She was miked, and he heard the audience, thinner than yesterday’s, twitter. “Okay, soup girl, what are we making with our . . . plantain, tofu, and pineapple?” He pulled the ingredients out of the basket.
“The plantain is a starch, so we’re going to treat it like a potato. Get out the pressure cooker.”
“Are you sure—?”
“Have you never eaten mashed potato soup?”
“Not with bananas.”
“Trust me.”
He guessed he deserved that. But how could he trust crazy?
He found the pressure cooker, added chicken broth, then peeled the plantains, cut them, and added them to the cooker. Grace was already sautéing a chopped onion, garlic, and ginger on the stove, and she threw those into the pot. He set it on high, clamped the lid on. “Let’s hope that cooks in ten minutes.”
She handed him the tofu. “Chop this up.” Meanwhile, she went to work on the pineapple, trimming and skinning it, cutting it into quarters, and removing the core with a paring knife. Finally she sliced it into long spears.
He’d taught her that, and he smiled at her skills.
Max glanced over at the hippies. They were chopping the plantain, making a salad with it and the pineapple.
That sounded like a winning combination, and he nearly mentioned this when he saw Grace fire up the grill.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m grilling the pineapple.”
“What is with you and fire?”
“I keep thinking about yesterday’s brûlée, and how the char brings out all the flavor. Quick, make me a glaze of honey, lime juice, and black pepper.”
He ran to the pantry, found the ingredients, and whisked them together. She’d arranged the pineapple spears on a plate, and he ran the glaze over them with a brush.
Grace picked them up with her fingers and plopped them on the grill. “Give these about four minutes per side. Wait until they start to dry out on the surface, but don’t overcook them or they will turn mushy. Or burn.”
“Yes, chef,” he said, and she stuck out her tongue at him.
The crowd laughed.
And then so did he because it felt so natural and even easy to be in the kitchen with her, watching her work, seeing her mad skills at throwing together dinner.
He could do this every night. Forever.
That thought sparked another flame of frustration.
She opened the pressure cooker and steam billowed out. Fishing out one of the plantains, she tested it on the counter, squishing it. “I think it’s ready.” She ladled out the pieces and dropped them into a blender. Then, scooping up the chopped tofu, she dropped that in also.
She set the blender on puree, the sound a buzz saw across the kitchen. The other contestants’ heads gophered up, checking on their progress.
Max glanced at the clock. Thirteen minutes left. He turned the pineapple.
“Almost done?” Grace ran to the pantry and returned in a minute with turmeric, coriander, cumin, and a bunch of fresh cilantro. She added the spices to the soup, chopped up half the cilantro. “Give me four of those spears.”
He handed her four on a plate, and she dropped them into the blender, sped it through, and turned it creamy. Then she dumped it all back into the cooker and popped the cover back on, turning it up.
He pulled the rest of the pineapple off the grill. “Now what?”
She stared at him a long moment before saying, “We need some cream.”
Cream. He headed for the refrigerator as she pulled out soup cups. She plated the pineapple, then opened the lid of the pot and ladled the soup into the cups.
Max returned, and Grace used a spoon to design a creamy flower in each bowl, like someone might with a cup of coffee. Then she garnished each soup with cilantro.
It kind of resembled pumpkin soup, with a hint of yellow, a sprig of green, and the charred pineapple so fragrant, it just about made Max reach for one.
“Don’t you dare,” she said.
He wondered if she could read his mind. Probably.
She stepped back, took his hand, held it up with hers as Palani called time.
The hippies had built their salad on a slab of tofu. The aloha siblings had created a grilled tofu and plantain dish with onions, lime, garlic, and ginger. The Twinkie girls had made a tofu salad with pineapple and plantain chips.
Palani walked by each of them, surveying their dishes with the crowd and the camera. Then they loaded them on trays to present to the judges.
Yesterday Tonie had made a point of mentioning Max’s use of Hawaiian condiments—the mirin and shoyu sauce. It just sounded good, really. Tonie could have called it vinegar or soy sauce. But if she wanted to help him win, he wouldn’t fault her.
He hoped today she wouldn’t mock Grace for her simple ingredients.