less?”
As he cooked, Dante entertained his audience and judges as if he were cooking sausages on a BBQ for friends on a Sunday afternoon. He was a magician, describing his favorite place down south as his freshly cooked garlic and chili infused the air.
“This is what we should serve our loved ones.” Dante’s fingers danced over the platter as they created a visual masterpiece. “Good food should explore all the senses. It should be fresh, simple, and visually stunning.”
Cassidy looked at the neatly stacked pans and tidy work area. Had he really cooked all that food just a moment ago? If it was true that one ate with her eyes, she was full.
“Good friends, good company, good times.”
He opened a bottle of Western Australian Shiraz and filled wine glasses for the judges and one for himself. He placed the platter in front of them with a flourish as a large clock sounded that his time was up.
“ Buon appetito, ” he said, clinking his glass with theirs.
Cassidy realized her mouth was half open, as if she could taste the food he served to the judges, who ate in silence while they sipped their wine.
“Congratulations, Dante, and we got a free dish without having to wait six months for a booking.”
“I would have waited half a year for this,” the host said as she reached for a fork and asked one of the judges if she could share his food.
“It was superb, but…” The judge wearing thick glasses tapped his pen on a notepad several times before continuing. He spoke slowly and deliberately. “I’ve heard the ingredients you have been using in your restaurant lately have been sub-standard. You may be fully booked now, but that could change in the near future.”
Dante’s posture became rigid and he walked over and rested his hands on the table in front of the judge. The room became quiet. “The rumors you heard are true.”
A collective gasp came from the audience and the other judges.
Dante continued. “It’s my restaurant, so I must take full responsibility for what happened in my absence. I’m here to make things right and prove to you all I’m still as passionate about the Slow Food movement as ever.”
“How do you propose to do that?” The judge crossed his arms and everyone waited for Dante’s response.
“By cooking good food with great fresh, local ingredients.” Dante sounded humble. “By giving a damn.”
“Excuse us,” the judge replied.
Dante walked back to where he had been preparing his food. Several minutes passed as he handed his preparation dishes to the kitchen staff to take away. The judges collaborated in low voices.
The judge who had interrogated Dante cleared his throat. “Congratulations, Dante, majority wins. You’re through to the next round.”
The chefs in the audience stood and applauded as Dante bowed to the judges and to the audience. Dante walked past Cassidy as he left the stage to return to his seat. She gave him the thumbs up.
“Good luck,” he said as he walked past. “Watch out for unexpected cameramen.”
The next contestant stammered and fidgeted while attempting to explain what contribution he could make to the show. Cassidy cringed. She felt sorry for him, having to follow Dante’s performance, but not sorry enough to wish she was the one being thrown to the wolves instead of him.
I can do this. I can do this. Show no fear.
She rehearsed her dish in her mind until they called her name. She put her hand over her wildly beating heart as she made her way down the stairs and hoped she wouldn’t make a fool of herself.
She was asked to make an appetizer and was given three minutes to select her ingredients. Opening the door to the refrigerated room, she was overwhelmed by the variety of food. She picked up a basket and turned to find herself staring into a cameraman’s lens. The basket—and her sanity—crashed to the floor as the cameraman told her quietly to ignore him.
Her heart racing, she picked up her basket and tried to be
As he cooked, Dante entertained his audience and judges as if he were cooking sausages on a BBQ for friends on a Sunday afternoon. He was a magician, describing his favorite place down south as his freshly cooked garlic and chili infused the air.
“This is what we should serve our loved ones.” Dante’s fingers danced over the platter as they created a visual masterpiece. “Good food should explore all the senses. It should be fresh, simple, and visually stunning.”
Cassidy looked at the neatly stacked pans and tidy work area. Had he really cooked all that food just a moment ago? If it was true that one ate with her eyes, she was full.
“Good friends, good company, good times.”
He opened a bottle of Western Australian Shiraz and filled wine glasses for the judges and one for himself. He placed the platter in front of them with a flourish as a large clock sounded that his time was up.
“ Buon appetito, ” he said, clinking his glass with theirs.
Cassidy realized her mouth was half open, as if she could taste the food he served to the judges, who ate in silence while they sipped their wine.
“Congratulations, Dante, and we got a free dish without having to wait six months for a booking.”
“I would have waited half a year for this,” the host said as she reached for a fork and asked one of the judges if she could share his food.
“It was superb, but…” The judge wearing thick glasses tapped his pen on a notepad several times before continuing. He spoke slowly and deliberately. “I’ve heard the ingredients you have been using in your restaurant lately have been sub-standard. You may be fully booked now, but that could change in the near future.”
Dante’s posture became rigid and he walked over and rested his hands on the table in front of the judge. The room became quiet. “The rumors you heard are true.”
A collective gasp came from the audience and the other judges.
Dante continued. “It’s my restaurant, so I must take full responsibility for what happened in my absence. I’m here to make things right and prove to you all I’m still as passionate about the Slow Food movement as ever.”
“How do you propose to do that?” The judge crossed his arms and everyone waited for Dante’s response.
“By cooking good food with great fresh, local ingredients.” Dante sounded humble. “By giving a damn.”
“Excuse us,” the judge replied.
Dante walked back to where he had been preparing his food. Several minutes passed as he handed his preparation dishes to the kitchen staff to take away. The judges collaborated in low voices.
The judge who had interrogated Dante cleared his throat. “Congratulations, Dante, majority wins. You’re through to the next round.”
The chefs in the audience stood and applauded as Dante bowed to the judges and to the audience. Dante walked past Cassidy as he left the stage to return to his seat. She gave him the thumbs up.
“Good luck,” he said as he walked past. “Watch out for unexpected cameramen.”
The next contestant stammered and fidgeted while attempting to explain what contribution he could make to the show. Cassidy cringed. She felt sorry for him, having to follow Dante’s performance, but not sorry enough to wish she was the one being thrown to the wolves instead of him.
I can do this. I can do this. Show no fear.
She rehearsed her dish in her mind until they called her name. She put her hand over her wildly beating heart as she made her way down the stairs and hoped she wouldn’t make a fool of herself.
She was asked to make an appetizer and was given three minutes to select her ingredients. Opening the door to the refrigerated room, she was overwhelmed by the variety of food. She picked up a basket and turned to find herself staring into a cameraman’s lens. The basket—and her sanity—crashed to the floor as the cameraman told her quietly to ignore him.
Her heart racing, she picked up her basket and tried to be
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