Topped Chef(62)

Then Peter called all of us over to begin the filming. “I’d like for Chef Stentzel to be interviewed first,” he said, pointing to a metal folding chair at the center of the lights and cameras.

Henri ducked out of the crowd and took the seat. She wore a light-pink collared shirt with her hair braided down her back; she looked younger than she had yesterday in her chef’s garb. The expression on her face flickered between nervous and resigned.

“Chef Stentzel. It’s a pleasure to have you here with us this week.” Peter flashed a phony crocodile smile. “How do you think things are going for you so far?” he asked. “How do you rate your chances?”

“Everything’s going fine,” she said, squaring her shoulders with a confidence I didn’t think she felt. “In spite of the chaos last night, I think my seafood dish turned out well. The thing is”—she bit her lip and paused, maybe searching for the right words—“we can all cook. You narrowed the field down to the best the island had to offer. Of the folks who were crazy enough to audition.” She smiled and tweaked her braid. “The thing is, I can only be me. If you’re looking for an excellent cook who can relate to home cooks on an honest, natural level, you’re looking at her.” She frowned a little. “I can’t be Randy or Buddy. If that’s what the judges are looking for, so be it.” She folded her arms across her chest and glared at us judges.

Which I didn’t think would help her case one bit.

“Thank you, Ms. Stentzel,” said Peter, who then beckoned for Buddy.

Buddy took the hot seat.

“How does the contest look from your perspective?” Peter asked.

“She’s right,” Buddy said, tipping his head at Henri. “We can all cook. But there’s a difference between a cook and a chef. A chef has his own point of view and he doesn’t cut corners or lean on someone else’s recipes. If you want some guy telling you about what his grandmother cooked for Sunday supper, or some lady who’s good only for a late-night slot because her presentation and her food are a snooze, your choices are clear. If you want a chef who can dazzle your viewers, there’s only one choice.” He stood up and thunked his chest. “Me.”

“Bravo,” said Chef Adam softly, clapping his hands.

Randy glared at him as he was escorted, bristling with energy, to the metal interview chair. He began to speak without waiting for Peter’s question. “First of all, admit it, people, I look good on the camera.” Several of the crew members chuckled and one flashed him a thumbs-up. “I know how to dress. I know not to kill everyone’s appetite by wearing an unwashed ponytail down my back that looks like a dead animal.” He bared his teeth in Buddy’s direction, whose hair, now that Randy mentioned it, did bear a resemblance to roadkill. More laughter from the crew. “The camera loves me and I love sharing my Southern-style we-may-be-old-fashioned-but-we-ain’t-old-fogeys food with my fans.”

He skipped back to join the audience and Peter instructed the three judges to come forward. We settled into a semicircle of those same uncomfortable metal chairs, the lights bearing down on us.

“Let’s talk about what we’ve seen so far this week,” Peter said. “We have one event left and then we will be choosing our Topped Chef of Key West. What have you loved so far? What have you hated? Don’t hold back, folks. Now’s the time to tell us what you’re really thinking. There’s a lot riding on your decision.”

Chef Adam cleared his throat and leaned forward. As Peter had advised the first day, he’d left his chef’s whites at home and donned a pale green polo shirt that made him look a little sickly. “The stakes couldn’t be much higher, could they? Buddy Higgs stands out in my opinion. He’s a master of his ingredients. He doesn’t just give you recipes, he gives you a philosophy of cooking. Something to live by.”

I tried not to snort with laughter. “I think our decision has got to be about who looks ready to be on camera,” I said. “Certainly yesterday opened a window onto how these three chefs work when circumstances are challenging, how they deal with the unexpected. Mr. Higgs is fine as long as everything is going his way. I’m afraid both he and Ms. Stentzel wilted a bit under the pressure.”

“Ms. Stentzel doesn’t seem natural,” said Chef Adam. “She’s too earnest. She’s not having a good time.”

“Who is?” I muttered under my breath.

“I think you’re right for once,” said Toby. “Ms. Stentzel is a little awkward on camera, not comfortable in her skin. With Randy, you can look at him bounce around the kitchen and you know what you’re going to get. He may stumble, but he’s back on his feet before a single viewer is lost. They are going to want to root for him. They are going to watch him one week and come back the next week just to hear about what he ate over the weekend.”