Chapter 10
Elijah, Gabriella’s assistant for the morning, left the house with her to head to the breakfast contest. Gabriella had worked hard to perfect her dish with only a stove and a griddle, which was probably just as well, since they’d be cooking outside.
“What kind of breakfast cooking contest takes place on a lawn, anyway?” I’d drilled her the night before. We were packing her nonperishables in boxes—cinnamon, sugar, honey, pepper.
“The history of this contest goes back to the pioneer days. Open fire,” Gabriella informed me.
“Hmph. I guess.”
When I arrived about an hour later, the town square was alive with excitement as the breakfast cook-off commenced.
Colorful streamers danced in the breeze while cheerful chatter filled the air.
The mouthwatering aroma of sizzling bacon, sweet syrup, and warm spices enveloped me as I approached Gabriella’s tent.
Gabriella greeted me from behind her table, her eyes shining with both joy and anxiety. “You made it!”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I tried to sound upbeat despite my own nerves.
“Grandma, we made three batches, and they’re gone already!”
“I don’t doubt it. You’ve got quite a chef here.” I pointed at Gabriella.
“Thanks, Ms. Joyce. I’m so freakin’ nervous.” She wiped her hands on her apron.
“Let me have a taste,” I offered.
“Behold, my honey-bacon breakfast nachos!” she exclaimed, gesturing proudly toward a platter piled high with buttered, crispy tortilla triangles, drizzled generously with honey, cinnamon, sugar, and crumbled bacon bits.
Beside it lay a stack of informational flyers elaborating on the story behind her unique Blaxican cuisine.
I couldn’t help but smile as I reached for a nacho. “Mmm, these are delicious!” I exclaimed, my taste buds delighting in the unique combination of flavors. “You’ve really outdone yourself, Gabriella.”
“Thank you!” She beamed, her face flushed with pride. “I’m really hoping these will impress the judges.”
As we chatted, townsfolk stopped by to admire Gabriella’s dish and learn more about her culinary fusion.
Joy filled my heart as I watched her animatedly share her passion for food, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.
This young woman had such a bright future ahead of her.
I just hoped the “Lorenzos” in her life wouldn’t dim her shine.
Elijah’s face lit up as he handed out samples of Gabriella’s nachos to the eager tasters He clearly took pride in his role, beaming with each compliment about the dish.
“Gabriella, these are divine!” Eileen, who had rushed over as soon as she saw me, exclaimed after taking a bite. She read over the flyer as she chomped. “You have such a gift for combining flavors. We’d love to have you come to the library and share your story, your business information.”
“Thank you so much,” Gabriella replied, her cheeks flushed with happiness. “That would be great.”
Of course, Miss Mary made her rounds. “Keep it up, young lady,” she told Gabriella.
As the crowd around our tent grew, I noticed Gabriella’s gaze shift toward another tent across the way. Her expression turned steely as she whispered to me, “See that woman over there? That’s Mrs. Maine, my old home economics teacher.”
I squinted to get a better look at Mrs. Maine. She looked like the sweetest woman on earth. “That woman? She could play Mrs. Claus in a movie.”
“Don’t let the white hair, bun, and glasses fool you,” Gabriella warned. “That woman was evil.”
“Looks can be deceiving.” I raised an eyebrow. “Was she a good cook?”
“It’s hard to say. She only made the basics in our class. She said we didn’t deserve her best cuisine.”
Mrs. Claus would never say a thing like that.
Gabriella grew a mischievous grin. “Go to her tent. Taste her food. Let me know what you think.”
A snap and crackle preceded the announcer’s voice. “Contestant numbers one through five, please prepare to bring your dishes to the judges in ten minutes.”
“That’s me!” Gabriella shrieked. “Ms. Joyce, you have to go scope her out. Did I tell you that this is my first contest?”
A bolt of electricity flew through me. “No. You. Did. Not.”
“Please. I’m about to pass out. I have to know.”
“Okay, okay. You and Elijah get busy making a fresh batch. I’ll check out Mrs. Maine.”
The way her face loosened up, you’d think I’d told her I was going to knock the woman’s tent down. “Thank you.”
Feeling like a secret agent, I strolled over to Mrs. Maine’s booth, where she was serving up her own breakfast concoction: spicy chocolate and chili-pepper waffles. That didn’t even sound right. This is for you, Gabriella.
“Hello, Mrs. Maine.”
She paused, holding my sample midway between us. The chocolate-chunked waffle on the tiny plastic plate was a deep, rich brown, almost sinister in its appearance. I could see the flecks of spice in the syrup, promising a fiery kick with each bite. “Hello. Do we know each other?”
I gave my church-usher smile and took the plate from her. “No. My family has roots here, and I recently moved back. My housemate, Gabriella Santos, was a student of yours. She has so much to say about you.”
“Does she, now?” she replied with a tight-lipped smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Well, I hope you enjoy my entry.”
Taking a bite, I struggled to maintain my composure as the overdone spiciness hit my tongue. I coughed and sputtered, trying to catch my breath. I should have followed my first mind and passed on this one.
“Goodness,” Mrs. Maine said, feigning concern. “It must have gone down the wrong pipe.”
“Actually, it’s…incredibly spicy,” I managed to say between coughs before disposing of the rest of the dish. “Thank you.”
I wiped my mouth with a napkin, trying to regain my composure as I walked back to Gabriella’s tent.
She was busy plating her honey-bacon nachos, each one arranged like a work of art.
