Topped Chef(44)

“There’s nothing real about this business—it’s television. And as fake as they can make it,” Victoria said and grimaced. “The TV people don’t care about the best local food. They care about ratings because ratings sell advertising.” She flounced down to the other end of the bar and then came back to lean in closer to Wally. “Just like a lot of people give lip service to supporting local performers—and that includes drag queens. But underneath the surface, life is not all champagne and cake pops. It’s downright ugly. Why do you think Rizzoli was hung in a wig and makeup? Trying to point a finger at one of us, that’s why.”

She sashayed away to take another customer’s money. I chugged my beer a little faster than I should have, feeling chastised and chagrined. If I was completely honest, as much as I liked Randy’s cooking and personality, I did have trouble imagining a drag queen winning the contest and going on to host a cooking show. Maybe our biases were showing through more clearly than I’d ever imagined.

We slunk out of Aqua and walked a couple of blocks north to Chef Adam’s restaurant, which he’d named “Boyd’s Nest.”

“Why not ‘Boyd in the Hand’?” Danielle asked, snickering.

Wally secured us a table in the back of the dining room near the side window, which looked out on a small garden. Once we’d confirmed that we wanted Miami’s finest tap water, rather than bottled, the hostess dropped off some menus. My eyes practically bugged out of my head when I saw the prices. I was glad Wally was here to pick up the check, courtesy of Key Zest.

“We do have one special on the menu tonight. But Chef doesn’t like us to call them specials because everything he makes is special,” said the waiter with only the smallest hint of a smile.

“Sounds like him, all right,” I muttered under my breath.

“The dish is a sautéed, blackened grouper, served with crashed new potatoes, and steamed squash. The fish is on the spicy side,” he warned us.

“What are crashed new potatoes?” I asked.

“They’re steamed, and then smashed and broiled with kosher salt and herbs until crispy. Out of this world.”

Once we’d ordered, Wally asked the waiter to ask the chef if he was free to visit for a minute or two. “I’ll ask,” said the waiter. “He’s pretty busy in there, bossing people around.” He smirked and hurried off to place our orders.

Halfway through the meal, Chef Adam barreled through the dining room to our table. “Oh, it’s you,” he said when he arrived and recognized me. “I thought one of our customers had lodged a complaint.”

“Not about this dinner,” I said graciously. “The fish is magnificent—fresh and zingy. Your waiter described it exactly.”

“And the potatoes are even better,” said Danielle with a melting smile.

“None of us have eaten here before,” said Wally. “I don’t think Hayley can do a review with both of you serving as Topped Chef judges, but we did want to tell you how much we’re enjoying the food.”

“How about you, Chef?” asked Danielle, tossing her hair off her shoulder so her cleavage showed more clearly. “How are you enjoying being a judge?”

“Not so much,” he said, scowling. “It’s an amateurish production rife with amateur cooks.”

“You miss Mr. Rizzoli,” I said.

He looked at me with surprise, and then nodded. “No offense, but he knew food.”

“I’d say Hayley’s pretty darned good at that, too,” said Wally.

No comment from Chef Adam.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” I said, “when were you tapped to be one of the judges?”

“Maybe a couple weeks ago?” He shrugged. “Why?”

I couldn’t very well come out and say I was trying to rule him out as a suspect in Rizzoli’s murder. Or rule out a setup in the judging process. “I wondered why you agreed. You seem to think the whole enterprise is foolishness.”

He stiffened and straightened his toque. “It is. But I like to do my bit for the town. And besides, having a panel of rank amateurs as judges would only serve to sink the show to an even lower level. Excuse me,” he added with a small bow. “They’ll be looking for me in the kitchen.” He bustled away.

“More like relieved for the respite,” said Danielle, once he was out of earshot. “Is that what he’s like all the time?”

“That’s pretty much him,” I said.

“Seemed as though he really liked Rizzoli,” Wally said.

* * *

Back at the office after dinner, I said my good nights and got on my scooter. Still feeling revved up by the evening, I decided to swing back around Mallory Square to find Tony. I wanted to know in person what he’d seen and heard the night before when Toby Davidson ended up in the drink.