To Die For (Gray Wolf Legacy #9)

CHAPTER ONE

“How many bakeries do we have asking for entry this year?” asked Milton Lebeau.

“One-hundred and thirty-two,” said the woman. “We just can’t take that many. One-hundred and twenty-five is our maximum.”

“Then I guess we have to cut back on some of these,” he said staring at the stacks of entries. Corresponding to each number on the application was a sample on the tables. Lebeau stood and walked slowly down the table, his notebook in hand.

Some of the entries were easy to approve.

They’d been to this event consecutive years or were in it in previous years.

In today’s day and age of social media posts, many of the applicants were simply home bakers who baked for friends and family or had a small home bakery business where they shipped items.

They were impressive given their home constraints but their home-baking roots showed through up against some of the more famous bakery houses. Some were entered in multiple categories, others only in one or two.

The categories had expanded over the years.

Cakes and specialty cakes, which included wedding cakes and sculpted cakes.

There were cookies, pies, tarts, sweet breads which included cinnamon rolls, cupcakes, and a vast category for French pastries.

Bakers could create exotic flavors of ice cream to enhance their dish but it wasn’t necessary.

There were so many wonderful entries but due to space and cooking availability, a certain number of ovens, stoves, and preparation stations, they had to cut it back.

“Well, what are your final thoughts?” asked the woman.

“There are going to be some very disappointed people,” he said shaking his head. “I wish we had a larger space for the event but we just can’t do it this year. Besides, there are an inordinate number of people entering the cookies and pies category this year.”

Having won seven championships in the gingerbread contests, he knew a thing or two about disappointment. He might have won seven times but he lost eleven. It was always disappointing but it was also very exciting.

He turned to the woman and handed her the three pages of entries. Some were crossed off in red but most had a green check mark beside them.

“Go ahead and draft the letters. They should be certified, delivered by a delivery service. No horrible e-mails,” he frowned.

“Of course,” smiled the woman.

The letters were prepared ahead of time, minus the name of the bakery and the head baker or owner. It didn’t take long for them to be printed and signed by Lebeau. After the last one was done, he sat back with a sigh but felt good about his selections.

“They’re ready to go, Margaret,” he said pushing them toward her. “This is always the hard part. There’s a lot of money involved in winning this event and it’s a huge stepping stone for young bakers.”

“Well, if it matters, the staff thinks you made the right decisions. We tasted the same things that you did and we agree. There are a few that aren’t quite there yet but overall, it’s going to be an amazing competition.”

“Thank you,” he nodded smiling at the woman. “Now we begin getting everything ready and prepare for the final submissions. Don’t forget to remind the candidates that everything is timed and if they don’t finish their baked goods, they will be disqualified.”

“It’s in the letter, Milton. Don’t worry, we’ve got this.”

The list of selected bakers was impressive. Represented by all fifty states, Canada, Mexico, and seven other countries, it would be the most international competition to date.

Milton sat back in his desk chair and felt relief. He also felt good about who’d been selected. He remembered his first competition. He was just nineteen, a hot-tempered young pastry chef for a local hotel who thought he understood the world.

He chuckled to himself. He knew nothing.

He lost the first four times he entered.

Then he decided to take a step back and give himself a break for a while.

Master your craft, develop your sense of design and style, and experiment with unique flavors.

That was the advice given to him by an older woman from New Orleans who beat him those first four times.

She was sweet, kind, and talked to him for hours. That’s when he decided to take a break from the competitions. When he came back, he finished fourth. The next year, he finished second. And then he won his first competition with his gingerbread Ferris wheel.

He smiled to himself, nodding at the wonderful memory. Packing his notes and the list of accepted bakers, he left his office and headed to the convention center hoping to be able to speak with the events coordinator.

Holding a baking contest in a non-kitchen space was their worst nightmare but they’d been exceptionally agreeable to everything.

One-hundred and twenty-five ovens, microwaves and prep spaces.

Massive commercial grade refrigerators with three doors, three columns of shelves to be shared among three bakers.

The lighting would have to be lowered, with direct lighting overhead for the bakers, without causing too much additional heat. Soft-pad mats in the preparation spaces to make it more comfortable for the hours of standing some of the bakers would need to do.

The first two days were cookies, brownies, tarts, and pies. The next two were more intricate French pastries. The next two, sweet breads and cinnamon rolls. The final three days would be specialty cakes, which included wedding cakes, sculptural design cakes, and gingerbread designs.

Normally they wouldn’t add in gingerbread unless the competition was around the holidays. But this competition was different.

There was a reason it was the biggest, most elite and coveted. The World Baking Championships. Let it begin.