Chương 127: Thirty Minutes at Breakneck Speed

On day two of the Selection, the kitchen was even tenser than the first. After the first day's contest, the eight competitors had a preliminary read on each other's strength. Chris and Ethan's tie for first made everyone realize that these two out of TV talent shows were no ordinary players. And Kira's stunning knife work had made her a presence that couldn't be ignored. Today's assessment was "Extreme Creativity" — the round that most tested a chef's all-around ability, and the easiest one to crash and burn in.

"Everyone." Marcella stood at the center of the kitchen, her expression grave.

"Today's rules are more brutal than you imagine." She pointed to the silver metal box on each station.

"This is your mystery box for today. Once you open it, you must use every ingredient inside to complete a dish — in thirty minutes." Thirty minutes! The instant the time was out of her mouth, a chorus of sharp indrawn breaths went through the kitchen. On Burning Kitchen, even the shortest creativity round had been an hour. Thirty minutes — after subtracting time to conceive, prep, and plate — might leave only a dozen-odd minutes for actual cooking. It was nearly an impossible task.

"Yes, you heard correctly. Thirty minutes." Marcella seemed to read their minds.

"On the field of the Global Culinary Champion League, you will face challenges harsher than this. What we need is not an artist who slowly carves a work of art, but a warrior who, under any extreme condition, can make the right call and execute it flawlessly, fast."

"Now, prepare for the countdown." Everyone stood at their stations, hands on the mystery boxes, hearts pounding like drums.

"Three, two, one — begin!" Chris flung the lid open. Five ingredients lay quietly on a black velvet pad. A palm-sized, deep-red venison loin. A wrinkle-skinned passion fruit. A small jar of Japanese red miso. A small pinch of fresh mint leaves. And a small handful of black sesame. Venison, passion fruit, miso, mint, black sesame… The five had nothing to do with one another. Venison's wildness, passion fruit's tropical sweet-sour, miso's salt-umami, mint's cool, black sesame's oily fragrance…

they came from different flavor systems, with almost nothing in common. To fuse them into one harmonious dish in thirty minutes was extraordinarily hard. Stolen novel; please report. While the other competitors were still frowning in thought, Chris's Flavor Atlas had already begun a furious computation in his mind. Countless flavor connections flickered, combined, and snapped between the five ingredient nodes. [Path one: venison (lead) + miso (salt-umami) + black sesame (oil) = traditional Japanese-grill flavor. Fail! Passion fruit and mint cannot be integrated.] [Path two: venison (lead) + passion fruit (sweet-sour) + mint (fresh) = South American-style grilled meat. Fail! Adding miso would break the overall balance.] One seemingly workable path after another, swiftly rejected by the system. Time slipped away, second by second. Just as Chris was about to sweat with urgency, a brand-new, extremely faint connection lit up in the Atlas. This line didn't set venison as the absolute lead.

It built a progressive chain of flavor logic. [Miso's glutamate umami can serve as a bridge to the wild, ferrous note of the venison itself.] [Passion fruit's tropical fruit-acid can act like a sharp knife, cutting through the heaviness the venison and miso bring, making the palate fresh again.] [Mint's cool can further reinforce that freshness.] [Finally, the oily aroma of toasted black sesame serves as the close, wrapping all the flavors together into a long finish.] Wildness → umami → acidity → freshness → oily fragrance. The flavor line was clear in its logic, each link into the next. That was it. A complete plan formed in Chris's mind in an instant: quick-cure the venison in miso, sear it fast at extreme heat to lock the juices and hold the interior at medium-rare. Then make a fresh sweet-sour sauce from the passion fruit and mint. Last, toast the black sesame and crush it into a crisp, for texture and aroma. The whole conception took less than a minute. He moved at once.

He loosened the miso with a little water and brushed it evenly over the venison's surface. Then he heated a pan until it was scorching, nearly smoking. Sssss— The venison hit the pan, and a caramelized scent — meat and bean fragrance blended — burst out in an instant. He didn't use tongs. He used his bare hand, feeling the venison's temperature and its spring. It was the instinct he'd honed at Le Château's sauté station. Each side, only thirty seconds.

Meanwhile, his other hand was working the passion fruit at speed. He scooped out the flesh, strained off the seeds, added chopped mint and a touch of sugar, and reduced it fast over low heat into a simple sauce. Thirty minutes slipped through his fingers like quicksand. The whole kitchen sank into a frenzied, near-suffocating rhythm. Everyone was racing the clock. Chris's movements were fast but never chaotic.

His brain, like a precision computer, broke the whole cooking process into countless independent modules and ran them in parallel in the most efficient way. He glanced at Kira beside him. The woman's actions shocked him again. She… hadn't even turned on a burner. The stove at her station was cold. She simply held that long sashimi knife and cut the venison into slices thin as cicada wings, almost transparent.

Then, with miso and what looked like a kombu-based stock, she mixed a clear marinade and steeped the venison slices in it. She was making… venison sashimi? Chris's chest sank. The idea was too bold. Raw venison demanded the utmost of an ingredient's freshness and a chef's handling. The slightest slip risked parasites and an unbearable gaminess. But if she pulled it off, her creativity would be unrivaled in the whole room. Chris didn't dare think further. He had to focus on his own dish.

The venison was seared; he set it aside to "rest," letting the juices redistribute evenly through the interior. The sauce was done. The black sesame, in the oven, had given off a seductive aroma. The final plating. He cut the rested venison into thick slices and arranged them at the center of the plate. Spooned over the passion-fruit mint sauce, then scattered the toasted black sesame. Done! He glanced at the timer on the wall. Thirty seconds left.

"Time!" Marcella's voice rang out. Chris let out a long breath, feeling his back soaked through. These thirty minutes had been more heart-stopping than any competition he'd ever been through.