Chương 14: Don't Rush for the Pan Just Yet

The host's high voice rang through the soundstage.

"That's right! Our mystery ingredient today is, once again — the potato!" As the words fell, Mike's theatrical shout and Marco's gloating laugh were two awls jabbing at everyone in the room — Chris most of all. Every light, every lens, every gaze surged toward him like a tide, ready to drown him. And yet Chris only stood there, quietly. He heard the talk around him, felt the tangle of stares, but it all seemed to come through a pane of glass, blurred by the time it reached him.

His mind was unusually clear, like a computer just booted, every irrelevant background process shut down.

"Time on the clock: forty-five minutes! Your stations have everything you need! Now — begin!" At the host's command, the four others practically lunged for their stations at once. Marco snatched the nearest potato, his motion fast to the point of rough. Mike kept looking back at Chris as he ran, hollering filth: "Potato Guy, try not to burn it this time!" Sarah looked tense, grabbing ingredients in a hurry and bending to her work.

Li Yan, the ever-quiet Asian contestant, moved without speed but with order in every step. Only Chris hadn't moved. He stood where he was, watching the others scramble, like a man watching a pantomime that had nothing to do with him.

"What's wrong with him? Did he freeze?" someone in the audience whispered.

"Probably scared of potatoes again, ha." In the control room backstage, the director's eyes were fixed on the wall of monitors.

"Camera three, close-up on him! Yes, that face! I want him breaking down!" But Chris didn't break down. He took a few deep breaths, then walked, unhurried, to his station. Station one. He didn't touch the potatoes right away. First he took a clean rag and wiped his stainless-steel counter down with care, until it could mirror a face. Then he checked his knives, confirming every edge was in peak condition. Then he walked to the oven — didn't open it, only glanced at the brand and model.

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"What's he doing? Stalling?" Mike was already peeling potatoes at speed, and seeing Chris's behavior, couldn't resist another jab. Marco gave a cold snort and couldn't be bothered to look at Chris again. To him, this was just a loser's last death throes. At the judges' table, a female judge asked, puzzled, "Vane, your… student here doesn't seem to be in much of a hurry?" Gareth Vane said nothing. He only leaned back, blue eyes narrowing slightly, fixed on the back of the young man at station one.

The scene was too strange. A contestant publicly humiliated out of the show, facing the same ingredient and a perfect shot at revenge, was behaving so… calmly. It went against nature. And just then, Chris said it inwardly. System. Activate Data Eye. Scan target: the oven in front of me. A pale-blue light-screen, visible only to him, unfolded across his vision and locked onto the commercial oven set into the wall. [Target: K-PRO commercial oven, model G-450.] [Status: preheated to set temperature, 375°F.] [Equipment Deviation Analysis: internal thermocouple aged; true temperature runs 5 to 12°F above display, fluctuating irregularly. Heat distribution uneven — top-left-rear is the hot zone, ~15°F above center; bottom-right-front is the cold zone, ~8°F below center. Preheat cycle carries a 3% lag.] That was it. Chris understood. Same conclusion he'd reached on his own beat-up oven at home — no oven was perfect. Especially commercial kitchen equipment under heavy use: wear and deviation were inevitable.

Not knowing its temperament, blindly trusting the preset temperature and time, was handing your fate to luck. And luck was the last thing he trusted. He closed Data Eye. Two of the day's three uses left. He couldn't waste them. By the time all of that was done, two minutes had passed. Chris finally turned and walked to the pile of potatoes. He didn't grab a handful at random like the others.

He crouched and selected them one at a time, with care, feeling each potato's weight, the smoothness and firmness of its skin. He chose three nearly identical in size and shape, then two of a starchier, more floury texture, and finally one small and firm.

"Is this guy grocery shopping?" The audience's laughter grew louder. But at the table, Vane sat up without meaning to. He'd seen it: Chris wasn't picking — he was assigning different varieties and textures of potato to a dish design already laid out in his head. This kid had drawn the blueprint of the whole dish in his mind before the round even began. From tools, to equipment, to ingredients. He wasn't slow. He was controlling every opening step of the competition with a programmer's logic.

Chris carried the chosen potatoes to the sink, turned on the tap, and scrubbed the dirt from their skins with a brush. Every motion steady and focused, as if the clamor and the cameras around him didn't exist. Washed, he returned to his station and laid them out, sorted by kind. Then, from the knife roll, he drew his chef's knife. The blade threw back a cold flash of light under the soundstage lamps. Chris picked up the first potato and set it firmly on the board.

To him, the forty-five-minute countdown — the real competition — was only now beginning.