Chapter 14

I made it through the appetizer round. Next up was the meat pie round. Agnes was nervous since it was the unveiling of her family’s recipe. I patted her hand to let her know that I was going to do my best to make her family look good.

“Congrats on finishing your first and last round,” Chef Butterbottom said to me as he passed by. “You will be undone by the English meat pie.”

“Good luck to you, too, Chef,” I said with a smile.

We all went to our stations and waited while the Nash and judges were filmed. “For your next round, you have two hours to make two classic English entrée pies. On your marks, get set, bake!”

I decided to set up my presentation as a picnic. We emptied one of Agnes’s baskets and she prepped it with checkered linen.

Agnes’s family pie contained steak and kidney with a savory gravy. I paired it with a classic beef and Guinness pie. I started with a puff pastry crust and ensured I tasted each ingredient on my table. My little camera still ran whenever I cooked in case I had to prove later that I tasted everything both before mixing and after.

Raw ingredients like meat I left untasted until they were braised and cooked. But it would be clear that I tasted the final product.

“That’s a little paranoid, don’t you think?” Chef Aster said. She was the chef directly beside me and was one of the Buckingham Palace chefs.

“What?”

“Tasting all your food, what are you afraid you’ll poison someone?”

“I’m not afraid of poisoning anyone,” I said. “A good chef cooks by taste.”

“Right,” she shrugged. “Maybe in America.”

It was embarrassing that she figured out what I was doing. Maybe I was paranoid. Or maybe everyone watching was waiting for me to kill someone with my pie.

When it was time for the meat pies to come out of the oven, Chef Aster got very upset. It seemed that her oven never got hot enough. Her pies were still raw.

I looked at Agnes and she looked at me. How did that happen? I suspected that there was sabotage going on to up the suspense on who would win.

“Plate your pies, Chefs,” Albert Nash said. “You have five minutes.”

We hurried the pies into the picnic basket display and plated two judging plates for tasting.

“Down to the final seconds and in five, four, three, two, one, and times up. Step away from your pies.”

I put my hands in the air and waited while they shot our reaction video. My plates looked good. The pies were crescent shaped, making them easy to take to picnics. The display looked good with a garnish of potato salad and a bottle of red wine.

“Cut,” the director said as they set up for the next shot of the judges coming in. I took the opportunity to wave over my wrangler, Alex.

“What can I get you, Chef?”

“What happened to Chef Aster’s oven?”

He glanced over at the weeping chef and the half-baked pies. “It appears it didn’t keep its temperature.”

I studied him. “Was that intentional?”

He looked me in the eye a long moment. “Everything is intentional, Chef. The show is storyboarded weeks in advance.”

“I see,” I said. “And what chef did I replace?”

“Chef Nice,” he said. “He’s the head Chef at The Drake downtown.”

“All right,” I said. “So my guess is he has never been suspected of poisoning anyone with his pie.”

Alex laughed. “No, he never has. Why?”

“It’s been made clear to me that I’m here because people are waiting to see if anyone dies from one of my pies.”

“You mean like that Wentworth guy did?”

“Wentworth did not die from my pie. He was poisoned.”

“But wouldn’t it make for great telly?” He grinned at me.

I opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out. Then the director shouted for us to take our places. It was time to shoot the end of the round and see who was going home.

*   *   *

“Welcome to the dessert round,” Nash said. “We started with six chefs and now four remain. This round will be a play-off round where two chefs will go head to head. The winning chefs of each bracket will face off for the final round and a chance to be named the winner of the title, Best British Pie Maker.

“For this round, we will pair Chef Cole with Chef Elsie and Chef Butterbottom, you will be directly competing with Chef Wright. Each of you will make the same pie—bilberry pie—and you will be judged on plating, taste, wow factor, and crust.

Your ingredients are in the box provided. Chefs, on your marks, get set, bake!”

I opened the box to find flour, butter, salt, vinegar, bilberries, sugar, tapioca, and an egg. I grabbed some apples from my own ingredients and started making my crust.

I instructed Agnes to continue with our picnic theme and create a beautiful basket presentation that included a dessert wine, sharp cheddar cheese, and a small bowl of cream.

I was the only one adding apples to my bilberry pie. I made the crust and carefully fluted little custard cups as my pie pans. The thought was that I would pop out the pies so that they could be eaten with your hands or on a plate with a picnic fork.

Quartering the apples, I placed them in a saucepan with sugar, then I added butter and let them cook down a bit. Next, I added the bilberries and cooked the mixture for two more minutes before letting it cool.

The cooled filling was spooned into the small pie pans and I added decorative lattice work on the tops, brushed them with egg white, and sprinkled on sugar for shine.

Then, fingers crossed, I checked the temperature of my oven and stuck the pies in to cook. The camera crew and two judges showed up at my space for an individual shoot. I added more apples to the pot, along with sugar and butter, and stirred them while the judges asked me questions.

“Are Americans familiar with bilberries?” Judge Storm asked.

“We are more likely to make blueberry pie,” I said. “Occasionally we’ll get a shipment of bilberries to make pie if there is a special request.”

“What is the favorite pie of the duke and duchess?” Judge Young asked.

“The duke loves cottage pie and I think the duchess is partial to lemon.”

“Like the lemon pie Wentworth Uleman was found face down in?”

“I hardly think anyone likes killer pie,” I said.

“So it wasn’t your pie?”

