The Cooking Competition | Nick Lachmund

Well, you’ve made it. This is the big time. The real deal. The biggest cooking show in the world! The title is within your grasp. You worked so hard for this. Are you going let that fucking bitch take this away from you? There’s NO FUCKING WAY!


The Cooking Competition

By Nick Lachmund

For the The Less Is Moreish Culinary Reality Award


 

Rachel was your first ‘grown up’ girlfriend.  The relationship was great and the sex was even better. However, like many a hot and heavy relationship, the breakup was spectacular. Crying, shouting, a broken plate; it had it all. Rachel told you that you couldn’t break up with her, that what you had was too special. She was delusional. She was psychotic. That day, when you walked out of her apartment you hoped like hell that you would never see her again. But here she is.

She wears a long black skirt with an orange flower on it. Her tight white top clings to her flat stomach and big tits. You can tell that she’s spent a long time on her make up. She looks good. She’s done this for you. You’re supposed to miss her, to yearn for her. But you detest her. She’s here to take it all away from you. She claims to be impartial, but how can she be? An executive producer of a contest show where her ex is a contestant. But she can’t beat you.

It’s half way through the cooking time and your meal is starting to come together. Entrée is done, a pigeon is roasting, carrots are Sautéing in a rich, sesame-honey sauce and you only have desert to worry about. Your opponent bounces around his workstation like a pinball. His fat, sweaty appearance disgusts you. How can one take pride in their work, when they can’t take in pride in themselves? The pig looks nervous. You need to beat him.

The judges look on stupidly. You know that Rachel has fucked at least one, more likely two of them. She’s trying to turn them against you. That’s what she does. Rachel has always been a conniving bitch of a thing. But she can’t beat you. The one thing the judges can’t hide is their initial reactions. If they recoil and gasp when they taste something, there is no way for them to hide it. You need a mistake from the pig-man. If he makes one big mistake, you’ll have this.

You can’t help but think back to your time with Rachel as you begin to beat the egg whites for your soufflé. When you cooked for her, they were the best times. Your first job as a head chef was rough but she was there for you. Making experimental dishes for her on night’s off. A smile crosses your lips. Rachel loved trying new meals. She really helped you grow as a chef. Without her, maybe you wouldn’t be here. But then again, without her, perhaps you would have achieved greatness earlier. She did stop you from taking the job in Italy that you were offered. God only knows how great of an experience that would have been. But no, the Ice Queen talked you into staying. Your smile fades. Keep your mind on the job. Not long left.

Piggy keeps taking big swigs from his large, blue water bottle. His floppy dark hair is wet and it clings to his forehead. He pours some water from the bottle over his head, only making the situation more disgusting. Behind him, some movement gets your attention. Rachel walks into your view, looking smug. She thinks she has you. Soon enough, she’ll find out that she’s wrong. The pigeon is out of the oven and resting. The soufflé is rising. You begin to plate up.

The panel of pretentious arseholes taste your food and give you feedback. An actor talks about how the seasoning levels could have been more balanced. You resist the urge to bitch slap him and tell him he has no idea what he’s talking about. You smile and nod instead. Now they taste your opponent’s food. A couple of them try to maintain their balanced faces but they can’t. The pig has failed and it’s clear to see. The competition is yours.

You look over at Rachel. Her eyes are angry as she stares at you intensely. She thought she had won. But you’re smarter than her. A little bit of your magic powder in the pig’s water bottle was all it took to throw him off. His pupils are still expanded and he looks confused but it doesn’t matter. What does matter is that you beat the bitch and you won the competition. You are the greatest. The world, and particularly Rachel, know that now. You smile broadly as the host hands you the trophy.