Chương 120: The Verdict, and Vincent's Ruling

In the dining room, the twelve judges looked at the Whisper of the Earth before them, wonder and puzzlement on their faces. They were all seasoned gourmets who had eaten countless top-tier dishes. But a dish this complex, this full of design, built from the single cheapest ingredient — the potato — none of them had seen before. Seated at the head of the table was the chief critic of New York's most influential food outlet, The New York Table — an acid-tongued old man named Julian Vance.

He was famous for his venom and his exacting eye; countless restaurants had died beneath his pen. He adjusted his glasses, picked up his cutlery, and — rather than starting from the refined elements, as the others did — went straight for the least conspicuous thing at the center of the plate: the roasted potato slice. He put it in his mouth. In that instant, on Julian Vance's eternally unchanging iceberg of a face, an extremely faint softening appeared. His chewing slowed. He seemed… to freeze.

The judges around him noticed the strangeness and, one after another, followed his lead, tasting the roasted slice first. Then the strange scene unfolded. These critics, so used to murmuring to one another as they tasted, analyzing flavor, judging technique — after eating that slice of roasted potato, all of them, as one, went quiet. The whole room sank into an uncanny silence. They seemed to forget they were scoring, forget the duty of judgment they carried.

They were simply, purely, tasting a most primal, most unadorned flavor. That warm, plain sweetness from the earth, carrying the scent of sun and soil. It was a long while before Julian Vance seemed to wake from some drawn-out memory. He exhaled, long and slow. He didn't speak. He began tasting the other elements on the plate. The silky mousse, the crisp shard, the sweet-sour caramel sphere, the fresh gel, the smoke-scented foam… each taste struck him with a wholly new revelation about the potato.

When he had tasted every element, he set down his cutlery. He looked at the little bit of mousse left on the plate, then at the name of the dish on the menu — Whisper of the Earth. At last he understood. This dish wasn't flaunting technique. It used the most complex technique to lead the diner, in the end, back to the simplest truth. That roasted slice wasn't a misstep — it was the soul of the whole symphony, the finishing stroke. This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road.

If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. It gave the dish "a power that makes people go quiet." In the kitchen, Chris and Daniel stood side by side, awaiting the final ruling. The runners collected the tablets the judges had scored on, one by one, and handed them to Vincent. Vincent didn't look right away. He had everyone in the kitchen stop their work and gather together.

"First, Daniel's French Blue Lobster." Vincent's voice rose in the quiet kitchen. He glanced at the tablet and read out the score.

"Average score: 8. 7." It was a very, very high score. On Le Château's Secret-Menu Night, any dish that broke 8. 5 was fit to go into the record books. A victorious smile crossed Daniel's face. He felt sure he'd won. A potato, however you made it, could not possibly beat 8. 7. The others in the kitchen sent Daniel looks of congratulation and admiration. Then Vincent turned to Chris. He picked up the other tablet, the screen's light on his face, his expression unreadable. The air in the kitchen seemed to freeze.

Chris felt his heart was about to leap out of his chest. Vincent looked at the screen and was silent for a full dozen seconds. Then he raised his head and, slowly, announced a number.

"Chris's Whisper of the Earth. Average score… 9. 2." The whole kitchen went instantly still. Everyone thought they'd misheard. 9. 2? How was that possible? The smile froze on Daniel's face. Unable to believe his ears, he cried out, "Impossible! How could a potato dish get 9. 2?!" Vincent shot him a cold glance.

"Three of the judges gave it a perfect 10," he added.

"Including Mr. Julian Vance." The line landed like a heavy bomb and blew everyone's mind blank. Julian Vance, famous for his venom, had given a perfect score? Vincent turned the tablet toward the room, the judges' comments on the screen.

"That last roasted potato slice made me forget I was scoring. It reminded me of my grandmother's kitchen." — Julian Vance.

"This isn't a dish. It's a poem about the land."

"Full of ambition, but fuller of humility. Dish of the year." Reading the nearly deranged praise, Daniel was struck utterly speechless. His face went white, his body trembling slightly. He'd lost — lost without a shred of dignity. His prized blue lobster had gone down in ruin before the potato he'd once looked down on. Vincent turned off the tablet.

"By the rules," he announced, "Chris White's Whisper of the Earth will join Le Château's trial menu next season."

"Beautifully done, Chris!" Nathan was the first to react. He stepped up and clapped Chris hard on the shoulder, his tone full of undisguised admiration. Applause and cheers burst out across the kitchen. Chris stood in the middle of the crowd, feeling like he was dreaming. He'd won. He'd not only beaten Daniel — more importantly, he'd conquered New York's most exacting judges, in his own way. The system panel flashed wildly in his head. [Grade A event "Le Château Secret-Menu Night" complete.] [Overall evaluation: A+.] ["Global Culinary Champion League" qualification Condition Two — achieved!] Late that night, after everyone had left, Chris stayed alone in the kitchen, wiping down his burner. After the joy of victory, he felt a calm he'd never known. Vincent came out of his office; he hadn't left either. He walked over beside Chris and looked at the burner polished to a shine.

"Congratulations," he said.

"Thank you, Chef. Thank you for giving me this chance," Chris said sincerely. Vincent shook his head.

"The chance wasn't mine to give. You won it yourself. With one dish, you told everyone what a real chef ought to be." He looked at Chris, a thread of approval in his eyes.

"Next week, someone is coming to see you," Vincent said suddenly.

"To see me? Who?" Chris blinked. Vincent didn't answer directly, only left a mysterious smile.

"You'll know soon enough."

"You should be ready."