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...
So, as opposed to how it seems on the television, Hell's Kitchen contestants aren't taken aside right after something happens and asked their opinion on it. At the end of the day, we are called into the interview room one by one and asked questions. These questions can be anything from basic "How are you feeling?"-type questions to "what do you think of (x) contestant?"
Something I realized early on is that this is still a TV show and they are fishing for any sort of drama they can air to the American public. They also are not above splicing together voice clips to make it sound like I'd said something I didn't actually say. We also have to keep a mic on and running almost the entire duration of these four weeks of Hell, so watching what I say is imperative. The only day we have free from both the cameras and the microphones is Sunday– and all of us are already pining for it to arrive. These are all things I try to keep in the back of my mind as I'm finally called for my interview.
A middle-aged woman sits in a chair across from me in the small interview room. Her brown eyes pierce through me as she takes me in with one sweeping motion of her gaze. She leans forward in her chair and addresses me.
"Welcome, (Y/N). Please sit down. Have you been having a good time?" The camera crew– one cameraman, one boom operator, and the interviewer/director– all go silent waiting for my response.
"Of course! I've been training to come here ever since I was sixteen. This is really a dream come true for me," I respond quite happily.
"That's great, how did it feel to save the red team on the first night's service?" the interviewer probes.
"I felt like I earned Chef Ramsay's trust when I took over and helped Cindy with her station. She was floundering, but I helped pull her back up and she was able to help herself after that."
So far, the questions are too easy. I know they'd heard at least part of what Taylor had said, I am just waiting for–
"We heard Taylor tell you that Chef Ramsay was married. What was that about?" Now the camera crew is really listening. It feels like I'd jumped into a shark tank and they are swimming around me with hungry eyes.
"Oh, nothing. I guess she was just curious as to if I knew. I did, though. Wasn't news to me." I try to shrug off the question, but the interviewer isn't satisfied.
"So you're not interested in him?" She leans in closer. Her mid-length, greying brown hair slides off her shoulders and hangs limply on either side of her angular face.
"Only as a teacher," I try to sound convincing, acutely aware of her eyes probing into mine. "The best cooking teacher in the world," I add.
Fortunately, it seems they didn't catch the tail end of Taylor's whisper to me, or I'm sure they'd be hounding me harder than they already are.
"Alright then Ms. (L/N), you're welcome to return to the group now. Please send in Taylor after you." The interviewer smiles, but there is no kindness behind it.
I walk into the lounge area. Taylor and Gina are sitting on the couch chatting about which blue team member they believe will be eliminated next. Gina seems really insistent on Dave being upped.
"Dave's just too goofy. He can't stay serious for ten minutes. He's gonna get on Chef's bad side with a mistimed joke. Just you watch," Gina says confidently.
"Hey Taylor, they asked me to come to get you." I tap her shoulder.
Taylor turns to me with a smile and stands up.
"Don't worry, (Y/N), I've got your back." She winks at me as she leaves for the interview room.
I sincerely hope that she won't say anything about what she'd deduced about my budding infatuation with Chef Ramsay. All I can do is sit back and trust her. At least I never verbally confirmed anything so I knew that even if she does give me away, all it could be counted as is hearsay.
Plopping down in Taylor's spot, I let out a heavy sigh. Gina seems intent on continuing to talk to someone.
"(Y/N), what did they ask you about in the interview room?" She tilts her head.
"Oh you know, just things about our first service. Like 'How do I like it here?' Just basic stuff." I avoid telling her too many specifics.
Gina rests her chin on her palm and leans her elbow into the arm of the sofa. Her tattoos are bright rainbow hues of color, but she is a bit too far away for me to make the shapes out.
"What are your tattoos anyway, Gina?" I ask, not only trying to change the subject but also genuinely curious.
"Oh, these are all of my favorite flowers. I couldn't pick just one so I had the artist put them all together. Like a permanently blooming bouquet. If only I could tattoo the smell of each flower onto them, I think I'd die happy." She gives me a genuine smile.
"I love when people ask. You don't get two ultra bright sleeve tattoos without hoping people ask you what they are, you know?"
"For sure. They're beautiful." And they really are. I'd never gotten a tattoo as I'm too afraid of needles, but I do appreciate people who have gotten artwork they love permanently inked into their skin. It must be nice carrying around art you adore everywhere you go.
Gina and I talk a bit more about her tattoos and then some about our last service and before I know it, Taylor is back by the couch. She slides into place between Gina and myself and puts her arms around each of our shoulders.
"Ladies, we're gonna win this. The boys got nothin' on the dream team. Look, even the girl I thought would be causing us problems is always off with the blue team anyways." She uses her hand that is on my shoulder to point towards Bella, who is making goo-goo eyes at Abel. Abel is ignoring her as best as he can, turning up his eyes to the ceiling rather than look down at her and invariably at her chest, which she thrusts forward.
"Yep, we're golden." Taylor rests her head on my shoulder and contentedly sighs, "I love no drama."
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