and upset about going behind my family’s back.
“After you cook your own dish, we’re going to unveil a market basket,” Alfie is saying. “This is a tray of ingredients from which you have to create a dish on the spot. You can use any of the staples in your cupboards or anything left over from your own specialties, but you have to use all the items in the market basket.”
I hadn’t expected the market basket.
Breathe,
I tell myself,
just breathe.
“How long will we have?” He Kyong wants to know.
“Half an hour for your dish, and half an hour for the market basket,” says Alfie. “There will be a fifteen-minute break after we unveil the market basket so you can use the bathroom, get some water, and think about what you want to do with those ingredients. Everyone clear?” He looks at the three of us. We all nod. “We’ll be getting started in a few minutes.”
I mentally go through the order of preparation for what I’ll be making — my shrimp burgers. I’ll have to make the roti dough first. While it rests, I’ll make the shrimp paste, then do the jicama slaw. It shouldn’t be too hard. I’m worried about that market basket, though — what if it’s something I can’t work with, like beef or pork?
The start signal has been given.
Quade Jerome, one of the Food Network’s emcee personalities, is running around the studio, weaving between the cooking stations like a basketball star on the court.
“So, tell us where you’re from, Anjali.”
“Richmond Hill,” I answer, not looking up from the shrimp I’m trying to quickly peel and throw into the food processor with the pureed green seasoning.
Quade flicks a switch on the microphone with his thumb and leans in a little. “Come on, little sis, you gotta give me more than that,” he says pleasantly. He’s a light-skinned black man with green eyes. “Look at me and smile, show the camera some love!”
He switches the microphone back on. “For ournon—New York viewers, tell us about Richmond Hill, Anjali!”
I try to smile, though he is really annoying me. “It’s in Queens. There are a lot of Indo-Caribbeans there, like my family.”
“Keep on cooking!”
I jump and go back to the shrimp.
“Are you making an Indo-Caribbean treat for us today?”
It’s hard to cook and talk. I nod. “Um, well, yeah, we eat rotis like I’m going to make for my shrimp burger,” I say, glancing nervously from my shrimp to Quade. “You can see the dough over there.” I nod over my shoulder to the roti dough on the counter. The cameraman pans to my dough ball. “And we curry just about everything.”
“Great! Can’t wait to try it — if the judges leave anything!” Quade says.
Quade runs over to Jimmy next and asks what he’s cooking.
“These are my grandma’s famous smothered Italian pork chops,” he says, smiling at the camera. “I’m fromBensonhurst — that’s in Brooklyn. And it’s Italian country!
Mangia!
” Jimmy leans toward the camera, one hand on the spoon and stirring tomatoes in a fry pan. He’s all showbiz.
I try not to pay attention as Quade runs over to He Kyong, who knows how to smile at the camera. Quade doesn’t even have to ask her what she’s cooking. She just starts talking.
“I’m making a simple five-mushroom salad that I’ll nestle on a bed of rice noodles,” she says sweetly to the camera lens. “It doesn’t take a lot of effort but it tastes like a million bucks!”
I roll my eyes.
What does a million bucks taste like?
Next, I make the jicama slaw. I look around the kitchen for a grater but I don’t see one here. Opening some drawers, I notice a shredder attachment for the food processor. It means I’ll have to wash the bowl.
Dashing over to the processor, I twist the bowl off the base and head to the sink to rinse it out. This takes up time I don’t have. I run back, wiping the bowl with my side towel as I go. That’s when I noticea spare bowl sitting on the counter a little ways
“After you cook your own dish, we’re going to unveil a market basket,” Alfie is saying. “This is a tray of ingredients from which you have to create a dish on the spot. You can use any of the staples in your cupboards or anything left over from your own specialties, but you have to use all the items in the market basket.”
I hadn’t expected the market basket.
Breathe,
I tell myself,
just breathe.
“How long will we have?” He Kyong wants to know.
“Half an hour for your dish, and half an hour for the market basket,” says Alfie. “There will be a fifteen-minute break after we unveil the market basket so you can use the bathroom, get some water, and think about what you want to do with those ingredients. Everyone clear?” He looks at the three of us. We all nod. “We’ll be getting started in a few minutes.”
I mentally go through the order of preparation for what I’ll be making — my shrimp burgers. I’ll have to make the roti dough first. While it rests, I’ll make the shrimp paste, then do the jicama slaw. It shouldn’t be too hard. I’m worried about that market basket, though — what if it’s something I can’t work with, like beef or pork?
The start signal has been given.
Quade Jerome, one of the Food Network’s emcee personalities, is running around the studio, weaving between the cooking stations like a basketball star on the court.
“So, tell us where you’re from, Anjali.”
“Richmond Hill,” I answer, not looking up from the shrimp I’m trying to quickly peel and throw into the food processor with the pureed green seasoning.
Quade flicks a switch on the microphone with his thumb and leans in a little. “Come on, little sis, you gotta give me more than that,” he says pleasantly. He’s a light-skinned black man with green eyes. “Look at me and smile, show the camera some love!”
He switches the microphone back on. “For ournon—New York viewers, tell us about Richmond Hill, Anjali!”
I try to smile, though he is really annoying me. “It’s in Queens. There are a lot of Indo-Caribbeans there, like my family.”
“Keep on cooking!”
I jump and go back to the shrimp.
“Are you making an Indo-Caribbean treat for us today?”
It’s hard to cook and talk. I nod. “Um, well, yeah, we eat rotis like I’m going to make for my shrimp burger,” I say, glancing nervously from my shrimp to Quade. “You can see the dough over there.” I nod over my shoulder to the roti dough on the counter. The cameraman pans to my dough ball. “And we curry just about everything.”
“Great! Can’t wait to try it — if the judges leave anything!” Quade says.
Quade runs over to Jimmy next and asks what he’s cooking.
“These are my grandma’s famous smothered Italian pork chops,” he says, smiling at the camera. “I’m fromBensonhurst — that’s in Brooklyn. And it’s Italian country!
Mangia!
” Jimmy leans toward the camera, one hand on the spoon and stirring tomatoes in a fry pan. He’s all showbiz.
I try not to pay attention as Quade runs over to He Kyong, who knows how to smile at the camera. Quade doesn’t even have to ask her what she’s cooking. She just starts talking.
“I’m making a simple five-mushroom salad that I’ll nestle on a bed of rice noodles,” she says sweetly to the camera lens. “It doesn’t take a lot of effort but it tastes like a million bucks!”
I roll my eyes.
What does a million bucks taste like?
Next, I make the jicama slaw. I look around the kitchen for a grater but I don’t see one here. Opening some drawers, I notice a shredder attachment for the food processor. It means I’ll have to wash the bowl.
Dashing over to the processor, I twist the bowl off the base and head to the sink to rinse it out. This takes up time I don’t have. I run back, wiping the bowl with my side towel as I go. That’s when I noticea spare bowl sitting on the counter a little ways
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