Cravings Page 7

  A low cacophony of synchronous “ooh” filled the air, the vocal support a boost to her own ego. Her stomach grew warm, managing a flip-flop or two when those beautiful eyes of his smoldered. The heat simmering there wasn’t animosity, even in this venue. She had no idea what to do with that.

  “Three minutes left, chefs. You’d better get ready to plate.”

  A fine sprinkling of vinegar, salt and pepper went over the arugula before she used her fingers to fluff the green leaves. She tossed the plain salad with the popcorn pieces and grape pieces.

  Ginger bit her bottom lip, trying to decide if she needed to add anything additional to the pizza. She had the concept of umami covered: salt, sweet, sour and bitter. It was a driving theory behind her cooking and one that had rarely disappointed. But she couldn’t help feeling like there could be something more done. Something that would wow the judges and make sure that her dish beat Lee’s.

  “Two minutes, Danielle, and there’s no food on your plate yet. Do we need to find those matches again?”

  Stifling the urge to stick her tongue out at the audience, she didn’t move, eyes trained on the clock. She needed that crust to be crisp, almost cracker-like, if the dish was to have any impact. Every extra second in the oven was critical.

  Out of her peripheral vision, she watched Lee move, his actions fluid and purposeful. He worked with precision and expediency yet didn’t appear harried or rushed. He worked like an artist over his palette, with a confidence she envied.

  Envy? No…she didn’t have time for that.

  A quick peek into the oven window, and then Ginger yanked open the door. A blast of heat mad her turn her face away, but she’d caught a glimpse of the pizza before doing so. Cheese bubbling, edges crispy—the damned thing made her smile. This time when her heart started drumming out a rhythmic tattoo, it was excitement and not anxiety that drove it. The two metal spatulas in her hands slid beneath the pie, scraping against the hard crust and verifying its doneness. Seconds later, she unloaded the pizza onto the wooden surface, visually skimming its surface for any faults or reasons not to serve it. But it was beautifully perfect. When she used her chef’s knife to divide it into a dozen pieces, her mouth watered.

  She tossed a handful of green grapes over the still-bubbling cheese, the melted goodness grabbing on to the emerald chunks like a lover. She knew without a doubt that when the judges bit into the crust and encountered both roasted red grapes and fresh green grapes, the sweetness would be startling and wonderful. Yet to counter it, she piled the cool arugula salad on top of the crust.

  “Ten seconds left, chefs!”

  She worked fast, ignoring the burn of hot pizza beneath her fingers as she moved two diminutive slices to each of the plates. Salad fell off as she worked, and she scooped up the pieces, piling them high again onto the final product. A countdown of the remaining seconds rang into the air, but Ginger willed herself not to hear it. Not yet. She had to get the presentation down pat, make the appetizer something no sane person would want to pass up…not without taking a bite or two first.

  “Three…two…”

  A damp towel swiped around the plates’ ledges cleaned up droplets of grease. The crowd shouted “one”, and she stepped back, hands in the air. Prouder than shit, she grinned before turning to see what Lee had created.

  And her stomach sank.

  Chapter Seven

  During the heat of the competition, with the crowd tossing out ridiculous ideas for dishes, none of which he’d ever consider, a sense of calm flowed over Lee. Putting the ingredients together to form a delectable appetizer hadn’t even been a thought. He understood the theme ingredients couldn’t just be involved in the final dish. They had to shine.

  When he saw those grapes practically bursting from ripeness, his first thought had been to transform them into one of America’s favorite condiments, jelly. Because of the time constraints, though, a proper jelly couldn’t be made, but a compote, thick and chunky, could. To counter the sweetness, he had to come up with something savory that included the bacon popcorn.

  The first time he’d passed Ginger on the way to the refrigerator and pantry, he hadn’t given her another thought. The second time, though, he’d seen the indecision and inability holding her paralyzed. “Come on, darlin’,” he’d murmured. When he won—which undoubtedly he would—it had to be a fair competition between equals. Not because a case of raw, frazzled nerves rendered her useless.

