He was right. It needed something. Plain would definitely get them hammered by the judges. But not strawberries and whipped cream. Not anything so predictable.
Ashna raced to the pantry, picked up a mango, and tossed it at Rico. Then without waiting to see if he would catch it, she turned to grab some saffron and ran back to their station.
“Can you dice the mango?” Before the question was even out of her mouth, he was slicing.
DJ called out the one-minute warning.
Ashna pinched out a fat clump of saffron into a metal spoon, mixed in a few drops of milk, and held it over the fire. The saffron dissolved into the milk, turning it orange, and despite the smells from all the workstations, the aroma of saffron permeated the air.
DJ started to count down the last ten seconds.
Ashna drizzled the saffron milk onto the four spoons of doce de leite just as Rico arranged the mango at the center of each plate.
“And your time is up!” DJ shouted, the strain coming through in his usually calm voice.
The chefs and stars stepped away from their dishes, covered in sweat and breathing hard. Ashna’s heart was trying to beat its way out of her chest. It took her a moment to realize that she had stepped back and into Rico. Her back pressed flat against his chest as she sagged into him.
His hands stroked up and down her arms.
He seemed to realize that he was holding her just as she realized it. It took him a moment to let her go and for her to step away. Every part of her buzzed with life.
When she finally gathered the courage to look at him, she found him watching her, the intensity in his eyes far too familiar. Dragging her gaze away from him, she took in their plates. Hope rose from the very depths of her. All she wanted was for the judges to not hate their dish.
“You did it,” Rico said close to her ear, and goose bumps danced up the back of her neck where his breath fell against her skin.
She had. She’d done it.
When she meditated, there was this moment that her body fell away, when the weightless essence of her started to spin. Coming out of it was always disorienting, like pulling on clothes but being at a loss for what they were. This felt exactly like that.
For the first time, she wanted to be here doing this one more time, then one more until the end. She had cooked.
She
Had
Cooked.
A whoop escaped her, and she pressed a hand to her mouth, laughing.
“This is actually really good,” the director judge said when Rico and Ashna stood before the judges for their comments. “It’s hard to make tapioca pancakes that aren’t chewy or tough, but these are soft and light. The coconut mixed with the cashew gives a lovely depth of flavor.”
“This doce de leite is perfect.” The food editor judge said. “That saffron you added at the last minute is exactly what we’re looking for in this competition. You’re the mentor and we want you to teach your mentee how to elevate their flavors. This saffron does that.”
Ashna felt her smile all the way in her heart. “My grandmother makes a rice kheer with coconut milk and saffron and she garnishes it with mango. Tapioca has that same starchy blandness as rice, so I thought it would be perfect.”
The judges all nodded, thrilled with her answer.
Then the chef judge, whose job it was to be the bad cop, poked at the pancake with a fork. “But this is the second time you’ve made doce de leite on this show. The saffron was a great twist, but I’d suggest showing us a little more range if you want to go all the way. Work together to figure each other’s flavors out. That’s what this is about. Don’t rest on your laurels.”
His meaning was clear. He was accusing them of trying to get by on the strength of their popularity. That made Ashna angry. Their dish was really good. Unlike the other contestants’, it had no flaws. It was actually the best thing made that day. There were no words for how that felt.
“I’m proud of the food we put out today,” she said. And being able to verbalize it was like wrapping the cloak of the accomplishment she was feeling tighter around herself.
“I am too,” Rico said behind her. “We reached across a great distance in terms of style and culture and blended it perfectly to honor both. I think the world needs a lot more of that.”
“Another perfect shot from Frederico Silva!” DJ said.
Everyone including the judges came to their feet clapping and the smile across Ashna’s face stretched her cheeks so wide they hurt.
When she stole a glance at Rico, he was soaking up her smile, her joy, as though he’d been starved for it. If ever he’d made an effort to hide his feelings around her, she knew he’d given up that fight.
“You two have great chemistry and this dish speaks to that,” a judge said worshipfully. “Just give us more.”
“More. More. More,” the audience chanted and Ashna felt Rico’s hands squeeze her shoulders, warm and triumphant.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Watching other people hug Ashna had become a particularly painful experience. Not that Rico didn’t understand their need to do it. He watched Jonah throw his arms around her with a sensation in his chest that fell somewhere between agony and hope.
It had been two weeks since Ashna had defeated, with a flaming vengeance, the demons that had been eclipsing her cooking. They had survived two more eliminations (if their staggering audience votes could be called surviving). Last week they had made a picnic basket of sandwiches, and yesterday Ashna had helped him turn out the perfect persimmon and mango tart that paired with Sonoma wines they had been assigned.
Ashna’s French training meant pastries were Rico’s new weakness. They still hadn’t made it to the top of the scoreboard with the judges. Mostly because Disney Danny cooked like someone who had been covertly training to be a chef for years and was at least as good as his chef, but also because Rico had put too much mayo on the sandwiches and chopped the fruit like an amateur, which, hello, he was. Ashna’s reaction had been to tell the judges that as far as she was concerned Rico had already proven his knife skills. Another viral moment.
P. T. Cruiser had been the second star to be eliminated. The street food challenge had felled her when the undercooked beans in her chili dog had almost taken out a judge’s fillings. Lilly, who cooked like a southern grandma, had been eliminated last week. Inexplicably, Ashna had teared up.
Today, in an unexpected move, the judges had announced that they could not fairly eliminate one of the three remaining contestants, so Rico, Song, and Danny, and their chefs would be competing in a three-way final.
Jonah left Ashna to come to Rico and informed him that the internet was overwhelmingly delighted that #Ashico had made it to the finals.
“There you are!” Song jogged up to Rico, as soon as Jonah moved on, and threw her arms around him, hugging him a little too hard, and then holding on.
They were in the lounge and Ashna was talking to China.
Song threw a look at Ashna that lacked its usual warmth. “You were spectacular today. Can you two go a little easy on the rest of us?”
Rico caught a flash of something too close to hurt in Ashna’s eyes when she saw Song hanging on to his arm.
Was Zee right? Did Song think Rico had feelings for her other than fondness and friendship?
Did Ashna?
China and Ashna walked up to them. Granted, she was Ashna’s friend, but the look China threw Song was filled with all sorts of shade. It made Song cling harder to Rico.