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I hope they're hungry for some five-star cooking, too, because even though Luke is my brother, there is no nepotism here. The players tasting today need to love my food if I'm going to win this job.
Three chefs are vying for this position, including myself. We are all preparing three signature dishes: an appetizer, a side, and an entree. The dishes will be served to six players, the head coach, Holly and Avery, and the team owners: Monica and Mitchell Starling. They will grade each plate from one to three, one being the best dish and three their least favourite. The chef who scores the highest overall will get the job.
And the taste-testing is blind, so there is no way anyone will know which dishes are mine. My cooking will be easily identifiable because it will be the best.
I peek out into the dining area. The team is using the restaurant inside the Northmen's arena for this little competition, and everyone is already waiting. Luke and my soon-to-be sister-in-law, Holly Sparks, are chatting by the bar, and newlyweds Ryan and Avery Gunner look cozy sitting at a table. Hunter LaRoux, the team's goalie, is standing with Avery's twin stepbrothers, Ollie and Ozzy Decker. Until this summer, the Decker twins were the property of the New York Diamonds. But after their contracts expired, they decided to sign in Toronto to be closer to home and play for the team they grew up idolizing.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot the last of the six players walking toward Holly and Luke. My heart rate accelerates like it always does at the sight of Chase Wilder. And as usual, he looks delicious. I've barely seen him since December when I bought him at the auction and he gave me the most erotic kiss of my life. Time and distance have done nothing to dull the ache inside my chest that I associate with wanting him.
My intention has always been to come to Toronto and pursue a career here after I finished my internship at a fancy Muskoka resort. And if Chase just happened to be living in the same city as me, great. Now is my chance to get a shot at two of the things I want most—Chase Wilder, and to be recognized as one of Toronto's top culinary talents.
I survey the kitchen again, checking that I have all my ingredients ready. The other two chefs are already chopping, peeling, and boiling water. The first is an older man with greying hair, a goatee, and a beanpole body. His name is Jacques Franc, and he keeps insisting that he's French, but his accent sounds fake to me. I've lived in Paris and never heard an accent like his, and it's not because he's Quebecois. Quebec French and France French are two different languages, but I don't think this dude speaks either. If I had to guess, he's a Jack, not a Jaques.
The other chef is Rich Rowley. He's younger, with tanned skin, dark hair, and a dad-bod. His jacket barely covers his stomach. He clearly enjoys eating his creations as much as he does making them.
I grab my notebook and start preparing my appetizer. I have one advantage over these guys: I know a lot about hockey players. My brother is a hockey player, and so is my uncle Eddie. I know what they like to eat and a lot about their diets. Way back in the day, players were all-in on carb-loading. They'd eat lots of pasta before games to build stores of energy, but research has drastically changed over the years, and I plan to add some science to the flavour of my meals.
"You ready to wow us with your mad skills?" a voice asks from behind me. I whirl around to see Holly and Avery grinning at me.
"You bet!"
"We wanted to wish you good luck," Avery says as Holly rings a small bell to get every else's attention.
"Good afternoon, chefs," she addresses the three of us. "I'm Holly Sparks, and this is Emerson Avery-Gunner. We have a few housekeeping items to review before the tasting begins. First, the servers will bring out your appetizers at the same time. You'll need to make ten portions for each course you serve. Avery and I, along with six players, our head coach John McCall, and the team owners will be tasting your dishes. We all have one of these." She holds up a scorecard. "We will be conducting a blind taste test. We won't know who cooked what dish and will score them from one to three.
"After the meal, Avery and I will take a tally, and the highest-scoring chef will be offered the position. Are there any questions?"
No one lifts a hand, so Holly and Avery leave after letting us know our appetizers should be ready to go in twenty minutes, followed by our entree and side dish. Avery doubles back quickly and reminds me to make extra of whatever I'm cooking so she can take some home with her after we're all done.
I laugh and promise to set some aside, then get down to work at my cooking station.
