How did it get so hot in here? Too bad there wasn’t a cool spring breeze coming off Lake Huron this morning. He grabbed a clean spoon and tasted the meat mixture. Hmm. A little salty, but otherwise fine. The frying process should even that out. Maybe it would take care of the weird colors too. Garlic sometimes did that when exposed to acid.
People milled about in the aisles between the cooking stations. Amid the din of voices, he could hear Ava chatting with some locals. He glanced up toward the sound of her voice. Her head was bent over a notebook as she jotted something down.
Looking back down at the bowl in front of him, he began forming the meat mixture into balls before flattening them into patties.
“Chef Zach, can you tell me a little about your dish?” Ava’s voice jolted him from the rhythm he’d developed.
He glanced up again. Her gray eyes held curiosity, not animosity. “I’m making sauerkraut sliders.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of sauerkraut sliders. Can you tell me a little more?” She had her pen poised above her notebook. He’d never heard her use that tone of voice before. Stilted, formal. Not her usual warmth.
“Is this for a newspaper article?”
Her cheeks pinked. “Yes. I originally came here to turn in a series of articles on the festival. Do you mind?”
He shoved aside the sudden irritation. “It’s fine.” He scooped up another spoonful of mix. “I first had these at a church potluck in Austin. I’ve modified them and added my own spin. I like to think I’ve elevated them.” Shoot. That sounded so arrogant. “I mean, I’ve changed them up to appeal more to chefs like Paul and Anne.” That wasn’t much better, but at least the soundbite focused on the celebrities here.
Ava’s wide-open gaze held him in place. She’d stopped writing. “You go to church?”
A band tightened around his chest. Yeah, he hadn’t treated her like a man who believed in Jesus. “I try to. When I don’t have a Sunday shift.” Man, he really needed to be better at living out his faith. He believed in forgiveness, really, he did. But the grudge against Ava had been in his heart for so long. “Ava, I—” The alarm on his hot oil sounded. Time to get these patties in the fryer. This conversation would have to wait.
“Go.” She waved him off. “I should get in a few more interviews anyway.”
Working quickly, he dredged the patties in flour, then dropped them into the fryer. They foamed and bubbled. A moment later, they turned a beautiful golden brown. He set them aside to drain under the heat lamp.
Pulling six square plates from the shelf on his workstation, he dotted the horseradish sauce along one corner, then the ketchup. There. Excellent.
The five-minute buzzer sounded. He tuned out everything around him as he assembled his tiny sandwiches and got them on the plate.
A few minutes later all three judges stood in front of his space.
“Judges, I have sliders as my appetizer for you today.” Zach’s stomach tightened as the judges tried his dish. Paul grimaced and swallowed hard. Anne discreetly wiped her lips with a napkin, but he thought he spotted the bite of slider in the paper as she pulled it away from her mouth.
He glanced at Ava. Her eyes were wide, and her mouth formed a frown.
“Ah. Thank you, Zach.” Paul tapped the table. “That was certainly an experience.”
Zach heard the words, but they sounded a lot like the noise his dreams made when crashing to the ground.
What happened to Zach Sullivan, master chef? Ava needed a glass of water—and soon. The bite she’d taken of his appetizer was…not good. They’d been forced to give him the lowest score, and the blow had been obvious in the shock on his face. Did he really not know how terrible it had tasted? He’d need to make up a lot of points on the entrée and dessert rounds tomorrow to make up for it.
She’d eaten so many good appetizers this morning before ending up at Zach’s table.
Now the crowd around them faded away as Zach turned an intense gaze on her. Whoa. Were his eyes always that dark green? He cocked one eyebrow at her.
“What did you think of my slider?”
“I, um…” She licked her lips, and his gaze flicked down at them. “It wasn’t great.” Really, what was she supposed to say?It was the worst thing I have ever put into my mouth. I regret it with the regret of a thousand ants who join a picnic only to find out all the food is made with artificial sweetener.Probably not.
“I already got the lowest score. Whatever you say won’t be a shock to me.” Zach picked up a towel and wiped his hands. “I want to know what you really thought of it.”
Honesty would not be the best policy here, but she couldn’t lie either. “I think it was the worst thing I’ve ever eaten.”
A murmur began around her. She glanced left, then right. The audience who had been milling around the tent began to gather in a semicircle in front of Zach’s cooking station.
A muscle jumped in Zach’s jaw. “The worst thing, eh? C’mon, it couldn’t have been that bad. There’s loads of terrible food in the world.” His eyes held amusement.
“One time, I had an assignment to cover the cooking class at a local high school. One of the kids made pasta and thought they could substitute ketchup for spaghetti sauce. That was better than this.”
