All Stirred Up

by Brianne Moore

  “What’s the other table for?” Gloria wonders, jerking her head in the direction of a third table, set between theirs and Chris’s. Ingredients and utensils are already set up; clearly someone’s going to be cooking there.

  Chris seems to be curious about it too, because he calls over one of the organizers and has a few words with her, gesturing to the table. Susan continues unpacking, until she hears Chris bellow, “That’s not what we agreed!”

  She jumps and both she and Gloria freeze. Barbara, the woman in charge of organizing the event, is talking fast, trying to manage a situation here, as Chris stands back, arms folded over his chest, shaking his head.

  “What’s up?” Gloria calls.

  “There’s a third competitor,” Chris spits. “A mystery.”

  “No. No, no, no. It’s bad enough we got roped into this in the first place,” says Susan, putting her boxes down and joining him. “What’s the plan? A big reveal? Trot this person out once the audience is in place?”

  “I—um,” Barbara stammers. Clearly this actually was the plan.

  “Forget it,” says Chris. “I’ve already been forced into this, and when we spoke, Barbara, I made it very clear this was a straightforward head-to-head. No last-minute tricks.”

  “Wait, please, wait just a minute!” Barbara sprints away and gathers a few of her fellow officials for a quick chat at the far end of the tent.

  “What do you mean you were forced into this?” Susan murmurs. “I thought this whole thing was your idea.”

  “Why the hell would I suggest it?” he asks through clenched teeth. “You think I don’t have enough to do, I need to waste time with nonsense like this?”

  “Oh, thank you very much,” she hisses.

  “I don’t mean you—I mean the whole thing. It’s just a silly bit of theater, and I have enough on my plate without taking time out for it.”

  “And yet, you did,” she points out.

  “Only because it felt like I didn’t have much choice. I was told you’d already set the whole thing up, so if I refused to play along, I’d be the bad guy.”

  “Well, I didn’t set this up,” she informs him.

  “Yes, I realize that now. And I sure as hell didn’t set it up either!”

  The two of them glare at each other for a second, and then something changes. Some pressure releases suddenly, like a small balloon popping, and she can see a tiny smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. She, too, wants to burst out laughing at the absurdity of the situation and the stupidity of the two of them for believing Rufus Arion, of all people.

  Just then, the organizer group breaks up and Barbara returns.

  “I’m really sorry,” she pants. “Poor decision on our part, we realize that. It’s okay— we’ll bring the third team out now. Just, please, don’t leave! We’ve already issued tickets for this and it’s a sellout.”

  Now, Susan and Chris direct their glares at her.

  “I’ll stay until we see what you’ve got up your sleeve here,” Chris decides. He turns to Susan. “Totally up to you whether you stay or leave.”

  Obviously. “We’ll stay,” Susan replies. They’ve both crossed the Rubicon.

  “Right. Okay.” Barbara disappears again.

  As Susan returns to her station, Gloria murmurs, “I’d lay good money this was all his idea.” She jerks her head in the direction of Rufus, who has just slipped into the tent. He catches her eye, smiles, and waggles his fingers at Susan in greeting. “Little shite.”

  “Not much we can do about it now,” Susan sighs. She resumes setting up, glancing in Chris’s direction. He’s talking to his assistant, who looks even more nervous now there’s another player in the game. Chris pats the boy on the shoulder, smiles encouragingly, and Susan can imagine him murmuring, “Hey, it’s all right—you’ve got this! We’ve practiced this, just do what your instincts tell you, all right? One more team doesn’t make any difference.”

  “Okay!” Barbara pops back into the tent. “They’re here.” She waves to someone just outside, and in strut Dan and Joe, Elliot’s recently departed executive and pastry chef.

  “What the actual fuck is this?” Gloria explodes.

  “Nice to see you too, Double-E,” Dan smirks. “I see you haven’t changed much.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Susan can see Chris shaking his head in disgust. He sets his knives down, glares at Barbara, and says, “You are railroading her”—pointing to Susan— “and I don’t like it. Springing a surprise team on us was one thing, but this is something else entirely.” He turns to Susan. “It would be totally understandable if you decided to leave. “If you go, we’ll go too,” he says, gesturing to himself and his assistant, who looks completely unnerved.

