“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…

but feel a surge of pride

make their way around, forks

I watch as they reach Daniel’s

high, as they taste her creation. My

echoing my mounting anxiety.

come to my

and gentlemen,” I say, pushing my plate forward.

of duck pâté en croûte.

the pastry, which I believe adds a

bite and nods approvingly, her eyes meeting mine

second judge,

then, there’s Logan—the Logan—chef extraordinaire and

renowned restaurants in the world. His

he takes a bite

like hours as

a small grimace.

texture’s off,” he says, setting down his fork. “And you

seasoning. The black pepper

a punch to the gut. The judges move on, but

on

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