Chapter 6
Chapter Six
One day to prove himself. At least the weather was cooperating. Zach looked out the rectangular window at Ollie’s overlooking Main Street. The early morning sunlight glinted off the red awning on the building opposite.
His smartwatch buzzed an alarm. Time to make his dreams come true.
He swung his chef’s white jacket off its hanger and made his way through town and to the festival grounds.
Patrick Kelley, mustache bristling, was setting out plates on his booth. “Hi, Zach! How are you feeling about today?”
“Confident, but hopefully not overconfident. I know I’ve got some tough competition, including you.” After the meeting for the contestants broke up last night, he’d learned the names of two more. Kim Beebe from Trixie’s and Enrique Perez from Fiesta.
“Yep. It’s a good lineup. I’m not sure if I’ll be much competition, but Val Anderson is a chef at Lion and Dragon.
I hear they’re up for a Michelin Star.” Patrick reached under his booth and set out more plates.
“You’re not planning to stay on island, are you?
With your skills, you’ll give Kelley’s a lot of competition. Do I have to worry about that?”
“Nah. No worries there.” He wasn’t ever moving back to this island.
He wouldn’t have even come back if Dani hadn’t lured him in with the talk of impressing Paul Hawkeye and Anne Green.
Maybe even to impress one of them enough to earn a permanent place in their kitchen. “I’ve got my eye on a different prize.”
Over Patrick’s shoulder, he spotted Ava positioned near his station. “Will you excuse me?” Not waiting for a reply, he dashed across the lawn to the cooking tent.
Ava stood with her back to him. “Ava, why are you lurking at my table?”
She whirled to him. Her eyes widened. “Lurking?” She put a hand to her hip. “I wasn’t lurking.”
“Sure could’ve fooled me.” He was going for teasing, but his words came out hot. “I saw you hanging around my table. Are you looking for a way to sabotage me?”
Color crept up into her cheeks. “I wasn’t lurking. Or looking to sabotage you.” She dropped her arm and pinched her lips together for a moment. “I was trying to—”
“Trying to what?”
“Why are you always accusing me of things?” Her eyes flashed.
Shoot. She was right. He crossed his arms. “Sorry. Continue.”
“I wanted to wish you luck. We’re stuck together for a while, and I was trying for nice.” She knit her fingers together at her stomach. “You’re always assuming the worst about me. I’m a good person.”
Oof. Now he really felt like a jerk. “I always seem to start on the wrong foot with you. I’m sorry. Again.”
A smile spread across her face. “Forgiven.” She reached out a hand to him. He took it and his mouth dried.
Boy, he was more nervous about this contest than he thought.
“Everything okay?” Ava’s brow crinkled.
“Fine. Why?” He swallowed hard.
“I just would like my hand back.”
He dropped his gaze to their hands. Had he rubbed his thumb across the back of hers? He let go as though she were the handle of a red-hot skillet.
Tucking the traitorous appendages into the pockets of his blue jeans, he went for nonchalant. “I’d better get my station set up. Big day.” He brushed past her and concentrated on keeping his gaze firmly on his cooking equipment. When he finally turned around again, she’d disappeared.
Good thing too, because it would take all of his attention to perfect the appetizers he’d chosen for the first round.
He’d made the sauerkraut meatballs many times, but they were very fussy.
He’d decided to turn them into sliders for easier eating.
He’d also chosen to make a quick ketchup and a horseradish sauce.
A squeal came through a speaker hanging nearby. “Contestants to the judges’ table, please.” Zach recognized his Uncle Seb’s voice over the PA system again.
“Gather ’round, everyone,” Uncle Seb said as the crowd surged to the center stage.
Zach found a spot near the center. Seb briefly recapped the rules before introducing the judges.
Joining Ava on the judging panel were the two chefs Zach wanted to impress.
Paul Hawkeye stood with his arms crossed over his wide chest, signature silver hair cropped close to his head.
Anne Green stood next to him, her petite frame dwarfed by the other chef.
Her blonde head barely made it to his shoulder.
“Chef Hawkeye has asked permission to say a few words before we get started.” Uncle Seb stepped away from the mic and gestured for Chef Hawkeye to take his place.
“Thank you, Seb.” Chef Hawkeye nodded to Seb before turning back to the gathered crowd.