  Then a spark had lit. And the Ginger he admired put her game face on and started to work. If he didn’t have his own dish to create, he would have spent his time watching her. Studying the fluidity of her motions. The grace in the way she handled food. She bit down on her bottom lip as she concentrated, a distraction he could ill afford. Yet it took herculean effort to pull his attention away, not to rush over there and nibble on her plump lips for her. Instead, he went to work, the final outcome suffusing him with pride and putting a smile on his face. No doubt when the judges tasted his creation, they’d be blown away.

  “That looks really good,” her sweet, feminine voice said next to him. Caught in studying his final product, he hadn’t seen her approach.

  He glanced at her workstation, surprise lifting his brow. “That’s not looking too shabby yourself,” he replied. Respect for her went up a notch or two as he studied the pizza topped with salad. The combination of roasted and fresh grapes on a pizza crust bubbling with cheese had to be a good thing.

  “Yeah, but that…” Ginger said, nodding toward his Roquefort grapes. “I want to eat one. Maybe more than one. It’s simple. And classic.”

  He made a mental note to recreate the dish for her another time. There simply hadn’t been time to make more than enough for the judges, a small fact he regretted now that he knew she wanted to try one. The most soothing part of his entire week had come in the few minutes of feeding her yesterday. He’d make grapes like these again and deposit them into her mouth one at a time while she lay stretched out across his lap. Perhaps after—and before—a session of making love.

  God, he had it bad for this woman. If he wasn’t careful…

  “Well, contestants, let’s see how you’ve managed to impress us, if you’ve managed to impress us,” Max said.

  Ginger looked startled, as if she wanted to ask for more time or give explanations or a protest. Her lips parted, a look of reluctant acceptance crossing her face. Without thinking, Lee reached for her hand, curling his fingers around hers. He squeezed once, twice while their plates were swept away by waitstaff who deposited them in front of the judges: Max, a woman he didn’t know and a silver-haired man who Lee knew too well.

  “They made Thomas a judge?” Ginger whispered, her frantic words echoing his own sentiments.

  Lee released a long, slow breath to maintain his calm. “Looks that way.”

  “Jesus take the wheel.”

  His lips twitched with amusement despite himself. Lee squeezed her hand once more before releasing it. While the judges ooh’d and aah’d over the dishes before them, he went to the fridge, grabbed two bottles of water and handed one to Ginger. “Ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  Together they moved from behind the workstations and went to the judging area to present their dishes.

  “Ladies first,” Max said. “Tell us what we’re eating, Chef Danielle.”

  She took a deep breath. “Thank you. Judges, today I present to you a grape-and-tomato pizza, topped with a fresh arugula salad.”

  Thomas took a bite, his brow furrowing as he started chewing. Max had the decency to keep his expression neutral, while the woman appeared quite pleased. Based on faces alone, Lee had no idea what any of them might be thinking. Until Thomas said, “While this dish is creative, Chef Danielle, I am missing the sauce inherent to a pizza. As a result, I don’t think it’s as good as it could be.”

  Chatter rose among the audience. Low sounds of disapproval.

  “I had hoped the pulp from the tomatoes and the g
rapes would serve as an adequate replacement.” Ginger almost mumbled her reply, and Lee’s stomach clenched with the urge to defend her food with her. He’d win today, but not at the expense of the entirety of her pride.

  The woman spoke up next. “I think I disagree with my fellow judge. I like the way the grapes and the tomatoes burst open as I bite into them. I’m not missing the juiciness. I think if you had tried to put a sauce on this, it would have masked the delicate grapes. I say excellent job, Chef.”

  Of course, hearing praise for her food didn’t make Lee’s stomach feel any better either.

  “Thank you, Chef Danielle. Chef Solomon, what have you prepared for us today?” Max leaned toward the presentation of Roquefort grapes, studying them with ill-disguised curiosity.

