A/N: Hello everyone! Unfortunately, this chapter is a little short and definitely doesn't have the usual number of scenes I'd like to hit in every update and it's because I fell sick halfway through ;-; so I'm just uploading where I'd left it at before being banished to le bed. At least I got to watch Ratatouille. Hehe. Ah, most mainstream media revolving around the culinary world somehow seem to have critics as antagonists, painted in a very uneven and unrealistic light. Anton Ego is a rare species. I don't think I've seen anyone portray a critic so pleasantly apt.
You may have been one of the readers who'd thought of bringing hell upon Alfred Dempsey (Vanilla's uncle) after reading his review of Chip's bakery in Beyond Love; and that is the odd magic of being a critic—one is immediately associated with the negative connotation of criticism when, frankly speaking, there is an equally likely definition of it being the mere analysis and judgement of the merits and faults of a certain piece of work. No one likes being criticised.
People say that being a critic is easy but for all intents and purposes, it is a role of utmost bravery and courage. To put oneself at risk of being dismissed as a mere hater, as what Rachel had done to Dempsey; to have the common tongue call one 'pompous' and 'stuck up' for having a superior sense of taste (as what many readers have done). I'm very keen on writing more about what made Vanilla choose this path and how he's had the courage to follow in his uncle's footsteps. No crowd pleaser is suited for the role of a critic—one cannot always be rating every restaurant five stars. That is a coward. Not a critic. While truth, honesty and objectiveness remains as the holy trinity of a critic, these attributes unfortunately do not come without the courage to pursue it. Our bespectacled bean happens to be one such person.
Oh and I'm not sure if Bakers have realised, but Rachel was created in direct juxtaposition to Chip's reaction to being criticised. Both received equally harsh criticism from the same person. One was able to whole-heartedly accept it whilst trying to understand their point of view. The other, not so.
Oops, I've once again written a mini-essay. My apologies. Enjoy!
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[Leroy]
I joined the row of 'C's without thinking twice, spotting the top of Chen's head sticking out from the crowd and just casually sliding myself between two random people and pretending I was there all along. Plan sort of failed because for some reason, people couldn't stop looking at my shirt and I was about to ask why the hell they weren't minding their own business when I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to face the school's number one, who was great at telling me how bad I was with time.
Then he, too, paused mid-sentence, frowning at something on my collar. "You—oh my fucking god, Cox. You could've just told me you guys were dating instead of baring your fangs all the time." He clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes with an exasperated snort.
I was getting nothing from whatever he had to say and was about to follow his gaze down to my shirt when the gears in my heard started turning right on cue. Three whole seconds later, I could feel my lips stretch into a smirk. "Is it blue?"
He flipped me off. The amusement, I felt in my chest; bubbling. It was hard not to start smiling like an idiot.
"Explains why he always seemed to have some sort of excuse. If you'd told me sooner, I would've backed off, you know," he sighed. "I was under the impression we were on equal standing and that I still had a chance. You were pretty obvious about how you felt but White was, like. Business mode twenty-four-seven."
"Not with me," I laid out and fingers flew my way.
"You fucker," Chen laughed. I did too, before my hardwired brain started entertaining itself with thoughts of him and how he'd, by now, be panicking with mine in his hands and searching for me in the next five minutes before the opening ceremony with red ears and a cute, fucking glare.
Somewhere down 'D' row, Raul was making his way over with Bank right behind him from 'F', I think, or something along those lines. People were casually swapping places all around without the facilitators noticing, so. They came for no concrete reason, probably because Raul was dying to share his party stories which was usually the case. He'd spent last night in some club for the countdown and him walking was already a sign that he didn't enjoy it. Since, well, he wasn't wasted. Or hungover.
I did nothing to the tie I had on—made no gesture to remove it—and Chen, catching on the second I had that thought running through my mind, rolled his eyes and left the chat to start another with Lee Jungwoo some three people down. Don't ask how he got there.
"It started off sick and the music was great but the girls were either very pushy or, you know, like too much... your tie is the wrong colour, man." He paused for five seconds. "Oh. Ohh, playdate."
I feigned nonchalance. He shoved a finger in my face before doing the thing with his brows and glancing over my shoulder as though something else had caught his attention. "Ah he's here." Raul raised a hand. Calling out to someone.
