Topped Chef(74)

He measured cornmeal into a pan of simmering chicken broth, shucked the shells off a pile of pink shrimp, and grated a mound of white cheddar cheese, all while chattering amiably about cooking and entertaining and interspersing his comments with snatches of song. And most appealing of all, half a pound of bacon spat in his frying pan, perfuming the air. The audience laughed and cheered at his antics: I couldn’t imagine that the other two would be able to match this performance.

“Every Southern chef worth his or her salt has a variation on the classic recipe for shrimp and grits,” said Randy. “And they will argue about whether the necessary secret ingredient is the bacon, the tasso ham, the green peppers, the heavy cream versus the cheese. But Key West has a supersecret weapon.” He winked and grinned. “We are so lucky on this island to have access to gorgeous local shrimp—Key West pinks, they’re called, for those of you who aren’t local.” He stopped and beckoned the camera forward to show a close-up of the shrimp.

Then, leaning toward us judges with both hands on the counter, he made eye contact with the front row of the audience. “I know it’s not always possible, but fresh and local ingredients make a huge difference to your meals. Sometimes it’s better to change the menu if you can’t find the right stuff,” he said, and then plopped half a stick of butter into the pan that now contained hot bacon grease. When the butter had melted, he dropped in some minced garlic, scallions, and green peppers, followed by a double handful of shrimp. They sizzled and spat.

“For instance, those flabby Southeast Asian crustaceans?” His lips formed a horrified O. “Absolutely deadly. Those are a never for me!”

By the time Randy had completed his shrimp and grits dish, I thought he’d won over the studio audience completely. He was relaxed and charming and the smell of his food made my stomach leap with anticipation. But Chef Adam’s face looked blank and Toby’s expression was bemused rather than enchanted. One of the assistants came forward to divide his dish onto three plates.

“Do not forget to have fun while you’re planning the menu and cooking for company,” Randy said, waggling his finger at the audience and grinning again. “It should never be a drag to entertain.” He placed a plate in front of each of us and stood back like a proud father.

I nibbled the cheesy grits first, then cut into a perfectly cooked pink shrimp. “This is sublime,” I said. “I adore the bacon and the bits of green pepper. So buttery and rich. And not the slightest bit fishy.”

“I like it,” said Toby. “But I’m not bowled over.”

Chef Adam tasted and then clattered his fork onto the plate. “It’s definitely heavy. Bordering on greasy,” he said. “There’s a month’s worth of cholesterol just in this one dish.” One of the cameras zoomed in on the food in front of Chef Adam, while another caught the disappointed grimace on Randy’s face. “To me it tastes like a grand cliché of Southern cooking. Paula Deen squared.”

Assistants rushed in to whisk away the dishes and maneuver Randy out of the way, so that Henri Stentzel could take her place and prepare to replicate the seafood fra diavolo that she’d prepared the first day of the contest. She was more nervous than she’d been earlier in the week, as I could tell from the sloppy way she chopped her onions. Her hands shook so badly that the jalapeño peppers came out in large chunks. And finally she cut a chunk of skin out of her finger and began to bleed into the onions.

Deena rushed forward with a Band-Aid and a replacement onion. Once patched up, Henri resumed chatting about the steps she was taking to make the spicy red sauce, but she stammered and stumbled over her words. It was painful to watch. When at last she was finished, an assistant produced more clean plates and ladled us each a taste.

Toby spoke first. “This doesn’t appeal to me quite as much as it did on the first day we tried it. There isn’t the same brightness to the dish.”

“It’s almost as if the chef’s anxiety has infused her food,” said Chef Adam. “It lacks luminosity.”

“Luminosity?” I asked, and then bit into a pepper so large and hot that tears sprang to my eyes. I signaled to Deena for a glass of water, sipped, and swallowed. “Maybe go easy on the peppers next time,” I suggested, trying to temper my advice with a smile. “Aside from my tongue blistering, I’m not having the same reaction as my colleagues. I find Chef Stentzel’s food solid and compelling.”

“But?” asked Chef Adam. “It sounds like you have a but…”