tall. Glistening with sweat. His perfect hair was tousled, and his back muscles were just as sexy as a six pack. His shoulders were broad, but he was hairless, as European men often were. It made Alice wonder if his polar bear shift was naked or whether it’d still have fur. His arms were muscular, coated in a mix of oil and sweat, and the heat from the grill formed a mirage-like moving blur that made his form all the more hypnotizing. Alice hoped to high heavens that he didn’t turn around and see her ogling him.
She had to admit it. He was sexy. The fact that he shouldn’t be made it all the harder to resist his charms. If she’d met him anywhere else, maybe, just maybe, they would’ve had a chance. But she knew that they just couldn’t be together. After all, they were rivals. Their grandfathers were best friends turned worst enemies. Who the heck did he think he was to make this even harder for her? And what right did he have to look that sensual?
Part of Alice had hoped that maybe the Scovilles had hired a chef to win the competition for them, but Alice knew that wasn’t Herbert’s style. No. He could’ve sent someone here to steal the recipes from her, but he hadn’t. He had come here himself, from doing whatever he did in London or Norway, and met with her, face-to-face. He’d accepted her challenge, which he had a non-zero chance of losing, unlike the court case, which, Alice had to admit, he could easily ruin her in. After all, what the heck could Alice hire in terms of a legal team? And what lawyer would take her case, the case of a small American business owner facing the heir of a large multinational conglomerate that, as Hebert had told her, found its roots in the hunt that Herbert loved?
Herbert was right. It was in his blood. She could see how many women had fallen for the Viking persistence and brashness, how so many females had seen a shifter male and felt a primal urge to mate. It wasn’t fair, but at least she knew that he wanted her just as badly as she wanted him. Good. They’d both have to suffer each others’ insufferable personalities and charms.
“You like what you see?” asked Abigail.
“No frikkin’ way,” said Alice. “I can see the appeal. I can admit that much. But I’m not glad to be seeing it.”
“Oh, come on, that Herbert really isn’t that bad on the eyes,” said Abigail. “Although, I like his brother more. I haven’t met him or anything, but he’s got a look.”
“They all look the same,” said Alice.
“Just like us,” said Abigail. “Wait, were you talking about how we look, or how they look at us…and how we look at them, especially when they’re like that, all shirtless and hot and sweaty…mmm, yummy.”
“Darn,” said Alice. “I can’t believe they went there. Using sex to move meatballs? That’s not how we do things down South.”
“Apparently, it is,” said Abigail. “After all, it’s working.”
“I can’t believe that they’d do that,” said Alice. “I should go over there and give them a piece of my mind.”
“If you do that in front of all those people, they’re going to vote Scoville for sure,” said Abigail. “Just stay here and cool down. Here. Have a cup of watermelon tea.” Abigail poured her sister a cup of the tea and passed it to her.
Alice sipped at the tea. They’d made it extra sweet and extra fruity. The pink liquid traveled over her tongue, cooling down her mouth but not her head. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
“I wonder…” started Cayenne.
“What?” asked Savina.
“Never mind, it’s stupid,” said Cayenne.
“What, you’re wondering what their mate marks are?” guessed Savina.
“Yeah, you caught me,” said Cayenne.
“Me too,” said Savina. “I can’t see them through the crowd. I wanna go over and take a peak.”
“No,” said Addison. “You two heard Abigail. We’re not going over. We’ve got to focus on moving our poppers.”
“And how exactly do you suggest we do that?” asked Alice.
“Simple,” said Addison. “Obviously, sex sells, so let’s start selling.”
“What, you mean strip down?” asked Alice. “No way, no how.”
“Who said anything about stripping?” said Addison. “Here. Stand up, Cayenne.”
Cayenne stood, and Addison adjusted the straps of the apron, pulling here, puffing there, so that the apron didn’t hide Cayenne’s curves, but instead, accentuated them.
“There,” said Addison. “Just because we’re looking professional doesn’t mean we can’t look a little cute too. After all, hot girls must have hot sauce. You next, Savina.”
Addison adjusted Savina’s apron and then she turned so that Savina could adjust hers. Addison adjusted Abigail’s apron and then looked to Alice.
“Alice, get up, we’ve gotta make you look good too,” said Addison. “After all, it is your company.”
“Fine, fine,” said Alice. “If you think it’ll help us get more votes. I guess I can look silly for an hour or so.”
“That’s the spirit,” said Addison. “And try to smile a little. I know it’s silly, but people care about that.” Addison undid and redid Alice’s apron strings, and within a few minutes, Alice looked just as cute as the rest of the sisters.
Alice looked down.
“This isn’t practical,” said Alice. “I look like I’m wearing a Halloween costume of a chef.”
“Good thing that we don’t need practical right now,” said Addison. “Now slap that smile on and start getting these poppers into as many hands as possible!”
