Chasing His Kickass Luna Back by Jane Above Story

Abby

Duck. Pork. A flaky pastry dough.

It should be easy. I’ve practiced it a hundred times, tasted it a thousand. It’s one

of my favorite French dishes to make, and yet, as the stage descends into

organized chaos…

I’m frozen.

My eyes are wide like a deer in headlights. The deafening roar of the crowd, the

sound of voices and cooking utensils, the movement of the cameras and the

announcer’s voice booming over the microphone—all of it is too much.

Enter title…

Suddenly, I feel as though I’m being transported back in time, back to a time

when I was much younger…

my first year of culinary school, the end of my first semester. For

were supposed to compete in a style not all

the sky-high stakes and the television production of

our stainless steel tables,

our professor—Chef Andrews—paced

front of us, announcing our task for

will be preparing

demands attention to detail. I expect each and every one of you

we have been practicing all semester.

class launched into action, I felt my hands go clammy. I was at

my ingredients in front of

I forget something as basic as beef stroganoff? I had made

before, but at that moment,

my mind clean.

I tried, I couldn’t remember how to

me felt foreign, and I felt utterly

be taking on the task just fine, dicing, searing,

born with a

the guy who treated every class like a