I didn't need to follow his gaze to know exactly who he was talking about because if you don't already know, I get turned on whenever he's within my fifty-feet radius. The rest of the group must've spotted him making his way over to us and made the connection, laughing and joining Raul in waving him over. Lee, who'd been so curious about the person I was so 'busy flirting with' was staring at me with wide, enlightened eyes. The amusement was killing me.
He arrived—flustered and trying to catch his breath. I was just taking my time, dragging this out as long as I could, taking in the pink dusting his ears and appreciating the glare of a baby fawn. I was right about my tie. He'd been too embarrassed to wear it around and had removed it, rolling it up into a neat little bundle which he was now holding out to me.
"You should really learn how to respect your morning alarm, Leroy Jeremy Cox, or I'm never going to spend another night in your room. You have absolutely no idea how absurdly embarrassing this is. Thank goodness Si Yin took notice at once."
"Or you'd be wearing it all day?" I removed it. Slowly. Enjoying this. "My colour. You look good in it."
The shade of pink on his ears darkened and he was furiously trying to recover whilst waiting for me to hand over his tie. "W-well unfortunately for you, Leroy, I have news and and that is, that, blue is not a colour that suits you and it clashes with your eyes if you haven't noticed so although you may very well think this shade of red looks smart on me, we are never not ever, I mean, never making the mistake of wearing the the wrong tie ever again."
I gave his forehead the usual and he hastily retrieved his tie from my hand whilst gently balancing mine, neat and uncrumpled, on my shoulder before running off. Deer-like.
"Tone it down, I'm warning you," was all Chen had to say, standing by his word. Backing off nicely.
"Students. Participants of the twenty-second W-interschool." The audio feedback from the sound system on stage was poor and most of everyone was not in the mood to pay the emcee any attention. "I know you're all dying to get back inside but Mr. Jael over here will now be giving out instructions for the commemorative photograph. Please ensure that your uniform is in perfect condition before looking up at the camera drone above."
I could feel my thoughts tuning out, just waiting for them to get this over and done with so that we could move on to the opening ceremony and then the prep for round one. We were standing out in the cold for a total of fifteen minutes with cheap handwarmers given out by the facilitators before finally being introduced to the judges—one from each school as primaries and then a guest judge for every segment.
They were big names. Yamazaki was one of them but we'd have to wait till tomorrow to see him since that was the segment he was doing. Round one was a critic from France. Leclair. Vaguely familiar.
"Facilitators are going round with lottery bags. The number on your draw determines the serveware you will be presenting your dishes on." As expected, the initial instructions weren't the best at giving us an early idea of what we had coming up next. I drew a five right out of the bag and glanced at Chen. Four fingers out of his pocket.
They got to projecting a list of numbers on the screen up front after a couple of minutes and the entire plaza started shifting restlessly around. Right beside number one was the word 'Ramekin' and beside two, 'Martini Glass'. Several down, I weeded out my number and felt my imaginary middle finger twitch.
Dessert Glass
I gave four a glimpse and, relieved, exchanged a look with Chen beside me before slipping my number into his pocket. He had his somewhat wedged in the muscles of his palm before shaking my hand. Soup spoons over dessert glasses any day.
"As you can tell by now, the types of serveware up on the screen are only meant to accommodate the tiniest form of food, be it fine dining or home cooking. The details of the first elimination round is as follows."
Bite-sized Challenge
Type: Elimination (60)
Style: Buffet
Participants: 150
Scoring: Point per portion
"Sixty on the first round," Chen snorted under his breath. "What's the rush? I don't get why they're increasing the number every year."
First rounds were usually designed to weed out amateurs right off the bat while allowing those of the other end of the ladder focus on giving their school a head-start in points without the point cap. Simply put: elimination was a personal problem while the overall score was the one and only determinant of the school in which the ultimate winner was going to come from. Naturally, Chen had his eyes on the second part.
"We have about a thousand guests arriving for a free-for-all buffet of a hundred-and-fifty dishes. As usual, there will be no point cap for the first round so this is your chance to gain as many points for your school by adding to your empty dish counter. Every finished portion counts as a single point, whether it's a shot glass of raspberry coulis or a shrimp cocktail in a martini glass.