The gals got to work. Cayenne and Savina stood in the sun, offering poppers on a tray, with Cayenne holding the poppers and Savina offering the hot sauce cups. Abigail stood with them, offering to spritz anyone who tried the poppers, ostensibly because they would get hot from trying the Quincy Sisters’ sauce, but partially as a way to bribe people into giving their food a try. Hey, if the Scovilles were gonna break the rules, so were the Quincy gals. Addison and Alice stood at the main tables, with Addison pouring people drinks and when she wasn’t overwhelmed, helping fill sauce cups. Alice alternated between prepping hot sauce cups and passing out the poppers.
Finally, as the sun set, it was time for the judges to announce the winners. Everyone cleaned up and headed over to the hay bales surrounding a small stage. By this point, the fair’s daytime activities were winding down as the nighttime lights came on for the late night attractions that were aimed more at adults than kids. The announcers announced the pastry categories first, and finally, they got to the hot sauce category.
“We’re pleased to announce this year’s winner of the Bright Star County Fair hot sauce competition,” said the announcer, a woman in a sundress and a big hat. “This year, we had more entrants than ever, and the competition was fierce. All of tonight’s entrants deserve recognition, but this is Bright Star, and we don’t give out participation trophies here. Our judges were harsh and judged the hot sauces based on the merit of the sauce as well as the merit of the food used to showcase the sauce. A composite of the judge scores and the popular scores were used to come up with the finals cores. In third place, we’ve got Mr. Mug’s Mean Sauce, which was a judge favorite but a bit too hot for the masses. Still, the judges loved this raspberry and ghost pepper so much that it’s earned third place.”
There was clapping as a wiry older man in leather pants and a leather vest made his way to the stage to take the third place trophy and stand on the winner’s stand, which had spots for third, second, and first place.
“In second place, we’ve got Madam Pepper’s Marinade, which was presented as a tri-tip, receiving respectable scores from the judges and many votes from the general public,” said the announcer.
A middle-aged woman with a no-nonsense face went and shook the announcer’s hand firmly and formally before collecting her silver trophy and standing up on the podium alongside the bronze trophy carrying third place winner.
“Finally, it’s time to announce first place,” said the announcer. “At the Bright Star County Fair, people from all over the county, and some from outside of it come to show us what they’ve got. They bring the heat if you’ll pardon the pun. Earning first place in the hot sauce competition is no easy feat, and our past first place winners have gone on to develop many of the sauces you know and love. However, part of judging this contest is knowing that sometimes, we’ll be thrown a curveball and have to adjust our scores accordingly. This happened when ghost peppers first hit the USA, when the savina pepper was at risk of extinction, and that one year where we decided teriyaki counted as a hot sauce rather than a marinade, for which we apologize. For the first time in the history of this competition, we don’t have a first place winner.”
There were gasps in the audience. What the heck was going on? No first place winner? Alice looked to her sisters nervously. Were they going to lose the recipes after all?
“That’s right. We don’t have a first place winner…because we have two,” said the announcer. “The two winners, by a stroke of luck or I guess some would say, Fate, received the exact same scores. The two winners are…”
Alice reached out and held hands with Savina and Addison because she was so nervous about what would happen next.
“Our winners are…Mr. Jones’ root beer sauce, which was served with a chicken casserole, and Waffle Country’s spicy maple syrup,” said the announcer. “Will the winners please come up to receive their prizes?”
Alice couldn’t believe it. She clapped softly for the first place winners. They’d tried their hardest but in the end, it hadn’t been enough. They’d lose the recipes, and the legacy their grandpa had built. At
least the Scoville bastards hadn’t won. Alice shot a look to the blonds, who were now wearing their shirts again, and noticed that Herbert was staring at her too. She locked eyes with him, but he didn’t glare back. He gave her a soft, sad smile that was somehow worse than any of his smirks. It felt patronizing.
“Ahem,” said the announcer. “This is so embarrassing. This is another first for the competition. It seems that…we announced the wrong winners.”
Wrong winners? Did that mean there might still be a chance? Alice looked to her sisters. Cayenne and Abigail reached over to touch Alice.
“That’s right. Unfortunately, uhm…the person who was supposed to do the accounting for first place didn’t realize that the highest scores won, not the lowest scores,” said the announcer. “Unfortunately, Mr. Jones’s root beer sauce and the Waffle Country’s spicy maple syrup were actually the lowest rated sauces. The actual winners are…the Scoville Brothers, with their Swedish meatballs and their Pan-European hot sauce.”
Herbert didn’t get up, waiting to see who the second winner was before he rose from his seat. His bear roared. They’d won, hadn’t they? That was call for celebration, but Herbert shut his bear up. Why did winning feel so bad?
“And…the Quincy Sisters, with their jalapeño poppers and their special sauce,” said the announcer. “Please send a rep from each group up to receive the award!”
“Go!” said Addison, squealing with joy. “You won! You won, Alice!”
“We won,” said Alice. “It was all of us.”
“It was you,” said Cayenne. “Now go get that trophy before the Scovilles have a chance to snag it!”
“Oh, right,” said Alice. She made her way up onto the stage, shook the announcer’s hand, and grabbed the trophy before walking to the podium, where her picture would be taken with the other winners.
She looked at the stage. Of course, Herbert had come to accept the prize. They had given him nothing to hold, but he still headed over to the podium.
