Topped Chef(75)
I tipped my head to one side and then the other, trying to press out the crackling knots of tension gathering in my neck. “But I think we want to choose a chef whose personality is luminous, along with the food. I want to see that right here in Chef Stentzel’s presentation, because I have enjoyed her cooking.” I emphasized personality and want, and then swallowed nervously. “But I admit that today I don’t.” I didn’t dare make eye contact with her because I knew she’d be shooting me angry daggers of death.
“And now, chef Buddy Higgs will take center stage,” Peter crowed as Henri slunk away.
Buddy strode out from the shadows of the pantry, leaned forward, looking past us to make eye contact with the studio guests just as Randy had. He began to speak. “To my mind, excellent cooking—cooking that rises to the level of a television experience—should challenge both the chef and his diners. I don’t want to waste precious minutes in the lives of TV viewers by preparing something they could get by paging through the recipes of Fannie Farmer or Irma Rombauer. Allow me to show you what I mean.”
He headed to the refrigerator and returned with two large, live lobsters, pincers and antennae waving. “Anyone can drop a crustacean into a pot of water and microwave melted butter on the side. With that menu, the biggest challenge is containing the diners’ mess.”
The lobsters scrambled for purchase on the marble countertop. The crowd looked on, mesmerized as Buddy chose a cleaver from the knife rack. There was a collective gasp as he hacked off the heads of the lobsters, and then cut the bodies into pieces. A few customers booed his brutality.
Notwithstanding the crustacean carnage, Buddy himself looked more appealing than I’d seen him this week—his toque was starched, his jacket immaculate, and his checked chef’s pants fit perfectly. Even his hair was clean. Honestly, he looked and sounded professional. And utterly ruthless.
“On the other hand,” Buddy said, “a grilled lobster with olive oil sea foam, jalapeño caviar, and edible sand garnish doesn’t require a PhD in cutlery to consume—but it challenges even the most jaded taste buds. I promise you that those spheres of jalapeño caviar will burst with flavor in the mouths of your dinner guests, leaving a lasting impression.”
He lit the gas grill next to the stove top, brushed the lobster sections with olive oil, and laid them on the grill. “In this style of cooking, there is no room for repetitive, boring food. The plate is our canvas—if we even need a plate.” He chuckled. “Remember the mojito I offered several days ago? Who else would serve a cocktail in a spoon? In this case, I serve my lobster on edible sand, which is constructed of seaweed, crispy Panko crumbs, and a dash of miso oil.
“To make the sea foam, heat olive oil with glycerin flakes until they dissolve. Add salt, and then whip.” He mixed his ingredients, poured the mixture into a stainless steel can that resembled a whipped cream canister, and shook it. He had the full attention of the audience now. They craned around each other to see each step of what he was doing, appearing totally wowed. By the time he’d finished cooking and arranging the plates, the dinner he’d made looked like a beach scene in miniature.
“Voilà!” he exclaimed. “Chef Buddy’s seafood à la Key West.”
Once his extravaganza was delivered to us, I extracted a bite of moist, pink lobster meat from its shell and dragged it through the faux sand and the olive oil foam. I cringed a little, waiting for something bizarre to hit my taste buds. Or even a gritty feeling—the fake sand was that realistic. Instead, the sample tasted delicious.
“Judges?” Peter asked, as the cameras zoomed in on the food and then our faces.
I jumped in. “I haven’t been such a big fan of Buddy’s work so far, but I have to admit, the lobster is amazing. And even though I can hardly believe I’m saying this, the foam and the phony sand are showstoppers.”
“He’s outdone himself,” said Chef Adam. “He’s risen to a culinary plane far above the other two chefs.”
“That’s a little bit of an exaggeration,” said Toby. She pushed her plate away. “The meal is definitely tasty, but what home cook could replicate it?”
“Hardly a concern,” said Chef Adam, with a flick of one hand. “This show is about entertainment—and Buddy Higgs is a natural.”
Peter stepped forward, beckoning the three chefs to accompany him. “You have all wowed us with your food, and entranced us with your personalities, but now the moment of truth is at hand.” He looked at each of the candidates. “You’ve heard our esteemed judges speak.”