  Barbara’s panicking, stammering, throwing alarmed looks at Rufus.

  Rufus calmly watches the ruckus unfold, probably mentally composing his next blog post on this very fracas. “That won’t play well,” he comments. “It’ll look like you’re both running scared.”

  “Hardly,” Chris scoffs. “Believe me, I’ll make sure everyone knows just what happened here.”

  “Thought you’d be a bit more welcoming, now we’re partners and all.” Dan sulks before sending a sly look Susan’s way. “You hear we’re going to be neighbors soon? Funny how these things happen, right? I mean, you did this totally shitty thing to me, but it probably ended up the best thing that ever happened. So I guess we should both thank you.” He indicates himself and Joe, who looks a little embarrassed.

  “You are most welcome,” Susan replies, beaming. “I’m so glad you agree that your firing really was the best thing.”

  Chris doesn’t even attempt to hide his smile.

  Susan exchanges looks with Gloria, whose smirk clearly says, “We can take them.”

  Susan crosses the stage to Dan and holds out her hand. He hesitates, as if he’s afraid it might be dipped in poison, but then takes it, weakly. “I’m glad you’re here, Dan,” Susan tells him with a sickly smile. “It’ll be really satisfying to hand you your ass so publicly.” She turns on her heel and marches back to her station, practically feeling another, wider grin from Chris. She looks up, catches his eye, and they smile at each other. And now they aren’t competitors, really, but chefs ready to make some amazing food, and two teams united in showing up some asshole.

  “Well,” Rufus gushes, “This is fun! I can’t wait to see the show!”

  “Don’t you start. We know this is all down to you,” Gloria snaps, jabbing her chef’s knife in his direction.

  Despite the fact he’s a good five feet away from her, Rufus cringes and shrinks away from the blade. “Oh, come on,” he says. “A little extra tension and drama adds to the fun of the thing, don’t you think?”

  “No,” Chris flatly responds.

  Dan and Joe shake their heads, muttering, and go about their business as the audience begins crowding into the tent. Susan notices several women putting their heads together, eyeing Chris, fluttering lashes and giggling. He doesn’t seem to notice. He’s directing his assistant and seeing to his prep. Susan, too, tries to ignore them and focus on what she needs to do.

  Each team has forty-five minutes to produce two courses of their choice. They’ve been permitted to bring along up to three items that absolutely needed to be prepared ahead of time. Susan notices that Paul and Joe have brought along some very elaborate garnishes—carved radishes and fruits—and a small cooler filled with wobbly snot-yellow blobs. Chris has something that looks like salmon roe at his station.

  The tent fills, and the heat and stuffiness increase. Susan can feel sweat beading up on her forehead, and she follows Gloria’s lead and ties a brightly patterned kerchief around her forehead like a headband. She sees Kay come in, followed by the rest of Susan’s family, including all of Meg’s boys, who already look bored. Kay grins and waves to her niece, who waves and smiles back. Susan notices Chris’s mouth tighten momentarily at the sight.

  As the last people take the
ir seats, Chris and his assistant leave their station and cross the stage to Susan and Gloria’s.

  “Good luck to you both,” Chris says, extending a hand. “This is Rab, by the way,” he adds, gesturing to the boy, who turns bright red.

  “Nice to meet you, Rab,” Susan says, shaking both their hands. “Good luck to both of you as well.”

  Chris leans forward and whispers, “I really hope you’re doing those brownies of yours. Nobody’ll beat those.”

  His warm smile sends a jolt up her spine and takes her right back to those days in his old flat. The two of them cooking, weaving around each other in a complex, instinctual dance. Tasting and laughing and touching and creating. She swallows hard, smiles back, and says, “You’ll just have to see, won’t you?”

  Dan and Joe look uneasily at each other, then reluctantly join the other two men at the station. Handshakes all around, and they’re back in their places as the judges—a venerated chef, a young woman who smiles a lot and has a Saturday morning cooking show, and a semi-famous food blogger who looks to be about twenty years old—take their seats. Barbara, clearly relieved and probably looking forward to a very stiff drink after this, bounds up on stage, welcomes everyone, and introduces the judges and the chefs (everyone smiling and waving as the crowd cheers—loudest for Chris, of course).

