said.
“She’s going to need way more than that,” his apprentice replied. “I believe she’s one of only a handful of entrants who don’t have formal cooking qualifications. I don’t know if I can even watch; this is going to be a painful experience.”
“That’s a bit unfair, you haven’t seen her cook yet,” Dante said. “And don’t be so cocky. You haven’t made it through yourself yet, Mr. Gnocchi Pizza .”
Matt had the grace to look sheepish.
“You’re right.”
Dante watched Cassidy select her pans, utensils, and a large coffee machine.
She balanced them on an oversized tray. The tray wobbled precariously, but she managed to make it level again with creative, albeit theatrical moves. He heard a couple of chefs in the audience cough with disapproval.
Cassidy haphazardly dropped her items on the bench and raced back for something she’d forgotten.
Slightly out of breath, she checked she had everything and then stepped forward to say hello to the judges, obviously trying to ignore the cameras almost touching her face. Dante had been a guest chef on many television shows and he was used to them, but he recalled his daunting first time and was sympathetic.
An older judge lowered his glasses down his nose and took a good look at her.
“Please state why you think you have what it takes.”
“I work in Cuckoo Café with my mum…”
“As a chef?”
“No, a…”
“A qualified cook?”
“No,” she said and held her head high.
“What do you do there?”
“I’m a barista.”
“You make coffee for a living?”
“Yes, but it doesn’t define me.”
“So your ratty appearance defines you?” The compère spoke from the corner and approached with the microphone. “Did it take you long to get ready this morning or did you just tumble out of bed and decide you’d enter the most prestigious television culinary competition of the year?”
Dante felt uneasy. He squeezed his knees to stop himself from defending the poor lamb from his wolf of an ex-girlfriend. Valerie was a food critic for the stars, but a known food dragon to the commoners.
“I had a bit of a mishap on the way here.” Cassidy seemed strong and defiant, but the small wobble in her voice gave her away.
“This is a serious competition and I don’t believe the producers have time for people who don’t belong here.” Valerie pointed her finger to everyone in the audience of hopefuls. “Do you see anyone here even remotely like you?”
Cassidy stood tall and challenged her.
“Unless you can prove otherwise, there’s nothing in the rules stating you need to be a qualified chef to enter this competition.”
“You’re not the type of person we’re looking for.” The compère’s smile wasn’t genuine. “We’re after serious cooks who can cook some seriously good food—but someone who can use a washing machine would be a start.”
Enough.
Dante stood and called out from the stands, “How do you know she can’t cook well if you don’t give her a chance?”
His apprentice hissed in his ear, “What are you doing? They’re right to question a girl like her who obviously doesn’t belong. It’s called Celebrity Chef for a reason.”
Dante was glad he’d already cooked, as he could feel the judges’ irritation from meters away.
Valerie called out to the producers.
“Make sure the last thing I said doesn’t make the cut, nor what Mr. Cristiani said. He should know better.” She flicked back her hair and smiled sweetly for the cameras. “Well, Cassidy, we wouldn’t want our viewers to think you didn’t have a fair go. You’ve got quarter of an hour to show us your stuff. Good luck. Your time starts…now.” The host’s public persona was back.
Dante frowned as he sat again and watched Cassidy setting up a coffee machine. Was she going to serve her dish with a cappuccino? Wouldn’t she be better off spending her time actually cooking? He looked at the judges. They looked bored and their arms
“She’s going to need way more than that,” his apprentice replied. “I believe she’s one of only a handful of entrants who don’t have formal cooking qualifications. I don’t know if I can even watch; this is going to be a painful experience.”
“That’s a bit unfair, you haven’t seen her cook yet,” Dante said. “And don’t be so cocky. You haven’t made it through yourself yet, Mr. Gnocchi Pizza .”
Matt had the grace to look sheepish.
“You’re right.”
Dante watched Cassidy select her pans, utensils, and a large coffee machine.
She balanced them on an oversized tray. The tray wobbled precariously, but she managed to make it level again with creative, albeit theatrical moves. He heard a couple of chefs in the audience cough with disapproval.
Cassidy haphazardly dropped her items on the bench and raced back for something she’d forgotten.
Slightly out of breath, she checked she had everything and then stepped forward to say hello to the judges, obviously trying to ignore the cameras almost touching her face. Dante had been a guest chef on many television shows and he was used to them, but he recalled his daunting first time and was sympathetic.
An older judge lowered his glasses down his nose and took a good look at her.
“Please state why you think you have what it takes.”
“I work in Cuckoo Café with my mum…”
“As a chef?”
“No, a…”
“A qualified cook?”
“No,” she said and held her head high.
“What do you do there?”
“I’m a barista.”
“You make coffee for a living?”
“Yes, but it doesn’t define me.”
“So your ratty appearance defines you?” The compère spoke from the corner and approached with the microphone. “Did it take you long to get ready this morning or did you just tumble out of bed and decide you’d enter the most prestigious television culinary competition of the year?”
Dante felt uneasy. He squeezed his knees to stop himself from defending the poor lamb from his wolf of an ex-girlfriend. Valerie was a food critic for the stars, but a known food dragon to the commoners.
“I had a bit of a mishap on the way here.” Cassidy seemed strong and defiant, but the small wobble in her voice gave her away.
“This is a serious competition and I don’t believe the producers have time for people who don’t belong here.” Valerie pointed her finger to everyone in the audience of hopefuls. “Do you see anyone here even remotely like you?”
Cassidy stood tall and challenged her.
“Unless you can prove otherwise, there’s nothing in the rules stating you need to be a qualified chef to enter this competition.”
“You’re not the type of person we’re looking for.” The compère’s smile wasn’t genuine. “We’re after serious cooks who can cook some seriously good food—but someone who can use a washing machine would be a start.”
Enough.
Dante stood and called out from the stands, “How do you know she can’t cook well if you don’t give her a chance?”
His apprentice hissed in his ear, “What are you doing? They’re right to question a girl like her who obviously doesn’t belong. It’s called Celebrity Chef for a reason.”
Dante was glad he’d already cooked, as he could feel the judges’ irritation from meters away.
Valerie called out to the producers.
“Make sure the last thing I said doesn’t make the cut, nor what Mr. Cristiani said. He should know better.” She flicked back her hair and smiled sweetly for the cameras. “Well, Cassidy, we wouldn’t want our viewers to think you didn’t have a fair go. You’ve got quarter of an hour to show us your stuff. Good luck. Your time starts…now.” The host’s public persona was back.
Dante frowned as he sat again and watched Cassidy setting up a coffee machine. Was she going to serve her dish with a cappuccino? Wouldn’t she be better off spending her time actually cooking? He looked at the judges. They looked bored and their arms
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