𝚃𝙷𝚁𝙴𝙴 𝚈𝙴𝙰𝚁𝚂 𝙰𝙶𝙾
"Time!"
"Three minutes, chef!" Soriyah yelled back, confirming the amount of time left before the tuna steak had to be out of the hot stainless steel skillet and onto the garnished plate. The next stop for the tuna steak was ten feet away, over to the judging table where a panel of local food critics were waiting. Excitement filled the air, punctuated by the sizzling sound that came from the grilled tuna.
The opposing team, led by the arrogant Chef DeMarcus, was already plating their dish, a citrus-infused duck confit that had everybody's mouth watering. But there was no time to admire the competition. Soriyah, in her final push, sent a silent prayer skyward and turned her attention back to her own masterpiece.
Her heart pounded in her chest like a bass drum at a homecoming parade. She had never worked under so much pressure before, and with her parents Keith and Rhonda Davis sitting up high, anxious for their only child to bring home a trophy, it was pressure on top of pressure. But Soriyah kept her hands steady and her mind focused. She had practiced this dish a hundred times. She knew it like the back of her hand.
"Plating for judges in two minutes! Davis, I need that Coulis now." Executive Chef Turner Winslow commanded, holding out his hand impatiently while his other hand worked at arranging the fine greens artfully on the plates. He was a hard mentor, but Soriyah respected him nonetheless.
For a moment, Soriyah hesitated, her eyes darting to the simmering pot of the roasted red pepper coulis she'd been tending to for the past twenty minutes. But for some reason, she felt it wasn't ready.
Was it the perfect, velvety texture she wanted? The crimson color looked right, but the steam wafting up from the pot didn't have that intoxicating aroma of garlic, basil, and ripe peppers she'd perfected over the past few months.
No, It was the temperature, the all-important heat, which wasn't quite there yet. It still had less than a minute to go.
"Davis!" The sharp voice of Chef Turner snapped her back from her contemplation, her father's fist clenching and unclenching anxiously as he watched Soriyah from high up in the audience that towered over the bright kitchen.
"No can do, Chef," Soriyah called back, not breaking her concentration from the coulis. "I need thirty seconds." Chef Turner let out a loud grunt, the veins on his forehead pulsing against his skin. A chorus of gasps and whispers broke out in the audience, reacting to how Soriyah blatantly disregarded her chef's orders. But she didn't care about that. It was all about the dish. It had to be perfect.
When it was time, Soriyah, with a swift yet gentle hand fanned a streak of the coulis across four plates, its vibrant red color creating a stunning backdrop against the plate that was now ready for the grilled tuna. The tuna was cooked to perfection, each piece seared and crusted in a spice blend she'd curated from her own recipe book. She carefully brushed the tuna with a bit of her secret glaze, a touch of citrusy sweetness to balance the smoky pepper of the coulis.
Part of her bang came out of her pulled up bun, a stray curl falling onto her forehead as sweat trickled across the side of her face while she worked quietly and tediously. Then Chef Turner turned around, throwing a towel over his shoulder as he helped her plate the last two pieces of tuna, his eyes never leaving the plate as they worked side by side. Soriyah garnished the plates with freshly chopped basil and a squeeze of lemon juice before placing it down in front of the judges' table.
In contrast to the busy kitchen, just across town, Derek never missed the opportunity to watch Soriyah compete in the Atlanta Cooking Championships from the comfort of his quiet apartment. His pounding heart matched hers as he sat at the edge of his sofa, his eyes glued to the screen as he watched her plate her dishes with just a few seconds to spare.