My appetizer is two dishes but in smaller portions. It's a beet and arugula salad with roasted almonds, cucumber, red onion, and cherry tomatoes tossed in a homemade honey balsamic vinaigrette and topped with goat cheese. It's paired with an heirloom tomato soup and a wedge of wholegrain garlic toast.
I quickly make ten portions, using a set of fancy appetizer dishes that are half plate and half bowl. Then I garnish the salad with a drizzle of balsamic glaze, and the soup with a sprinkle of pepper and a sprig of parsley. It looks stunning.
I don't pause to watch any of the tasters try the food and immediately get started on my main course and side dish. Initially, I was going to do surf and turf, but after reading everyone's dietary restrictions, I scrapped the idea because Monica Starling and Hunter LaRoux are allergic to seafood.
I glance around the kitchen to see what the men are making and am surprised to see Jacques cooking some sort of pasta dish with shrimp. I wonder if he even read the preference sheet.
I grab my knife and start halving tricolour fingerling potatoes, leaving the skin on and throw them into a mixing bowl with olive oil and a garlic puree I whipped up earlier. It's just a mixture of garlic, herbs, and spices that I created specifically for my potatoes. As quickly as possible, I spread them out on a baking sheet and throw them into the oven to cook, the smell of garlic and herbs wafting out of the kitchen and making my mouth water. I'd never admit to this, but once in a while, I dip my garlic potatoes in ketchup. Even professionals like to eat dirty sometimes.
Next, I start a classic French chicken. The leg is de-boned except for one knuckle of the drumstick. I leave the skin on and pop it into the oven so it can cook through before I butter-braise it in a pan to crispen the skin. Lastly, I blanch some asparagus and start my hollandaise sauce while the potatoes and meat cook in the oven.
As time ticks down, I set out some ceramic square plates that I had heating. Whenever I cook for groups of people, I always heat the plates so the food stays warm. I grab the potatoes from the oven, now soft on the inside and crisp on the outside, and set them aside so I can start creating some food art. I drizzle and dot some of the garlic mixture on the bottom of the plate and then layer the potatoes on one side. Next, I set one piece of chicken on each with the crispy skin facing up and fan out the asparagus. Last but not least, I grab miniature gravy boats, fill them with my hollandaise sauce, and set them on the corner of the dish. I garnish it with a few spirals of fresh beet curls and send the finished product to the dining room.
All I can do now is wait and watch, so I creep out of the kitchen to spy on my tasters. They're seated at a large round table, laughing and talking animatedly. I watch Hunter and Monica push Jaques' seafood pasta away but take a bite of his side, which is some type of bruschetta. Rich grilled a beef fillet with a veggie puree, and I begrudgingly admit that it looks good.
I bite my lip, watching everyone eat while silently willing them all to choose my dish as number one. After the plates are pushed to the side, the scorecards come out. The deliberation doesn't take as long as I thought, and Holly and Avery quickly collect them. They move to a separate table and open a sealed envelope with the names of each chef and their corresponding dishes.
It's only about five minutes before Holly and Avery call us back into the dining room, but it feels like an eternity. My heart is beating so fast it's making my ears ring. I want this so badly that I can barely see straight.
"Thank you all very much for taking the time to cook such outstanding meals today," Holly smiles at the three of us. She's not making eye contact with me, which worries me. If I'd won the competition, wouldn't she look at me? Wink at me? Something? "The scores were tallied, and the decision was unanimous.
Holly pauses dramatically as if this were some sort of reality TV show and looks at Jacques, Rich, and then me. I swallow, darting my eyes around the room and finding Chase leaning against the wall by the bar. Staring at him does nothing to calm my thundering pulse.
"Jacques, Rich, thank you for your time today," Holly says politely before turning to me. "Lily, congratulations and welcome to the team."
Everything stops, and I just stare at Holly, then Avery, and then everyone else in the room, unable to speak. Jacque throws down a kitchen towel and storms from the dining room. Rich shakes hands with everyone, thanking them before excusing himself. I still don't know what to say.
