Accepted under the mentorship of your idol and the world's hottest chef Gordon Ramsay, you must prove your skill and determination through competing in Hell's Kitchen- A month long cooking contest versus fifteen other fierce contestants and difficul...
The blaring, commanding voice of Gordon Ramsay pummels a hapless chef from the blue team into teary-eyed submission.
Thankfully I'm safe from his wrath on the other side of my television screen and can enjoy the suffering of the unfortunate chef who'd forgotten to check his meat before bringing it up. A rookie mistake– something that I'd make sure never to do.
Ever since I started watching Hell's Kitchen at sixteen years old, I've been studying tirelessly to become a chef that Gordon Ramsay would be proud of. I have all of his books and I have studied his cooking techniques with fervor for years.
Four months ago, I'd submitted my request to join Hell's Kitchen as a contestant. I've still not heard back from them, but that doesn't stop me from studying past seasons to try and better understand the ins and outs of the show. It's not like it's grueling work, anyway. Watching Chef Ramsay mercilessly tear into wannabe head chefs has always been a favorite past time of mine.
In preparation for the competition, I've been practicing some of the more difficult cooking techniques. Today I'm making a very difficult dish– a cheese soufflé. Baking a perfect soufflé is a rite of passage for chefs. If I can do this, I'll be ready for the big leagues. Unfortunately, my stove has been in a haggard state of disrepair for almost a year now; only two burners work and the oven door handle is hanging down limply from where it had detached from the right side. But so long as it still heats up, I can still work my magic.
Using a saucepan, I melt three and a half tablespoons of butter, mix it with six tablespoons of flour, then whisk it over the stove until it is lightly toasted. After that, I whisk in a cup and a half of milk, waiting for that perfect point where it thickens just enough to remove it from the heat. I scrape the sauce into a large bowl to let it cool.
Once the sauce cools down to a pleasantly warm temperature I stir in three egg yolks, a half cup of grated cheese, salt, pepper, and nutmeg.
The bowl of egg whites I'd hand-stirred earlier awaits my gentle touch. Gordon's words echo in my ears; folding egg whites into the batter is the most important part of a soufflé. The whipped egg whites have to hold the air inside them even while mixing, so folding carefully and meticulously is the only way to ensure a fluffy-topped result.
Now, my batter is ready to be poured into the pan. Since I can't afford frivolous things like a ceramic ramekin solely for soufflé, I use a deep, oven-safe saucepan to hold my masterpiece instead. The oven door wobbles as I open it slowly, hoping it won't fall off in my hand.
I'd been meaning to buy the parts to repair my stove, but living alone and keeping my apartment on a shitty line cook salary is a feat in itself. Besides, as my father always said, don't fix what ain't completely broken.
The soufflé broils on the bottom rack for three minutes before I turn the heat down to 400 degrees and leave it to cook for twenty minutes. While I wait, I plop on my couch to continue watching Chef Ramsay do what he does best.
The doorbell rings, startling me off the couch at the same moment that Gordon kicks out the blue team chef he'd torn into earlier. I half expect it to be a package delivery, but the doorbell rings again.
I head for the door of my apartment and peer through the peephole. There is a man and... is that a camera crew? I unlock the deadbolt with shaky fingers, straighten out my clothes, then open the door.
"(Y/N)?" asks the man at the doorstep, holding a red card in his hands. Behind him, the crew films my reaction.
"Yes, that's me!" I exclaim excitedly, nervous energy coursing through me.
"Congratulations, you've been chosen as a contestant on season eleven of Hell's Kitchen!" he holds out his hand to shake mine. However, I am too busy bouncing around the room to reciprocate.
He seems nonplussed and smiles at me.
"That son of a bitch is going to destroy your enthusiasm, just wait."
I feel my face flush with nervous heat. Holy shit, this is for real. This isn't just a sixteen-year-old's dream anymore. At the prime age of twenty-three, I'm going to be whisked away to Los Angeles to compete against fellow chefs for the chance to be an executive chef, hand-picked by Gordon himself. Tears begin to well in my eyes. I turn to the man at the door and thank him, accepting my invitation graciously and ignoring his scathing words. No one– not even Chef Ramsay himself– can destroy my enthusiasm.
The camera crew thank me and start to leave, many of them congratulating me as they exit my small apartment. One younger woman stops and tells me she is rooting for me, which makes my grin even wider.
Once the camera crew leaves, I happy dance around my living room and kitchen, unable to stop myself. Once I calm down slightly, I tear into the envelope.
Inside are a congratulatory note and a list of things I should pack along with a ticket for a first-class flight to Los Angeles, dated for next week.
This is it. In one week, I am going to see the man I've been idolizing since I was a teenager. I handle the plane ticket like it's made of gold and place it delicately on the kitchen counter as the smell of something burning makes its way to my nose.
Oh no, my poor soufflé! I rush to the oven and peer in to see a charred heap of charcoal in the saucepan.
I shrug to myself, too elated to be upset. Oh well. There's nowhere to go from here but up!
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