Chương 137: A Phone Call from Chicago

During the tense run-up, an unexpected phone call brought Chris a thread of warmth. It was Sarah. Since Burning Kitchen ended, the two of them hadn't met again. Sarah had gone back to her hometown of Chicago and taken a job at a new-American restaurant, while Chris had come to New York. They'd caught the occasional update on each other through social media, but their busy lives had slowly drifted them apart.

"Hey, Chris — not interrupting anything?" Sarah's familiar, bright voice came down the line.

"Sarah? Of course not, I'm glad you called. How've you been?" Chris leaned against the window of his apartment, watching the traffic flow far below, his mood lightening considerably.

"I'm great! Our restaurant just took a Diners' Choice Award, and the chef was so pleased he gave me two days off." Excitement filled Sarah's voice.

"But that's not why I'm calling. I'm calling to congratulate you — Mister Future World Champion."

"How did you know?" Chris was a little surprised. The US Regional Selection had been run behind closed doors, and the results hadn't been made public.

"Please, how big do you think this world is? Marcella Duval hosting a contest herself — word got out ages ago." Sarah laughed.

"And I've got even better news. I'm going to Paris too!"

"Really? You got picked as well?" Chris was startled and delighted at once.

"Not quite, I'm not that good yet." Sarah laughed out loud.

"But the League runs a 'League Observer' program every year — they pick a few promising young chefs from around the world to watch and learn on-site. No competing, and you get to see the greatest masters on earth trade blows up close. I got lucky — the Chicago restaurant association recommended me." The news made Chris genuinely happy for her. He knew how much Sarah loved cooking; this chance was, without question, a dream come true for her.

"That's wonderful! We can meet in Paris."

"Right! And you'd better treat me to a feast while we're there — I hear the croissants in Paris are so good they make you cry." Sarah's tone eased, like it had been back when they were still competing. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. They talked their recent news for a while, and then Sarah suddenly dropped her voice, turning a little conspiratorial.

"Oh — Chris. Because I'm an observer, I got early access to some material on the other countries' teams. I've seen France's roster." At the mention of the French team, Chris's heart tightened at once.

"What are they like?"

"Strong. Absurdly strong." Sarah's tone turned grave too.

"They've got two people on the team who are both very traditional classical French chefs, fundamentals solid as monsters. But the scariest is their captain — that guy Raphaël Durand."

"I looked into his past work," Sarah went on.

"He's a very strange man. His cooking is built on the most rigorous classical French foundation, and yet he tears all of it apart and rebuilds it in a way that's near madness."

"Deconstruct and rebuild?" The words reminded Chris of his own Whisper of the Earth.

"Exactly. Here's an example — he has a signature dish called 'Rebirth of the Onion Soup.' He takes the traditional French onion soup completely apart. The sweetness of onion, the savor of beef broth, the fragrance of bread, the salt of cheese — he uses molecular technique to render them into four totally independent forms: an onion-flavored clear jelly, a beef-flavored foam, a crisp made of bread crouton, and a Gruyère-flavored ice cream.

The diner has to eat them in a specific order to reassemble the taste of onion soup in the mouth." Chris listened, rapt. This cooking philosophy went further than his own potato deconstruction, and more extreme. It was no longer just cooking; it was practically running a flavor experiment.

"His dishes get wildly polarized reactions," Sarah summed up.

"The people who love him call him a genius opening the future. The people who don't call him a desecrator of the classics — showmanship over deliciousness. But there's one thing everyone admits: he's never once lost in any important competition." The information gave Chris a more concrete, more thorough grasp of the A+ rival he had only met as system data. Raphaël Durand — a classical rebel, a precise madman.

"Anyway, you be careful of this man," Sarah warned.

"In a certain way, he's a lot like you — you're both exploring the boundaries of food in your own ways. But his road is far wilder than yours."

"I understand. Thank you, Sarah. This is so important to me." Chris thanked her from the heart.

"We're friends, aren't we?" Sarah laughed on the other end.

"I'll be watching you in Paris. This time I'm not your competitor, and I'm not your rival — I'm just your friend. So don't let me down."

"When have I ever let you down?" Chris laughed too, a warm current rising in his chest. He hung up and stood looking at the night view outside for a long time without a word. Sarah's call was like a shaft of light shining into his taut, siege-like preparation. He realized that on this lonely road toward the summit of the world, he was not entirely without companions.

He had stern mentors like Vincent and Philip; teammates like Ethan and Kira, half foe and half friend; and friends like Sarah, quietly cheering him on from afar. He was no longer the lonely programmer who'd just crossed over, knowing nothing of this world. He had built his own bonds within it. And those bonds would be his most solid strength when he reached Paris and faced the strong.