"The two-hour buffet has no designated route or restriction, so your guests are going to be picking and choosing what they wish to eat entirely by their own volition. If you're good enough they may return for a second serving or even remain at your station throughout the entire round. Each school will have thirty minutes to come up with a relevant strategy and then spend an hour, individually refining their recipes before another hour's station and ingredient prep. The official commencement of first round begins at three o'clock sharp.
"Those who have drawn your numbers, please proceed to the front of the plaza to register your assigned serveware according to your school—stop walking I'm not done yet. Have your participant IDs ready and remember to collect the nametag and apron with your name on it. And check the name, for god's sake."
I stood in line with Chen for the next five to ten minutes before collecting a silver chef's nametag that had our initials and last name engraved. Not gonna lie, it looked a whole lot sleeker than the one we were given last year and the idea of exchanging mine for a sweet 'V. J. White' after the interschool sounded pretty tempting.
People were being directed to different lecture theatres according to their schools as soon as they were registered but I was taking my time, keeping my eyes peeled for him. Most of everyone else had rushed indoors to escape the cold and after briefly acknowledging a couple of familiar looking faces from the others schools (they came right up to me, so I didn't have much of a choice right there), I spotted him already seated in the front row with Si Yin. Should have known he wasn't the kind to be wasting anyone's time.
A facilitator handed Chen a mic as soon as he entered while Marseille on the other end of the platform up front gave everyone the usual glare with folded arms and her index tapping the side of her elbow. "Hurry up children. Your thirty minutes has started and at the rate your walking, I can already see us losing to CSS."
I was eyeing the open seat next to a certain someone when they called for the rest of thirteen to get up front and lead the discussion alongside number one. Chen was giving me a look that a hundred percent meant I wasn't allowed to give any excuses so I dragged my sorry ass up the platform and slotted myself randomly between Lee Jungwoo and Jean Mercier with a sad ah, fuck.
Chen had a lot more on his plate. He was being briefed by the facilitator while the tech team pulled up some slides on the projector screen and handed him the clicker. He had to be ready in less than a minute.
"Morning everyone." Gotta hand it to him though, that's some quality smiles for a bad and early-ass morning. The theatre was in no mood to respond but Mercier busted out some odd cat-calling and whooping that the rest of the thirteen started to follow except for, I think, Birchwood and myself who just stiffly clapped and before we knew it the rest of the hall was cheering along for the hype.
"Unlike our previous number one, I like getting straight down to business without the fun, so. I apologize beforehand. Um... so can I have those who drew a one, the ramekins, to sit on the right, followed by the twos, martini glasses, and so on? It's the best way to start getting things organized since we have to decide who's on appetiser, main and dessert."
The thirteen sort of remained up front but shifted ourselves to match the general position of our draws. Not to brag, but those with the soup spoons were looking pretty relieved that I was standing in front of them. We were a sad four in total.
My eyes went straight to him a few rows down, seated in front of Birchwood at 'Shot Glasses' with a composed smile on his face looking mildly or very sexy. Wow I'm fucking deprived.
"Um, Cox? We're sort of the hardest group, right? As in, everyone else has it easy for ideas but are we seriously going to serve them a spoon of soup as an appetiser?" The person who spoke had two badges pinned to his collar, which meant he was a sophomore like me but I had no clue who he was.
"No. Ever heard of appetiser spoons? Canapé? Not soup."
"Right," some girl in the year above me. "So we'd be on appetisers."
"Most likely." Chen was making his rounds and stopped by to ask if I had any specific dish in mind since, he said, he'd be giving thirteen their first choice. I told him we'd be on cold hors d'oeuvres, elevating ordinary soup spoons into something fancy when he asked a good fucking question.
"Asian soup spoons?" He frowned. "Or western. Did you ask?"
I made the stupid mistake of assuming that it was Asian soup spoons they were talking about since the western ones would have made us look like fucking fools in front of the guests because who'd be in the right mind to serve a portion of food on a western soup spoon? After checking with the facilitator and confirming that it was the Asian ones they were referring to, I went back to the team with good news and they all collapsed in relief. It was apparently their first time competing.
