The other two nod. “It is,” the blogger agrees. “Really nice.”
Dan and Joe seem relieved, and as they turn back to their station, Joe gives Gloria a smug look.
“Last but not least!” Barbara gestures for Susan and Gloria to come forward.
“Main and pudding,” Gloria announces. “Nothing about this is healthy, but we definitely know where it all came from.” She smirks at Dan. “For your main, there’s a tea-glazed short rib with hickory-smoked-salt chips, cornbread soufflé, and braised greens.”
“Ah-may-zing,” the blogger declares, halfway through his dish. “Tastes like the best summer barbeque you’ve ever had in your entire life.”
“These chips are like crack,” says the presenter, holding up a small handful of them.
“You could maybe bring down the smokiness a bit,” the chef suggests.
“No, I love that! Don’t change a thing,” the presenter counters.
“Ah, to each his own!” The chef laughs, eating a few more of the chips. “It’s an excellent dish, though I’d say maybe choose between either the soufflé or the chips. Having both tips it a little to the heavy side.”
“Noted. Ready for pudding?” Gloria asks, stepping back so Susan can present.
“Our take on a rhubarb and custard,” Susan announces. “Rhubarb sorbet on the bottom, topped with whipped custard and a candied rhubarb sweet.”
It’s served in small egg-shaped glasses, so you can see the layers: bright pink sorbet on the bottom, rich lemon-yellow custard, whipped to airy delicacy, topped with a wafer-thin, jewel-like disc of rhubarb that’s been roasted, pressed flat, and encased in rhubarb-flavored praline.
The chef takes two bites of it, then sits back, sighs, and looks at his plate for a while. Susan feels like melting into the floor. He hates it! What went wrong? Is it too simple? She worried about that. Maybe she should have done a tart or a mille-feuille.
“This tastes of summer,” the chef says at last. “Every bit of it is delightful and delicious—it’s so light and airy and enjoyable.”
“I totally agree,” says the presenter. “It’s the perfect follow-up to something as heavy as those ribs, and the flavors remind me of rhubarb and custard sweets, which really takes me back.”
“Yeah, me too.” The blogger nods. “Raiding the sweet shop after school.”
“Which was what—just last week for you?” the presenter kids him. “It’s lovely, thank you,” she says to Susan, who’s practically exploding from the praise.
As Susan turns away from the judges, she catches Chris’s eye and beams, so caught up in the moment the smile bursts forth naturally, the way it used to. To her shock, he stares back at her with a look she remembers well from those days long past. It was an astonishing look that always made her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. But that’s silly, she thinks, because she knows she’s flushed and sweaty, and her hair is frizzy from the humidity. Still, his expression makes her blush and stumble as she follows Gloria back to their table.
The judges confer for what feels like a very long time while the chefs pack up their supplies and tidy their stations. The crowd grows restless, now there’s no action to divert them.
Chris calls to Gloria, “Do you have any of those ribs left over?”
“Only if you’ve got some of that pasta,” she answers.
“It’s a deal.” He scoops the last of the kimchi pasta into a pair of bowls and delivers it to Gloria and Susan, who obligingly hand over two servings of ribs and a pudding.
“You want any?” Susan asks Joe and Dan.
“We’re fine,” comes Dan’s clipped response.
Susan shrugs and digs into her bowl. It’s amazing. The delicate pasta seems to dissolve soon after it hits her tongue, melding with the salty-spicy sauce. The crunch of the cabbage and carrots keep the whole thing from feeling like mush.
“Did you do this?” she asks Rab in between bites.
“Oh, um, I—” He ducks his head, looking anywhere but directly at her, shying toward the side of his birthmark, as if trying to hide it, “I didn’t come up with the idea, but yeah, I made it.”
“It was your idea,” Chris counters. He turns to Susan and explains, “He mixed kimchi with some rice noodles for family dinner and everyone devoured it, so I told him to keep at it and see what other pasta shapes he could do. He’s got the touch, this lad.”
“You do,” Susan agrees, patting Rab on the arm. “It’s amazing!”
Rab finally looks up at her, as if astonished to receive praise. She smiles warmly, and Chris suddenly says, “Can I ask you something?”
“All right, everyone, we have our results!” Barbara announces, bounding back onto the stage. Susan finds herself unexpectedly contemplating actual bodily harm at the interruption. It’s not as if she’s short on weapons.
“After,” she murmurs to Chris, who nods and returns to his station with Rab.
“Right, this was a close one, everybody. Really, really close,” Barbara continues. “But one team has prevailed. Second runner up, scoring seventy-five out of one hundred points, is … Team Escape!”
Dan and Joe try hard to look pleased.
“Escape? That’s what they named their restaurant?” Gloria shakes her head, laughing.
“And in second place, with eighty-seven out of one hundred points, it’s … Team Seòin!”
Susan freezes, even as Chris claps Rab on the back, nodding, looking as happy as if they’d won. But they didn’t win. She and Gloria did. They’ve done it!
“Which means the winner, by two points, is Team Elliot!”
Gloria shrieks and throws her arms around Susan’s neck, then drags her to the center of the stage, where Barbara and the judges are gathered with their trophy: a glass plate inscribed “Foodies Festival Cook-Off.” Susan is still too stunned to do much more than smile automatically and shake hands. She manages to notice Chris and Rab applauding, and some of her family standing and cheering, while the others (Julia, her father) keep their enthusiasm to a minimum.
She stumbles back to their station, clutching the plate, as the crowd streams out of the tent. A few women fight their way to the front so they can ask Chris to take selfies with them; he obliges, of course. And then Susan looks up and suddenly Chris is there, saying, “Well deserved. I’m glad you decided to stay now.”
“Yeah, so are we,” Gloria responds, taking the plate from Susan and grinning at it. “Would it be crass to put this on the wall at the restaurant?”
“You mind if I ask you something?” Chris asks Susan again.
“No, of course not.” Her heart begins to speed up.
“Well, it’s—it’s about Rab.” He glances toward the boy, who’s still clearing away a few things at their station.
“Oh.” Susan tries not to sound as disappointed as she feels. But, really, what was she expecting? A date? A confession of love? She knows that ship has sailed. Sunk, really.
“He wants to learn pastry,” Chris goes on, “but my pastry chef—well, he’s not the best teacher. I was wondering if you might …” He trails off as he looks at her. He must sense her distancing herself just a little, to hide her unexpected disappointment. “Forget it, you’re too busy,” he finishes briskly, stepping back.