  Lee turned his attention to his dish, visually scanning the plates one last time before they were presented to the judges. He’d painstakingly scooped out most of the pulp from each grape, using it in the rich compote. Bacon popcorn, crispy fried pancetta pieces, black pepper, a few choice herbs and a small amount of other vegetables with an unseemly amount of Roquefort cheese had become a stuffing that filled each of the tiny grapes. Then, after he’d rolled them in a mixture of cream cheese and heavy cream, he’d coated the stuffed grapes with chopped nuts and more chopped bacon popcorn. Diced red chilies went into the grape compote, a sweet and fiery dipping sauce meant to contrast sharply with the sweet yet savory and salty grapes.

  He knew excellence had been brought together. “I’ve created for you a more elegant version of the classic Roquefort grape appetizer, this one covered with almonds as well as crushed and chopped bacon popcorn. I’ve also stuffed the grapes with pancetta and the blue cheese. Please expand your experience by dipping them in the grape compote.”

  The woman dipped her food as instructed, then took a bite. She leaned back in the chair, eyes closed, and moaned. “Chef…Chef, Chef, Chef…”

  Righteous pride suffused Lee as the two men all but did the same. They chewed their food in silence, but the sharp glances they gave him were more than enough. Even better, none of the judges stopped eating until their plates were empty. The woman went so far as to use her fork to scrape a little dollop of compote left in the bowl.

  “Chef, this is an exquisite example of your food. Simply exquisite.” Thomas nodded, a knowing gleam in his eyes.

  The appetizer round went to him, and he didn’t need to hear them say it to know it.

  Movement to his side caught his attention, and Lee glanced at the concern on Ginger’s face. She probably didn’t realize she shook her head from side to side, the motion so slow and subtle anyone not paying attention might have missed it. Her eyes cut to his, the signs of frustration diminishing as if she realized how her body language gave her away. “Well done,” she said in a low voice.

  “It’s not over yet,” he replied. But it was. He’d won, and they only had to say the words.

  Max looked at the judges on either side of him, holding out his hands. They each slid a piece of paper toward him while the audience’s chatter grew louder. Max reviewed them before scribbling something on one of the pages. Tallying scores.

  Lee ignored the noise, his focus split between the restaurateur in front of him and the blue-eyed chef standing beside him. When Max lifted his head, Lee’s heart thumped proudly.

  Ginger’s stomach tumbled, anxiety twisting it into double and triple knots. Every instinct encouraged her to slide her hand into Lee’s as the results of the voting were announced. When the audience began tossing her sympathetic looks, the people so close she could almost count the individual drops of condensation running down their beer bottles, she channeled her nervous energy into standing impossibly still instead.

  “The total scores in the appetizer round, out of a possible twenty points, are sixteen and twenty,” Max announced. The dapper man looked toward Lee. “Congratulations, Chef Solomon, on a perfect score.” Then his attention turned to Ginger. “Chef Danielle, only four points separate you, and they can be made up in the entree round. Keep fighting.”

  “Yes, Chef,” she managed to whisper.

  “We’ll take a ten-minute break and then begin round two. Ladies and gentlemen, the bar is open!”

  The audience hooted at his enthusiasm, and Ginger plastered an artificial smile on her face. The knots in her stomach were joined by butterflies practicing somersaults while joyriding on a roller coaster. Her throat tightened, a knot making it difficult to swallow. She’d known competing against Lee would be difficult, but to get trumped by him by a whopping four points… She hadn’t been expecting that, even a little bit.

  “You okay?”

  She couldn’t look at him, the man who’d bested her already in this competition, and slid her gaze past him to focus on a bowl of green apples. “Just strategizing.”

  “Now, why don’t I believe you?” He skimmed his hand along her arm, inciting a wave of goose bumps. “Are you upset? Hey…it’s only the first round.”

  “You’re right. It’s only the first round, and you’re not going to win,” she said after blowing out a frustrated breath.

  “Sorry, I just thought you were having a pity party of one there for a sec—”

  “Well, I wasn’t.” Of course she was. “I just need to clear my head and get back in there.” She slumped away from Lee while disappointment swelled inside her. Nothing could convince her that going to Lee, allowing him to enfold her in his embrace, wouldn’t make her feel better. But how would that look? Seeking comfort from the enemy.