“Gabriella, believe me when I say you have nothing to worry about. Mrs. Maine’s dish tastes like a sugary volcano erupted in my mouth. ”
“Really?” she asked, eyebrows raised.
“Trust me,” I said. I took a moment to fan my tongue. “It’s like a funnel cake and a firecracker had a baby.”
Elijah erupted into laughter. But in his excitement, he stumbled and tipped over the platter of nachos.
The carefully crafted bites tumbled to the ground, each second stretching into eternity.
The nachos seemed to float before crashing down in a catastrophic sprawl.
“Aaagh, no!” Gabriella cried out, hands flying to her cheeks.
Elijah stared at the mess, eyes wide and filling with tears as he realized what he had done.
“I’m so sorry, Gabriella,” he choked out. “I’ve ruined everything.”
“Here, let me help,” I offered, joining her on the ground. Together, we scrambled to rescue as many nachos as possible, the clock mercilessly ticking away above us.
“Time’s almost up!” called the announcer, sending another wave of distress. “Five minutes.”
Gabriella and I exchanged panicked glances, our hearts racing as we tried to make up for lost time.
“Okay, okay,” Gabriella muttered under her breath, her hands moving quickly as she turned up the heat on the stove. “Remember the oven?” she asked me.
“Yeah.”
Her confidence seemed to zip through me.
“We did it then. Let’s get ’er done again.”
Gabriella turned up the heat and slapped more bacon on the grill. The bacon sizzled furiously, spitting grease onto the stovetop. “Joyce, could you help me with the tortillas?”
“Of course,” I replied, grabbing a pair of tongs and flipping the tortillas over in the cast-iron skillet. The scents of cinnamon and honey were now overshadowed by the unmistakable aroma of burning food.
Our outdoor kitchen was a whirlwind of activity as the three of us worked feverishly to salvage the dish.
Elijah sprinkled cinnamon and sugar like nobody’s business.
But despite our best efforts, the bacon wasn’t as crispy as it should’ve been, and the cinnamon and sugar hadn’t had enough time to truly soak into the tortillas.
“Time’s up!” the announcer called, signaling the end of the cook-off. Gabriella plated the nachos as best she could, her eyes filled with determination even as disappointment danced across her furrowed brow.
I squeezed her arm. “Gabriella, you did your best. It might not be perfect, but it’s still delicious.” It was also better than Mrs. Maine’s, but I didn’t want to try humor at the moment.
Tears welled up in Elijah’s eyes as he watched Gabriella place the final garnishes on the plate. “I’m so sorry, Gabriella,” he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion.
“Hey,” Gabriella said gently, wiping away her own tears. “It’s okay, Elijah. We all make mistakes. What’s important is that we learn from them and move forward.” She hugged him tightly with her free arm, offering forgiveness and understanding.
I took back all the bad things I’d thought about Gabriella.
The tenderness she showed Elijah deserved some payback, and I made up in my mind that I’d do whatever it took to get her the kitchen she thought she’d signed up for when she moved into the duplex.
The kitchen she deserved. Young folk need somebody in their corner, after all.
Elijah and I followed Gabriella to the judges’ table. We stopped at the front row of onlookers, and she proceeded without us. I wondered if this was what a father felt like when he gave his daughter away at the altar. Goodness gracious, this is nerve-racking.
My grandson and I held hands when it was Gabriella’s turn to stand before the panel, the judges’ eyes scrutinizing our hastily prepared dish.
I could feel Gabriella’s nerves radiating off her as she described the honey-bacon nachos with pride, not mentioning the mishap that had occurred just minutes before.
The unique blend of flavors, inspired by her Blaxican heritage, shone through despite the imperfect presentation.
“Is the bacon fully cooked?” one judge asked, his eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion. The limp nacho chip in his hand had nearly lost its coating. It was clearly not Gabriella’s best work.
Gabriella hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath.
Cleared her throat. “I did have to hurry with it because there was a mishap; my tray of food fell to the ground only five minutes ago.” Her voice shook slightly but held firm, and I admired her courage. “We made another batch. Very quickly.”
“Undercooked pork is dangerous!” Mrs. Maine called out from behind us, her voice dripping with condescension. Suddenly, all the judges spat out their mouthfuls, and one reprimanded Gabriella for giving them undercooked pork.
“Wait,” Gabriella interjected, her voice wavering as she struggled to maintain her composure. “The bacon was thin-sliced, and the meat is done. It’s just not as crispy as I wanted it to be, ideally, but the fat rendered.”
“It sure was rendered; I saw it with my own eyes!” My words rang out just as loud and sure as Mrs. Maine’s had. I didn’t even know what “rendered fat” was, but I knew for a fact that Gabriella was honest and knew what she was talking about.
But despite my defense, the judges didn’t take another bite. With a somber tone, the announcer said, “All right, folks, let’s move on.”
I watched as Gabriella managed to thank the judges even as she gathered their barely touched plates. She tossed the uneaten food into the trash before leaving the stage.
As we walked back together, Elijah trailing close behind, townsfolk murmured encouraging words to Gabriella: “Better luck next time,” and “I had some earlier and they were amazing.”
But these small gestures didn’t make it into her psyche. “Let’s go home,” she said, her voice soft yet resolute.
“Are you sure?” I asked, furrowing my brow in concern.
Gabriella simply nodded, her dark eyes glistening with the tears she’d bravely held back.
Together, the three of us began packing up the tent, working silently but efficiently. As I folded the colorful tablecloth, I made a vow to myself: Gabriella deserved another chance to win, and I intended to help her do so.