Chương 129: The Kitchen from Hell, Chris's Team Strategy

On the final day of the Selection, the air in the kitchen hung so heavy it might have dripped. Everything came down to this. The eight candidates had changed into fresh whites, resolve written across every face. Two days of eliminations had narrowed the gaps between them to almost nothing. A single small mistake now could undo everything. Marcella stood at the center of the kitchen and laid out the rules for the last day.

"Today's test is a pressure service. You will be split at random into two brigades, Team A and Team B, four to a team. You will serve a three-course dinner — appetizer, main, dessert — to twenty-five real guests." She paused, and her gaze sharpened.

"These twenty-five guests are not ordinary diners. They are New York's top food critics, restaurant owners, and senior chefs. Every detail you produce will be exposed to the most professional scrutiny there is."

"Our scoring will not be based on the quality of the dishes alone. It will include your ticket-service efficiency, your teamwork, and the leadership you show inside the chaos. Remember — a great chef never fights alone." The rules laid out, they moved to the team draw. Every heart climbed into every throat. In a team contest like this, who you drew mattered enormously. A good team could lift you together; a bad one could drag everyone under.

Chris looked at the draw box and prayed silently: anything but being paired with the obviously weaker players. The results came fast. Team A: Ethan Cole, plus three others — from Chicago, Miami, and Seattle. Team B: Chris White, Kira Watanabe, and two candidates with relatively ordinary résumés. A low murmur ran through the kitchen at the pairing. Team A's lineup was, frankly, luxurious.

Ethan's technique, the Chicago cook's molecular work, the Miami cook's bold warm flavors, the Seattle cook's seafood handling — it covered nearly every base. On paper, formidable. Team B was more delicate a proposition. Chris and Kira were the current top two, yes, but their styles — one chasing stability, the other chasing the strange — were a huge unknown when it came to compatibility. Worse, the other two teammates were the weakest of the eight. It was, near enough, the group of death.

Kira's brow knit tight when she saw the draw. She glanced at the two visibly nervous teammates, then at Chris, a question in her eyes.

"You have one hour to design a menu and set your division of labor," Marcella announced.

"In one hour, the guests begin arriving. Good luck." If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. The four of Team B pulled together at once. The mood was awkward. The two background candidates looked at a loss, clearly ready to defer to Chris and Kira.

"I'll… take dessert," Kira said first, her voice low but clear.

"My restaurant is small — the back of house runs on three people, day to day. I don't have much experience with large-scale team service. Dessert can be prepped ahead. It won't add to anyone's load at the peak of service." She had chosen, of her own accord, the station with the least pressure. It surprised Chris, and it warmed him toward her. Her creativity might run wild, but she saw her own weaknesses with a clear eye.

"Good." Chris nodded, then looked to the other two.

"You two — what are you good at?"

"I… my knife work's decent. I can do prep," said one, tall and thin.

"I… I'm more comfortable on cold dishes," answered the other, short. Chris was already running the numbers. The configuration of this team had serious problems. Kira wasn't strong at team service; the other two had limited execution. Which meant that once dinner service began, nearly the entire load of the hot line would fall on him alone. He couldn't design the kind of gorgeous, complex menu Team A could, where every member carried a station.

He had to build something that played to strengths, hid weaknesses — a plan with a clear flow and a high tolerance for error. He thought back to the charity gala on Burning Kitchen, where he'd designed an industrialized workflow and led a three-man squad to beat Ethan's four. Today he needed to call up that scheduling brain again.

"I have a plan." Chris spoke, and drew every eye.

"Our menu has to chase absolute stability, not flash."

"Kira — the appetizer is yours. Use your creativity to design something stunning enough, cold-focused, to seize the guests' first impression. But the process has to be breakable into steps, so our cold cook can handle the final assembly on his own." Kira's eyes lit. She caught his meaning at once. It gave her room to create while keeping her out of the chaos at the peak of service.

"The main is mine," Chris went on.

"We'll do one of the most classic dishes — and one of the most demanding of skill: pan-seared duck breast with orange sauce and potato purée. Every element can be prepped ahead by the prep cook; I'll control all the sauce myself. Once service starts, I only have to focus on one thing — searing the duck — and hold every portion at a perfect cook."

"Dessert is yours too, Kira. Same requirement: simplify the process, make it easy to prep in advance."

"Here's the split. Kira: creative design on the appetizer and dessert, and you guide the cold cook through the appetizer's final pickup. Prep cook: all cutting and prep. Cold cook: appetizer assembly. And I take the main, the final seasoning on every sauce, and command of the whole ticket flow." Chris's plan was orderly, its logic airtight. He hadn't grabbed for the title of leader — but the plan he'd built had, in fact, made him the core of the whole team.

His strategy was simple: let every person do only the one thing they're best at and least likely to botch. Kira looked at Chris, and for the first time surprise and respect showed in her eyes. She'd taken him for a cook with solid fundamentals, nothing more. She hadn't expected his grasp of kitchen operations and team management to run this deep.

"No problem here," she answered, crisp. The other two nodded, visibly unburdened. The division of labor set them at ease.

"Good." Chris clapped once.

"Then let's start on the details right now. Remember — our goal isn't three perfect works of art. It's to serve twenty-five guests a pleasant dinner, inside two hours, with zero mistakes." Under Chris's direction, Team B began to turn like a precision machine. At the other end of the kitchen, the mood on Team A was subtler. Ethan, on the strength of his prestige, had become the leader as a matter of course.

He'd designed an extravagant menu: a molecular appetizer, Beef Wellington for the main, a three-layer chocolate mousse for dessert. That menu was extremely difficult, technically — it demanded that all four members possess formidable individual ability. A duel over team philosophy had, without a word being spoken, already begun.