"Smoked salmon canapé with dill cream cheese, crème fraiche and top it with caviar or something," I laid out for Chen, who noted it down and looked sufficiently satisfied with my menu so I got back to helping the rest of the team sort their stuff out before then reporting our general category to the person behind the laptop up front. They keyed in our names under appetisers and said I was good to go.
Glancing up at the screen with a list of names and categories projected on it, it was obvious that most of the school and perhaps even the other participants preferred going with the natural categories of 'appetiser' and 'dessert' since they matched the serveware we were using. Bite-sized. Doing up a 'main' seemed to be what people were avoiding. By the definition the facilitators had given, Chen said that mains were supposed to include carbs in the recipe. So potatoes, then. Nothing else came to mind.
We had about forty names down on the list by the time a member of the organizing team came round with the digital floor map of the buffet hall which was the J. Rosenthal function hall with a hundred and fifty stations arranged in the shape of a square in a square. The moment they pulled this up on the screen, with the names, fire exit and main entrances all marked out, I was searching for his before looking at my own. Hm. Logic.
"Let's take a minute to confirm the categories. We need a minimum of ten people under 'Main', so. We'll go by name, category and recipe. Anton? You're on blackberry trifle dessert. Arnolds. Cookie dough... think we need to change that—"
They'd changed the screen to the floor plan so I didn't get to see which category he'd put himself under. The thirteen of us up front were giving suggestions accordingly, with Lee the top nutritionist giving most feedback on what should be eaten buffet style whilst considering the fact that people were walking around a lot. Menus kept changing and all but mostly for those on appetisers and desserts who... uh, weren't standing up front.
No one's really dared to disagree with thirteen. It's never happened.
"Cox, smoked salmon canapé. Yeah I approved that, so moving on. Cullen, uh, I'm not too sure about having rice on... White." My eyes went to him on instinct. His hand was raised. Not too high, not too low. A well-practiced raise; like he was so used to asking and answering questions. "You have something to say?"
All eyes turned on him. He stood, hands behind his back in a polite manner.
"Sorry to interrupt. I was... I'd just like to point out where Mr. Cox's station is placed. Top left—the furthest away from the front door in which our guests will be entering from. Which, in other words, would mean that they would have gone through at least sixty other stations to arrive at his... smoked salmon canapé. If I may be brutally honest, no one's going to pick a cold, bitty appetiser absent of a fragrance pull thirty minutes into the buffet that far into the room because the dish incites neither visual nor the olfactory sense, let alone anything auditory so that one would be left standing in the corner with six empty appetiser spoons max. A-and as I'd observed earlier on, the entire team of soup spoon draws have relegated themselves to the category of appetisers which, I, um, again, my apologies, believe quite unnecessary! Especially you, the idiot standing up on stage. Clearly, you're better than salmon canapé and with your technical skills I don't see why you aren't on the list of mains with something fragrant and strong and perhaps even showy, what with you being placed in the least favourable spot in the room. It doesn't have to be an appetiser just because it's an appetiser spoon. Limiting yourself to your draw is doing exactly what this segment wants you to be doing! You can't afford to be tricked." He sat as soon as he finished before dusting slightly pink and then standing again. "I-I meant we can't. As in, everyone." Then, sitting.
The entire room looked like they'd been fucked over twice. I think the silence lasted for more than six seconds. Chen was beside me. Mic lowered.
He leaned in. "That was hot."
"Yeah, I know."
At the back of the room, Marseille was trying very hard to hide one of her rare smiles. Most people think she doesn't play favourites but I knew her type. She loved herself a student like him.
"Right, uh... Cox?" Chen recovered with the mic raised and I nodded, eyes still holding the gaze of a frozen lake and feeling a smirk I couldn't quite control just taking over the corners of my lips. I settled with a nice finger because kissing him in front of forty-eight already shell-shocked humans wasn't exactly legal.
"Ch-Chef Marseille?? Cox just did a middle finger—" "Cox do not be indecent or I'll make sure you're on production duty for three consecutive weeks." Okay, she got me. "The... the first-year just called him an idiot." "Such a hater." "But Cox flipped him off omg you think he's offended?" "But White has a point..." "He crazy tho. Speaking like that to the school's number two. Who does he think he is?" "Yeah but Cox agreed to change his category. He nodded."