  Instead, she pushed through the crowd moving as a tide to get outside. Lighters flicked into life as cigarette after cigarette began to glow, puffs of smoke escaping into the night air as desperate smokers sucked and exhaled hard. She’d come out here to clear her head in unsullied air, but there went that. Moving away from the throng seemed the best idea.

  Her thoughts haunted her as she walked.

  If she didn’t find a way to elevate her next dish, she would lose. She was a damned good cook, but Lee just might be a little bit better. And this thing blossoming between them… It muddied her thinking when she needed to think clearest. It grabbed her attention when she needed it elsewhere. The stupid competition pulled them closer, outlining every reason why they should be together, rather than allowing their natural rivalry to take center stage. It confused and unnerved her.

  She balled her trembling hands into fists, willing them to settle in time for the next round.

  “That was a good effort in there,” a woman said.

  Ginger turned. She smiled when she recognized the pretty black woman. “Pepper Joseph. I’ve seen you on TV.”

  “In the flesh.” Pepper smiled big. “Thought I should come over and introduce myself. Women like us in this business need all the friends we can get, right?”

  “And with names like ours… What were our parents thinking?”

  “Hey! I like my name! And yours, for that matter. Makes for a great headline in the papers.”

  Pepper ran a successful food truck and small restaurant. Last year, she’d made headline news with a newly televised cooking show about food-truck chefs. Because of Pepper’s unique name and career, Ginger had made a mental note about the woman, glad to see she’d made a place for herself in the male-dominated field. She’d never had the opportunity to meet her in person and wasn’t quite sure having Pepper watch her go down in flames at Food Fighters would be a good thing.

  Ginger glanced at the crowd, which was already beginning to disperse. The butterflies continued their joyride. “I’m here to win,” she said for their benefit. Maybe for hers. “But I don’t know if my name is going to end up in a paper anytime soon.”

  “A little nervous?”

  “A lot nervous.”

  “Can’t cook?”

  Ginger blinked, a thunderstorm of pride swirling inside her. “I was made executive sous chef at age nineteen and executive chef by twenty-three. I owned my own place by twenty-six and was in the black wit
hin a year. I can cook circles around just about any chef, including you.”

  Pepper’s smile transformed her from merely pretty to stunning. “And that’s the chef I came out here to meet.” She winked. “For a second, it looked like you could use a little reminder of why you’re going to win, but I think I was mistaken. You got this.”

  A beat passed as the other woman’s confidence sank in and took hold. “Thanks. I will win.”

  Together they ambled back toward the restaurant, a companionable silence joining them. Ginger appreciated Pepper’s reminder. Losing the first round rattled her more than she’d care to admit, but the entree round could still be won.

  “One other thing, if you don’t mind some unsolicited advice,” Pepper said as they crossed the threshold. “Pick up his strategy. Stay true to who you are and your signature profile, but the theme ingredients are all that matter. Keep that in mind.”

  Ginger mulled over her words as she made her way back to the station. Lee already stood behind his, tracking her movements. Although he didn’t betray any nervous energy the way she did, the expression on his face made her pause. His brow furrowed, a slight squint making his eyes seem smaller. He wasn’t just watching her but studying her. Concerned.

  Her heart kicked.

  “Are you ready, Chef Danielle?”

  She pulled herself from the magnet of his eyes, focusing instead on Max’s next words with a nod.

  “And you, Chef Solomon?”

  “Ready.”

  “Then you are tasked with creating a mesmerizing entree, one that can be made in thirty minutes. Your next theme ingredients are medjool dates and cooked sticky rice. Time starts now!”

  Her gaze went to Lee’s. His chin dipped, another bolster of confidence sent her way from the simple gesture. Ginger took a deep breath and went to work.

  From the moment she heard the type of fruit being used in the dish, she narrowed her focus to something exotic. Since she concentrated on comfort food, the sticky rice became a perfect foil for her signature profile. This time she didn’t allow her thoughts to rule her actions, instead letting instinct guide her. There wasn’t much more comfort to be had than with bacon. Same went for milk. At her restaurant, she ordered amounts of both items that would have made Denny’s proud.