  “All right, chefs, are you ready?” They all nod obediently. “Let the games begin!”

  They spring into action. Susan dumps rhubarb, sugar, and water into a saucepan and sets it boiling as Gloria fires up some music.

  “Aw, no fair—they’ve got props!” Chris calls out good naturedly, bobbing his head in time to “Percussion Gun.”

  “Everyone can use them; they’re equal opportunity!” Susan yells back, waggling her hips and whisking in time to the music.

  “Hope you take requests!” Chris shouts back.

  The crowd loves it and starts clapping along, as Chris laughs and makes a show of flambéing something in a pan. The audience oohs. The judges grin and chat. Dan and Joe smile gamely and try to get into the spirit of things. Barbara ping-pongs back and forth between the tables, asking the chefs questions, because as if this isn’t already difficult enough to pull off, you have to be charming too.

  “What’re you doing today?” she asks Chris. “Something savory? Or sweet?”

  “I’m a savory man, I’m afraid,” he replies. “Despite my name, pastry’s not my forte. She can tell you.” With a self-deprecating smile, he gestures to Susan with a whisk. “Ask her about my quiche.”

  Susan laughs. “You should’ve let your pastry rest,” she says. “I told you! But you never listened to me. Chefs!” With an exaggerated roll of the eyes.

  “So it looks like you’re doing something sweet here,” Barbara says, coming over to Susan and gesturing to the array of sugar, spices, and fruit in front of her.

  “That’s right,” Susan confirms, tamping down the urge to say something snarky. “Pastry is my forte.”

  “And who taught you?”

  “My mother and my grandfather. They taught me nearly everything I know about cooking and kitchens.” She and Chris exchange a quick smile.

  “That’s something the two of you have in common, isn’t it?” Barbara asks them.

  “That’s right. I owe Elliot Napier a lot,” Chris confirms, shucking scallops at lightning speed.

  “Didn’t sound like that on the radio,” Gloria comments.

  “Ah, words spoken in the heat of the moment.” Chris shakes his head. “You often end up regretting them later, right?”

  Susan looks up and catches his apologetic look.

  “Oh, that’s nice,” Barbara gushes, moving toward Dan and Joe’s table. “What’s that you’re doing there, crème brûlée?” She bends over some shallow ramekins of custard Joe’s arranging on the workspace.

  “Come on, really?” Gloria cackles. Both Joe and Dan glare at her.

  “Well, this is interesting,” Barbara goes on, returning to Chris, who has a dozen bottles and several halved citrus fruits arrayed in front of him. “Mirin, yuzu … something written in Japanese that I can’t even pronounce.” She titters. “You like your Asian influences!”

  “I collect influences from everywhere,” Chris tells her. “I spent a bit of time in Asia, learning techniques and discovering ingredients, so yes, there’s a lot of that, but there’s also quite a bit of Scotland in my cooking”—an appreciative cheer from the crowd, which he acknowledges with a heartthrob grin—“and I’ve learned from other chefs, of course. There’s this great technique for cooking fish that one of the contestants on my show came up with, and afterward I asked him to teach it to me. We use it in the restaurant. It’s important to remember that you shouldn’t ever think you’re too good or too important a chef to stop learning from others.”

  “Words to live by indeed,” Barbara agrees.

  “He’s good,” Gloria murmurs to Susan.

  “He is,” she whispers back. Chris has definitely developed the skill of playing to the crowd, but she knows it’s not just lip service: she can tell he’s sincere about everything he’s saying.

  The clock is counting down fast. Gloria’s hands become a blur as she finishes arranging short ribs and snatches chips from the deep-fat fryer. Susan pipes custard and puts the finishing touches on her puddings. They plate up, arranging things just so, garnishing, drizzling sauces, wiping edges.