I hadn't really gone that far into thinking what I was actually going to do with a main dish on some appetiser spoon, distracted by the mixed opinions coming from the floor. Anyone trying to call bullshit on his point doesn't deserve a spot in the W-interschool because they obviously don't have a brain. He'd explained his rationale. Over-explained it, even. All he had to do was point out the fact that I was placed furthest away from the door and everyone else in the room should have been able to see his genius.
"That's actually a really good idea," Lee Jungwoo said down the row, directing this at Chen who passed him the mic. "Pointing that out. It actually gives us a couple more options. We've been trying to come up with a strategy based on our draws, which, easy, yeah, sorts us into sub teams and gets the ball rolling. But eventually, with the floor plan as it is now... you see we can't change where we're placed in the room but what we can change is the menu. Our categories. White's right, we're limiting ourselves now.
"There's no reception before the buffet, which means the guests are coming indoors after being out in the cold. They'd want to start with something hot so if we're having all our cold appetisers up at the front of the room, they might skip all that. We want something to warm their tummies."
Everyone turned to stare as soon as he finished and then Lee, ears red, quickly handed the mic back to Chen who was already working with the tech team on having the categories written beside the names on the floor plan.
"Uh... 'warm their tummies'?" Birchwood was judging number seven and doing something with her hair. "Is that scientifically proven? You're a nutritionist...?"
"Okay, okay, it's just... a belief that warm liquids cause stomach muscles to relax."
Both the floor and the platform were having private conversations all over but I had no one to talk to so my eyes were back at him, speaking to Si Yin and then glancing in my general direction. We met. He then averted his gaze by shyly glancing around before beckoning once the coast was clear. Quietly. With his hand on his lap like no one was supposed to see him hooking his finger and reeling me in.
I grabbed a mic from a random facilitator before heading down and handing it to him. Naturally, he was looking mildly flustered.
"W-wha! This was supposed to be a private conversation."
"Oh. Like what you want for dinner tonight, or..."
"Oh good heavens, no. Not that sort of private conversation, although, yes, we could have a discussion on that a little later. I was thinking more along the lines of—" So apparently the facilitator had turned the mic on before I grabbed it and the entire hall had stopped talking to eavesdrop. Which was fucking hilarious because he was way too focused on speaking to me to actually realize this was happening.
"—improvising on that strategy Lee mentioned. In fact, we should not only be considering the temperature of the food, whether it's served hot or cold, but perhaps should also devise some sort of plan that would allow the guests to go for something sweet after a savoury main dish. In fact, it would be silly if we'd placed all desserts in a corner and relegate main dishes to another. As soon as a guest finished their portion of raspberry trifle, they might seek something savoury like grilled jerk shrimp that's a little citrusy with a zest of lime, conveniently located several feet away. O-or that nice French-boned chicken you made the first time you came over for dinner. Think of it as leaving a trail. The guests can't tell which school the participants are from so it wouldn't look like a hard sell when, actually, they are indeed following a route we'd planned out for them and thus get as many hits as we possibly can."
I glanced over my shoulder at Chen. He seemed to have taken this into account and was discussing this with Mercier and the number eight that moved up from nine since the previous semester whose name I, uh, missed out. He was a hybrid. Critic and nutritionist.
"You're a first-year, right?" He had three badges on his collar. Summer pool rippled in surprise when he registered people were responding to him over something he thought he'd said in private. "You haven't taken the buffet design course... I assume? How did you know all this?"
I was about to snort and make some remark about him maybe deserving the spot he had in the thirteen when someone else beat me to it. Was not expecting this to happen.
"He's a nerd. What do you expect?" Birchwood. "Average stupidity?"
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A/N: Ah, again I'm so sorry it's short. Because it is, I'll be swapping the update schedule so that the continuation of the official storyline will be up on the coming Thursday and instead have the short story up on Sunday! Next week will be a nice little short on a weekend at the beach with the Jaxon-Honeycutt family, set after their supposed lockdown, hehe. It will be up on Inkitt.
See you soon! :')
-Cuppie.