“On it,” he responds, jogging toward the pantry. He returns a few moments later,

and we swap places.

“Make sure to turn the duck and sear it evenly,” I call out as I begin to mix the

ingredients together to make the dough. “Use the red wine for moisture. Yeah,

just like that, perfect…”

When the buzzer blares, signaling the end of the round, I step back and take a

look at my dish.

It’s beautiful—each element perfectly executed, just like I rehearsed a million

times in my head. The plate practically glows under the stage lights, and I can’t

Enter title…

of pride

make their way around, forks poised,

I watch as they reach Daniel’s

creation. My heart pounds in

echoing my mounting anxiety.

they come to

say, pushing my

en croûte. I incorporated a hint of black

the pastry, which I believe adds a savory

and nods approvingly, her eyes meeting

communication of respect. The second

Logan—chef extraordinaire and

renowned restaurants in the world.

a bite

stretch out like hours as he chews slowly, deliberately,

a small grimace. My blood runs

he says, setting down his fork. “And

black pepper isn’t

the gut. The judges

in a haze, my throat collapsing in on itself.

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