  “And that’s time!” Barbara shouts. Chris and Rab spring back, hands flung dramatically in the air. Susan and Gloria laugh and embrace. Joe and Dan look at their handiwork, hands on hips, nodding, as if they have to convince themselves they’ve done really, really well. Dan pats Joe on the back. Chris slings an arm around Rab’s neck and pulls him in for a quick man-hug.

  “All right, chefs, time’s up! Chris, would you like to bring your plates forward first?” Barbara invites.

  Chris and Rab deliver their plates to the three judges and step back.

  “Starter and main,” Chris announces. “For your starter, there’s a seared scallop with preserved lemon and sea buckthorn ‘caviar.’”

  Susan almost groans aloud, wondering how the hell he managed to get that damn sea buckthorn to set in perfect, tiny spheres. Damn him, she thinks, without rancor. As he said, there’s always something you can learn from another chef.

  “This scallop is perfect,” purrs the TV presenter.

  “And the lemon and buckthorn really keep it nice and fresh and light,” the chef agrees.

  “For your main,” Chris continues as the judges reach for their second plates, “homemade rice cavatelli with a spicy kimchi sauce.”

  The judges devour in silence. Then the blogger sits back, looks at his empty bowl and says, “I want a lot more of this. Like, a lot more.”

  Chris grins and nods encouragingly to Rab, who clasps his hands behind his back, ducks his head, and smiles at the floor.

  “The only criticism I can think of, and it’s a little thing, is that the presentation could be a little more interesting,” the chef adds. “We all want something a little theatrical nowadays, you know?”

  “Noted,” Chris says. “Thank you.” He and Rab return to their station.

  Joe and Dan are up next.

  “We have a main and a pudding for you,” says Dan. “For your main, we have a lamb Wellington with locally foraged mushrooms and Serrano ham, accompanied by asparagus and nettle mash.”

  “Locally foraged mushrooms?” the blogger says. “Ace! What kind of mushrooms?”

  “Uh, it’s a mix,” Dan answers.

  As one, the judges frown.

  “So you’re bringing them in, not foraging yourself?” the blogger presses.

  “Mushroom foraging’s something best left up to the experts,” Dan explains.

  “Sure, but you should know what type of mushrooms you’re getting and using,” says the chef. “You should always know your ingredients.”

  There’s not much Dan can say to that.

  The ju
dges dig in, and after a minute the TV presenter says, “It’s a beautiful Wellington. Very flavorful, excellent pastry. You did make the pastry yourself, right?” She glances meaningfully at Joe, who nods.

  “Yes, of course, I make all our pastry,” he replies.

  “Well, it’s great. It’s a very nice dish, but at this time of year it feels a bit heavy.”

  “I’d agree with that,” says the chef. “May I ask, why did you put nettles in the mash?”

  “Nettles are really good for you, and we felt the grassy flavor helps balance out the richness of the meat,” says Dan.

  “Eh, not sure I agree with you on that.” The presenter shrugs.

  “Pudding?” the blogger suggests, pushing aside the Wellington and reaching for the crème brûlée.

  “Yes, this is a Cranachan-inspired crème brûlée,” says Joe, seeming relieved they’ve moved off the main. “Whisky-infused custard with raspberries, burnt sugar top, and a sprinkling of crisp meringue.”

  The judges break through the tops of their puddings and dip spoons into the smooth custard underneath.

  “Crème brûlée is one of my favorite desserts, and this is an excellent one,” says the presenter. “It’s really, really nice. Very smooth and creamy and rich. I can taste the smokiness of the whisky. It’s lovely.”

  The other two nod. “It is,” the blogger agrees. “Really nice.”

  Dan and Joe seem relieved, and as they turn back to their station, Joe gives Gloria a smug look.

  “Last but not least!” Barbara gestures for Susan and Gloria to come forward.

  “Main and pudding,” Gloria announces. “Nothing about this is healthy, but we definitely know where it all came from.” She smirks at Dan. “For your main, there’s a tea-glazed short rib with hickory-smoked-salt chips, cornbread soufflé, and braised greens.”

  “Ah-may-zing,” the blogger declares, halfway through his dish. “Tastes like the best summer barbeque you’ve ever had in your entire life.”

  “These chips are like crack,” says the presenter, holding up a small handful of them.