“I didn’t make that pie,” I said. “But I am making this one, and I’ve personally tasted all the ingredients.” I pointed to my little camera. “I have the video to prove it.”

“Well, judges, since she has become her own walking taster, I’d say you can enjoy tasting her pie without fear of death,” Nash said with a chuckle.

“The only thing she has to fear is losing,” Judge Storm said.

I smiled. “I’m not afraid to lose. It’s been a pleasure just participating.”

“That’s the spirit,” Albert Nash said with a nervous laugh. “Okay, let’s move on to Chef Butterbottom.”

I pulled my pie out with ten minutes to spare and allowed it to cool. I have to say that it was the best-looking pie I’d ever made. None of the ingredients ended up on the floor and my equipment worked just fine. It looked like this might be a non-sabotaged segment. Good. It would be nice to have my bilberry pie go up against Chef Elsie’s.

“And we are counting down the final seconds of the semifinal bake-off. Five, four, three, two, one, hands up!” I raised my hands from my plated pie. I looked at Chef Elsie and she looked at me.

“May the best pie win,” I said and shook her hand.

“As long as it’s my pie,” she said with a grin. We brought the plated pies forward for the judges to talk about and taste. It was difficult to stand and listen to the judges talk about the pies. Memories of cooking school came rushing back. I had busted my bum to please the chefs and they had made me look bad with practiced ease. This time was different, but the emotions brought up by the memory were disheartening.

In the end, it seemed they loved my filling, but my flakey crust might have been too thin. I bit my bottom lip and waited as they critiqued Chef Elsie’s pie.

“Nice depth of the crust,” Judge Young said. “But it appears a little doughy.”

Judge Storm took a forkful. “The taste is quiet exquisite, but the fruit filling is a touch runny.”

I glanced at Chef Elsie who looked a bit steamed at the judges.

“The winner of this pie challenge is…”

“Chef Cole! You will be moving on to the finals in this bake-off. Congratulations!”

I held my hands over my mouth in surprise and then turned and gave Agnes a big hug. I was in the finals. When it came down to it, my bilberry pie was judged better than Chef Elsie’s.

This was so awesome. I went over and shook Chef Elsie’s hand and thanked her for a good competition. “I’ll get you next time,” she said, a grumble in her voice.

Then we stepped off the stage to watch the judging between Chef Wright and Chef Butterbottom. I held my breath. Both men were stiff competition. But if I had my choice, I would have Chef Wright win. It would be easier competing with him than competing with snobbish Butterbottom.

“Well, gentlemen, you both made superb pies,” Judge Storm said. “But we must pick a winner.”

“And that winner is…” the Judge Young waited until the director gave him the signal to announce. “Chef Butterbottom. Congratulations, Chef, you have made the finals in today’s bake-off.”

Darn.

Butterbottom shook Chef Wright’s hand and turned to me. “All right, Chef Cole, I’m coming for you.”

I swallowed hard. Butterbottom had made it his mission since I arrived to show everyone that he was a better chef than I was. He liked to say that I was the worst chef in London, but I now had proof that I was, at least in this competition, better than three other chefs.

“And cut—” the director said. Alex came over as the makeup artists worked furiously to touch up our makeup. All the heat and steam from baking put a real shine on our skin.

“I’m so glad I have you,” Hannah said. “Butterbottom won’t stop sweating. What a nightmare.”

“All right,” Alex said. “Congratulations, Chef. The director wants you to move your set up to the front right. Chef Butterbottom will be moved to the front left. That way we can get the lights on you and keep you in the camera shot the entire time.

Agnes and I carefully moved all the remaining ingredients, our dishes, and our other things to the vacated front kitchen. Butterbottom’s assistants went straight to work, cleaning, shining, and placing all his things right where he wanted them.

I could hear the audience outside. People were betting on the winner, and I was not the favorite. I didn’t mind. I was simply happy to be in second place. I noticed the director talking to Butterbottom. I thought I heard him say that Butterbottom had the win in his hands.

That wasn’t upsetting at all. It was kind a relief to know what the outcome would be. I was still surprised that they didn’t have Chef Wright or Chef Elsie as one of the finalists.

“Congratulations,” Chef Wright said from behind me. I turned and he stuck out his hand.

“Thank you,” I said as he shook my hand and then he leaned in to give me an unwelcome hug and a peck on the cheek.

“Best of luck.”

“Right.” I took a step back to put space between us. “How is Evie?” I asked him. “Or is it Rachel now?”

He smiled at me, his eyes crinkling. “What’s wrong with both?” He winked. “Best of luck.”

“All right, people, let’s get the final shoot in before we lose daylight,” the director called. Chef Wright left the tent/staging area to watch from the chairs with the other losing chefs.

I stepped over to Chef Butterbottom and stuck out my hand. “May the best pie win.”

He sneered at my hand. “Everyone already knows who makes the best pie.”

I pulled my hand back. “That would be me.” I winked at him.

The cameras were rolling and I wanted to give them a good show. It was all for a good cause—children’s charity. I rolled my shoulders and tilted my neck like a fighter getting ready for a fight. Nash loved it. The cameras moved off me to the judges.

“Chefs, for your final bake you must make a Yorkshire curd tart. We are looking for a classic crème base and a warm, homey taste. Don’t forget your crust must hold up to being lifted from the pie pan yet be flaky and delicious. The ingredients are in the box in front of you. On your marks, get set, bake!”