The arrival of Alfonso Fastbeak highlighted to Anna that the winter season had been too quiet at Hotel Flamingo. There were always fewer guests during the colder months of the year, especially with so many animals in hibernation, but even the restaurant had seen a downturn this year.
With the seasons changing and the weather warming, Anna decided to do something about it. She set about brainstorming ideas with T. Bear and Lemmy in her office.
‘What does the hotel have that no other hotel has?’ asked Anna.
‘A flamingo lampshade?’ said Lemmy.
‘We have a lot of those,’ agreed T. Bear.
‘And flamingo wallpaper,’ added Lemmy. ‘Not to mention the flamingo bed sheets and dressing gowns.’
‘I love my flamingo dressing gown,’ said T. Bear.
Anna wished she’d never asked.
‘Apart from all the flamingos,’ she said. ‘What do we have that’s really, really special? Something that we can sell to guests to get them through our doors.’
‘We have a nice ballroom?’ suggested Lemmy.
‘And we have one of the best chefs in town,’ said T. Bear. ‘Even if she is scary.’
Anna froze as an idea struck.
‘That’s it!’ she cried, punching the air. Some of Alfonso’s words had struck a chord with her. ‘We’ll prove to the world that she is the greatest chef in town.’
‘How?’ asked Lemmy.
‘We’ll have a competition!’ she said. ‘A Battle of the Chefs!’
‘Madame Le Pig throws a mean punch, that’s for sure,’ said T. Bear, who had experienced the chef’s anger first-hand.
‘I don’t mean like that,’ said Anna. ‘It can be a feast, and we can sell tickets!’
‘It could work,’ said T. Bear, thoughtfully.
Anna ran straight out of the door, through the lobby, into the restaurant and banged on the kitchen door.
‘What is it?!’ squealed Madame Le Pig. ‘I am buttering my turnip tarts!’
‘I’ve had an amazing idea,’ said Anna, opening the door.
Madame Le Pig stood ready to attack, a buttery brush raised in her trotter. ‘Do you not realise how delicate this task is?!’ she cried.
‘Hear me out,’ said Anna, only a little bit afraid. ‘It’s been quiet of late round here, hasn’t it?’
Madame Le Pig shrugged. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I suppose.’
‘And you are one of the most brilliant chefs in the world,’ said Anna, ‘and people should definitely be eating your food.’
The chef looked happy at the way the conversation was heading.
She sniffed. ‘I suppose so. Probably the best?’
Anna breathed deeply. ‘Then how about a competition between chefs to prove once and for all that you are the best,’ said Anna.
‘My food would be compared to others?’ asked Le Pig.
‘I suppose so,’ said Anna.
‘How?’ asked Madame Le Pig. ‘My food is incomparable!’
‘And that’s what we want to show,’ said Anna. ‘We could sell tickets, and guests could watch and try the food. It would be a fabulous feast!’
‘In front of an audience?’ said Madame Le Pig. ‘No. I do not see any benefit for me.’
‘But I see some for the hotel,’ said Anna. ‘Which would be good for all of us.’
Madame Le Pig snorted and returned to buttering her turnip tarts.
‘So what do you think?’ asked Anna.
The chef brushed the tarts back and forth in time with her grumpy snorts.
‘Who would judge this … competition?’
‘The guests,’ said Anna.
‘What do they know?’ she grumbled. ‘Most creatures do not know their fruit fork from their salad fork.’
Anna certainly didn’t know the difference.
‘I’ll get a proper judge, then,’ said Anna. ‘I promise.’
‘And it will help the hotel?’
‘It will do wonders for us,’ said Anna.
Madame Le Pig sniffed and banged her trotter on the worktop. ‘Then I will do it,’ she said. ‘Now leave me to my work.’
