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…

was my first year of culinary school, the end of my

in a style not all that much

sky-high stakes and the

our stainless steel

chef’s uniforms, as our professor—Chef Andrews—paced

us, announcing our task

“you will be preparing beef stroganoff. A

I expect each and every one of you

techniques we have been practicing all

class launched into action, I felt my hands

front of me, but my mind

something as basic as beef stroganoff?

that moment, it felt as

my mind clean.

tried, I couldn’t

felt foreign,

taking on the task

a skillet in

every class like a personal

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