Chương 73: The Beef Wellington Gamble

Twenty-four hours of prep, for a five-course dinner serving two hundred people—every minute, every second was precious beyond measure. The production team had given both squads hotel-grade back kitchens: vast stainless-steel counters, rows of ovens and ranges, like two adjacent battlefields with only an invisible wall between them. Chris's team became exactly what he'd designed—a machine running at high efficiency. Marcus, in the dessert section, focused entirely on his chocolate mousse.

He folded melted dark chocolate, egg yolks, whipped cream, and meringue together with care, his movements gentle and absorbed. Without the enormous pressure of live service, he moved with ease in the field he knew best. Chris's arrangement let him pour all his energy into the perfection of flavor and texture. Jack worked the meat section, whole filets of beef tenderloin and Mediterranean sea bass laid out before him.

His knife work was as pleasing to watch as ever—trimming silverskin, portioning steaks, deboning and skinning the fish, every motion clean and decisive. He sank completely into his own world, pouring all his irritation and anger into the handling of the ingredients. For him it was both a release and a proof. Chris himself became the axle of the whole team.

He simmered Lobster Bisque in one huge stockpot, drawing a rich base from roasted lobster shells, vegetables, and aromatics; at the same time he was preparing the lemon butter sauce and the black pepper sauce. His station ran in perfect order, every ingredient sorted into little containers, every step calculated to the exact. Their kitchen was quiet, efficient, even a little oppressive. Each man was like a wound clock, executing his task with precision.

The other side, Ethan's kitchen, was an entirely different scene. Their menu was full of ambition and showmanship. Appetizer: foie gras mousse with fig jam and brioche. Soup: black truffle cream of mushroom. Fish course: sous-vide turbot with saffron risotto. Main course: Beef Wellington, no less. Dessert: soufflé—a brutal test of both skill and timing. This menu, in a Michelin restaurant with a full brigade, would absolutely be top-tier.

But here, executed by four contestants thrown together under enormous pressure, it was a flat-out gamble. Ethan, like a calm general, directed his troops. David handled the sous-vide fish and the risotto, Amelia the foie gras mousse for the appetizer and the pastry for the main, and Sarah was assigned to prep the soufflé and assist on the soup. In the gaps, Chris observed the other side without showing it. He spent his one remaining Data Eye use of the day to scan Ethan's kitchen quickly.

[Scan target: Ethan team kitchen workflow] [Flow design: A- (near-perfect, clear zoning, no cross-contamination risk)] [Personnel efficiency: David B+, Amelia B, Sarah B- (emotional impact, efficiency below optimal)] [Menu risk assessment:] [Foie gras mousse: risk B (fussy to make, reliant on handwork, time-consuming to plate)] [Sous-vide turbot: risk C+ (mature technique, hard to botch)] [Beef Wellington: risk A (extremely high! 200 portions of pastry-wrapped, oven-baked work, with steep demands on time, temperature, and manpower. Projected reject rate: 8%–12%. A single batch failure delays the main course and collapses the chain reaction.)] [Soufflé: risk A+ (extremely high! must be made à la minute, ordered and baked individually, with punishing demands on oven temperature and operator condition. Prone to collapse; will become a back-kitchen nightmare at the service peak.)] [Overall assessment: under ideal conditions this menu can reach A-grade completion, but under current manpower and pressure, the probability of collapse is as high as 45%.] Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. Chris closed the system interface, the picture clear in his mind. Ethan was gambling. Gambling that his team could be precise as a machine, that no link in the chain would fail.

He was chasing the ceiling—the kind of dazzle that would have every judge and guest on their feet. And Chris was chasing the floor. The kind of steadiness that, no matter what went wrong, would guarantee every single guest got a competent, delicious plate. Two utterly different kitchen philosophies, about to collide head-on at this dinner. Halfway through prep, on his way to the storeroom for spices, Chris ran into Sarah. There were no cameras in the corridor, no one else around.

Sarah looked tired, her smile forced.

"You okay?" Chris asked first.

"Mm, I'm all right." Her voice was low.

"It's just... it feels strange. Ethan, he... he's packed every step so tight, everyone's walking a tightrope, no room for a single mistake. I'm a little worried." Chris nodded and said nothing more. He understood her pressure. On her own team she'd been the core, the glue. On Ethan's team she was just an executor, a piece placed in dessert—not even her strongest field.

"His menu carries high risk." Sarah hesitated, then lowered her voice anyway.

"Especially the Wellington and the soufflé. Once service starts, they're going to have problems." That was nearly leaking the enemy's battle plan. Chris looked at her—this kind girl, in the enemy's camp, her heart still with her friend.

"Just take care of yourself," Chris said calmly.

"Don't overthink it. Do what he says. Protect your own station." It was the only advice he could give. He couldn't encourage her to do anything, couldn't accept any more of her information. This was a competition; they were rivals now. Sarah's eyes reddened. She nodded hard.

"You too. You guys... good luck." And with that she scooped up a box of cream and hurried off. Chris watched her go, a tangle of feelings in his chest. Ethan's "pull the firewood from under the pot" move hadn't just weakened his team—it had loaded Sarah with an enormous psychological burden. He pulled his gaze back and returned to his own kitchen. Jack and Marcus had finished most of the prep and were doing a final count.

"How is it? What's the situation over there?" Jack asked offhandedly.

"Their menu's ambitious." Chris answered simply, then clapped his hands.

"All right, gentlemen, our prep's nearly done too. Last check on all the half-finished components, count everything, then clean up. I want our stations so clean before service starts you could use them as a mirror."

"Yes, Chef!" Jack and Marcus answered together. After most of a day grinding together, this three-man team had developed a strange chemistry. They were like three soldiers guarding a lone island, leaning on one another, facing the coming storm together. Twenty-four hours later, prep was finished. Both squads had completed a staggering amount of work. The hotel's cold storage was crammed with their carefully prepared ingredients and components. The preparation for war was done.

All that was left was the signal to open fire. Chris stood at his station and drew a deep breath. He glanced at Ethan across the way, equally braced for battle. Ethan felt his gaze and looked over. Their eyes met in the air—no sparks, only a cold will to fight. This dinner was destined to send one of them tumbling from the summit.