“I love cooking competitions. I enjoy competing in them, but even more I enjoy judging them. Maybe because I have such strong opinions.” A laugh rumbled through the crowd.
“Seriously, though, these things are always a place to taste great food and to find new talent. That is why I’ve decided to add another layer to this contest. I’m prepared to offer a six-month internship, with the option to turn that internship into a full-time job at the Farm, to the winner of today’s competition. ”
The crowd broke into a cheer.
Zach’s heart sped. An internship at the Farm, Chef Hawkeye’s flagship restaurant in San Diego, California, would be a dream come true.
Onstage, Chef Hawkeye clasped both hands on the mic. “So, to each of you competing today, put your heart into it. Take risks. Wow me. Go make something amazing. I believe in each of you.”
Zach joined the crowd in a cheer before pushing his way through to his station. He’d just tied his apron around his waist when the starting bell sounded over the loudspeaker.
All eight of the cook stations under the tent were set up the same.
Two long white tables formed two sides, while a makeshift pantry and dish cupboard formed the third.
At the back, making the fourth wall of the station, was a small fridge, blast chiller, single-basket deep fryer, oven, and stovetop.
Zach picked up the recipe card for his sauerkraut sliders.
He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, then began gathering his ingredients.
As he tossed his corned beef, cooked ham, and onion into a food processor, Chef Hawkeye’s words rang in his ears.
Take risks. How could he change up this dish to be even more edgy?
He looked at his pantry, fully stocked with the ingredients he’d asked for.
Not much wiggle room for spontaneous creativity.
There! Two kinds of sauerkraut were lined up at the back.
The original recipe called for regular sauerkraut, but he would add the red cabbage kraut instead.
A brighter flavor, it would hopefully put his recipe over the top.
He carefully measured out the kraut and added it into the processor, giving the whole thing a few pulses to combine.
Then he tossed in several garlic cloves and a tablespoon of flour and added a few more pulses.
After the meat mixture was finished, he would turn them into sliders, dredging them in more flour and giving them a quick fry. He would plate them on Hawaiian rolls with horseradish and ketchup dipping sauces.
What the…? Flecks of green and blue ran through his meat mixture. That wasn’t right. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. His stomach cramped.
How did it get so hot in here? Too bad there wasn’t a cool spring breeze coming off Lake Huron this morning.
He grabbed a clean spoon and tasted the meat mixture.
Hmm. A little salty, but otherwise fine.
The frying process should even that out.
Maybe it would take care of the weird colors too.
Garlic sometimes did that when exposed to acid.
People milled about in the aisles between the cooking stations. Amid the din of voices, he could hear Ava chatting with some locals. He glanced up toward the sound of her voice. Her head was bent over a notebook as she jotted something down.
Looking back down at the bowl in front of him, he began forming the meat mixture into balls before flattening them into patties.
“Chef Zach, can you tell me a little about your dish?” Ava’s voice jolted him from the rhythm he’d developed.
He glanced up again. Her gray eyes held curiosity, not animosity. “I’m making sauerkraut sliders.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of sauerkraut sliders. Can you tell me a little more?” She had her pen poised above her notebook. He’d never heard her use that tone of voice before. Stilted, formal. Not her usual warmth.
“Is this for a newspaper article?”
Her cheeks pinked. “Yes. I originally came here to turn in a series of articles on the festival. Do you mind?”
He shoved aside the sudden irritation. “It’s fine.
” He scooped up another spoonful of mix.
“I first had these at a church potluck in Austin. I’ve modified them and added my own spin.
I like to think I’ve elevated them.” Shoot.
That sounded so arrogant. “I mean, I’ve changed them up to appeal more to chefs like Paul and Anne.
” That wasn’t much better, but at least the soundbite focused on the celebrities here.
Ava’s wide-open gaze held him in place. She’d stopped writing. “You go to church?”
A band tightened around his chest. Yeah, he hadn’t treated her like a man who believed in Jesus.
“I try to. When I don’t have a Sunday shift.
” Man, he really needed to be better at living out his faith.
He believed in forgiveness, really, he did.
But the grudge against Ava had been in his heart for so long.
“Ava, I—” The alarm on his hot oil sounded.
Time to get these patties in the fryer. This conversation would have to wait.
“Go.” She waved him off. “I should get in a few more interviews anyway.”