I do end up making some brownies. My regular gooey fudgy ones. And I make sure the other students in the baking program eat most of them. I save Di only the tiniest dried-out piece from the corner of the pan. I don’t want her thinking she did something good by entering me in the contest, even if she means well. Anyway, the odds are good I won’t make it in.
A week goes by. I bake Di an entire pan of soy-caramel brownies. She and I eat them together, because while I didn’t think I’d make it into the contest, I did kind of hope I might.
“It’s too soon to hear,” Di says. “These brownies are amazing. Soy instead of salt. Brilliant.” She licks the caramel off her fingers. “Don’t give up yet.”
Another week goes by. I still don’t hear anything.
“They could still call. The competition starts next month,” Di says.
“That’s only two weeks away,” I point out. “They probably have everyone they need by now.” I’m playing it cool, but now I realize I’m really hoping to be chosen.
Over the weekend I search online for news on the contest. There’s none. By Monday I’ve given up all hope. By Tuesday I’m disappointed but all right. By Wednesday life is back to normal. I’m going to classes, doing my homework, baking.
After class my phone rings. It’s a blocked number, so I don’t answer. My hands are covered with melted chocolate anyway.
Whoever calls doesn’t leave a message. Then my phone rings again. And again. By the fifth call I’m kind of annoyed but also worried there’s an emergency or something. I rinse off my hands and answer. “Hello?”
“Is this Theo Childs?” The voice is high-pitched.
“Who’s asking?”
“Theo who applied for HEAT’s cooking contest?”
My heart starts pounding. “Yes. This is Theo.”
“Great. I’m calling about HEAT’s contest. Duh! Right?”
I laugh a little, not sure how to respond.
“So they liked your application, and I’m calling to ask you to come in for an interview. You’ll need to bring something for us to taste. Does this Friday afternoon work? I know it’s short notice, but the competition starts soon. Between three and four? Come to the restaurant. Cool?”
“I’ll be there.”
“Sweet. I’ll send an email with more info. Bye now!” Click.
I text Di to meet me in the cooking lab. She gets there as I finish dipping the truffles into the chocolate.
“I told you,” Di says when I tell her about the interview. “I told you! What are you going to make? One of your awesome cakes?”
I shake my head. My cakes are impressive, but they’re not right for this. “It’s a cooking contest. I can’t bake my way in.”
“But you bake the best stuff,” Di says.
“But real chefs cook. Pastry chefs bake. I need to come up with something amazing to cook. I need to brainstorm.”
Di claps. Her arms are loaded almost to her elbows with thin bangles that tinkle. “So start thinking! What do you like to cook?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I mean, I cook dinner and stuff, but I don’t know what’s going to wow the interviewers. I need to show skill and creativity, and it needs to taste great.”
“How about pasta?”
“Anyone can do pasta. I need more.”
“You’re great on the grill.”
I shake my head. “Grilled food won’t travel or reheat well.”
But this is helping me narrow it down. I make a list of all the dishes I cook at home.
Di grabs the list and crosses off a bunch of items. I grab it back and cross off more.
We look at what’s left.
“What if you took this and combined it with this,” Di says, pointing to two different items.
“And added the sauce from here,” I say, thinking aloud.
“And get into the competition,” Di says. “And win.”