Chương 57: Not Just Mounting Specimens

Gareth Vane walked up to Ethan's station. The air in the whole kitchen seemed to freeze in that moment. Every contestant—those already judged and those watching from the side—held their breath. Upstairs, Chris unconsciously sat up straighter. Everyone knew this wasn't just another ordinary appraisal. This was the peak duel of the elimination round, Ethan's answer to Chris's silent challenge, and his battle to disprove the verdict that he was "a cook without a soul."

From the outside, Ethan's Beef Wellington could only be called perfect. The pastry showed an even, deep gold, like a layer of golden armor. The diamond pattern scored across the top had risen slightly in the bake, full of dimension and a classical kind of beauty. The roll was plump, its lines clean, without a single flaw. Vane said nothing. He only picked up his chef's knife and weighed it in his hand.

Those eyes, which had seen more dishes than anyone could count, scrutinized every detail of this work under the lights. Then he cut. The blade dropped from dead center, clean and decisive, without the slightest drag. Crrack— A crisp, pleasing sound rang out—proof that the pastry had been crisped to its absolute limit. As the knife sank in, everyone saw the perfect cross-section. The outermost layer was the golden pastry, distinct and thin as cicada wings.

Then a layer of dark Parma ham, and inside that, the evenly wrapped mushroom duxelles. And at the center of every layer, that filet showed a heart-stopping, velvet-soft pink—shading naturally and gently from the raw tenderness at the core to the faint doneness at the edge, with not the slightest break in between. The juices had been locked perfectly inside, the cut face gleaming with an enticing sheen.

"Wow." At the judges' table, Nina couldn't help a low gasp. Hale nodded too, approval on his face. Vane studied the cross-section in silence for a full five seconds. Then he forked off a small piece from the very center, making sure pastry, mushroom, and beef were all on it, and slowly put it in his mouth. This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. The room was dead quiet, everyone waiting for his verdict. Vane closed his eyes and chewed slowly.

His expression was calm, betraying neither pleasure nor displeasure. Time seemed to stretch. Finally he opened his eyes, looked at the expressionless Ethan, and spoke.

"Ethan," he said, his voice steady, "this is what a Beef Wellington is supposed to be." Boom— The line landed like a bomb in everyone's mind. It was an enormously high evaluation. Coming from the most exacting mouth of all—Vane's—its weight was heavier than a mountain. It meant that, on a technical level, Ethan's dish was beyond reproach. The corner of Ethan's mouth twitched, almost imperceptibly, but he held it back and stayed composed.

Jack's face turned ugly; he stared at Ethan with envy, his fist clenching without his meaning it to. Sarah, on the other hand, was genuinely happy for Ethan. She felt he'd earned it. Upstairs, Chris looked at the A- rating the system panel had locked in long ago, and a stone settled out of his chest. Hidden quest—complete. But Vane's story usually came with a "but."

"Technically, perfect." Vane set down his fork and went on.

"The heat, perfect. The seasoning, precise. But tell me—what did you put into this dish that was different?" The question caught everyone off guard. The dish looked like the most classic Beef Wellington there was. What could be different about it? Ethan raised his head and met Vane's gaze. For the first time, his eyes held something more than pure technique and confidence—a trace of something else.

"In the duxelles, besides the traditional seasonings, I added a little truffle oil, and some onion caramelized in butter," he answered calmly.

"Why?" Vane pressed.

"Because the butter aroma of the pastry is overbearing, and the flavor of the filet itself is delicate. I needed a bridge." Ethan explained.

"The sweetness of the caramelized onion connects the butter to the beef. And the aroma of the truffle oil adds a higher dimension of depth above the mushroom's earthiness. It lets the mushroom layer be more than a barrier against moisture—it becomes a flavor center of its own, independent but in harmony." The explanation left most of the contestants in the room lost in the fog. But Chris and the judges understood. Ethan was no longer just executing a recipe.

He'd begun to think about the logic and the links between flavors. He'd begun to pour his own thought, his own soul, into this dish. Vane listened, then fell silent for a moment. Then he nodded, and a rare smile—something close to gratification—crossed his face.

"You're finally not just making specimens." That line, for Ethan, was a higher praise than the earlier "perfect." It meant Vane acknowledged his growth. He was no longer the cooking machine with only technique and no feeling. For the first time, there was warmth in his food. Upstairs, watching this, Chris felt a complicated tangle of things. He'd successfully forced out a stronger Ethan. This Ethan had patched his greatest weakness, evolving from a fearsome opponent into a truly terrifying nemesis.

The road ahead would be harder now. But what he felt was an excitement he'd never known before. This—this was the fight he'd wanted.