Chương 83: The Pea Purée Was Half a Step Short

Vane's footsteps sounded especially harsh in the silent kitchen. He walked up to the five stations and ran his eyes over each plate like a blade.

"Day one of Hell Week. Recreate my signature dish." Vane spoke, not loudly, but with no shortage of pressure.

"There's no flashy technique in this dish—only the most basic heat control and seasoning. Whoever's fundamentals aren't solid, this plate will show him for what he is." He went to Ethan first. Ethan stood ramrod straight, hands clasped behind his back, no expression on his face. His plate was clean and crisp, the plating almost identical to Vane's original. Vane picked up a knife and fork and cut into one scallop. The instant the blade went down, there was no resistance at all.

The cross-section of the scallop showed itself. A thin, even ring of golden crust on the outside, crystal-clear and translucent within, juices seeping slowly along the cut. Vane speared that half scallop, dabbed it through a little pea purée and mint oil, and put it in his mouth. He chewed slowly.

"Ethan." Vane set down the knife and fork and looked at him.

"Chef," Ethan answered.

"Textbook perfect." Vane nodded.

"The heat on the scallop is exact to the second. The pea purée is smooth as velvet. The mint oil lifts the whole dish with its freshness. This is the correct answer." Ethan bowed his head slightly.

"Thank you, Chef." Listening beside them, Chris was secretly impressed. Under that kind of pressure, Ethan could still take every detail to the limit. His temperature-probe tactic was rigid, but it worked. Vane moved on to Sarah. Sarah looked a little nervous, her two hands wrung tight together. Vane cut into her scallop. The cross-section looked a touch whiter than Ethan's, the translucent zone smaller. He took a bite.

"Sarah, your scallop is overcooked by about ten seconds," Vane said bluntly.

"The flesh is starting to tighten up. But it's still within an acceptable range. Your pea purée is excellent—plenty of sweetness."

"Thank you, Chef." Sarah let out a breath. Then it was Chris. Vane stood in front of Chris's station, staring at the plate for a moment.

"Chris, you ran into trouble searing your scallops, didn't you?" Vane asked suddenly. Chris went still for a second, then answered honestly.

"Yes, Chef. This batch of scallops had a higher water content than I expected. The pan temperature dropped fast." This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

"So how did you handle it?"

"I scrapped my original plan of counting seconds and switched to judging by sound and color, adjusting the temperature and timing on the way in." Vane said nothing and cut into Chris's scallop. The cross-section was beautiful. Like Ethan's—a perfect caramel crust, a translucent center. Vane took a bite. He chewed a little longer than before. Chris's heart climbed into his throat.

"The scallop is flawless," Vane said at last.

"Your ability to adjust the heat on the fly saved you. It means you're starting to use your head, and starting to cook with your senses, instead of just reciting a recipe." Chris was about to thank him when Vane's tone shifted.

"But." Vane frowned and nudged the pea purée with his fork.

"Your pea purée is too grainy. You rushed it through the sieve, didn't you? The soul of this dish is the contrast between the resistance of the scallop and the silk of the purée. Your purée is half a step short."

"Yes, Chef. I ran out of time. I handled it too roughly." Chris didn't reach for an excuse. Vane gave him a look, said nothing more, and went to Jack. Jack's scallops were cooked to the right doneness, but in chasing a plating effect he'd poured too much mint oil onto the plate.

"Jack, are you making scallop soup?" Vane criticized without mercy.

"The mint oil completely buries the natural sweetness of the scallop. You've wrecked the balance of this dish." Jack clenched his jaw and said nothing. Last, Vane came to Marcus. Marcus's plate was, frankly, a disaster. The scallops were charred black on one side, ghost-white on the other. The pea purée was thin as water, pooled across the plate. Vane didn't even pick up his knife and fork. He just looked down once, then raised his head to look at Marcus.

"Marcus, tell me—what is this?" Marcus's voice was shaking.

"Chef, I… I hesitated on the flip, and I lost control of the pan temperature."

"You didn't just lose control of the pan temperature—you couldn't even control your own hands." Vane's voice turned hard.

"This is the national top five! One little hesitation, and you're gone. This plate is a failure." Marcus lowered his head, his eyes rimming red. Vane walked back to the judges' table and looked at the five of them.

"The result is obvious," Vane said.

"Ethan, you were the best today. Chris, Sarah, you're safe. Jack, your seasoning is a big problem, but you got lucky today, because someone did worse than you." Vane looked at Marcus.

"Marcus, take off your apron. Leave the knife. You're eliminated." No room for discussion, no extra words. This was the speed of Hell Week. Marcus drew a deep breath, and the tears finally fell. He untied the white apron, folded it carefully, and set it on the station. He walked to the front and gave Vane a hug.

"Thank you, Chef. I learned a lot." Then he turned and walked toward the remaining four. He hugged Sarah first, then came to Chris.

"Chris." Marcus looked at him and forced out a smile.

"That chocolate mousse cup you helped me fix—that's the work I'm proudest of in this whole competition. Thank you." Chris clapped him on the shoulder, a tangle of feelings in his chest.

"You did great, Marcus. When you get out of here, keep making desserts." Marcus nodded, turned, and walked out the studio's big doors. Chris watched his back disappear behind them. This was the third time he'd seen a teammate off. Every time, it reminded him how cruel this competition was. The round over, the contestants returned to the green room. Chris found a corner and sat down, and opened the system panel. [Challenge complete: Recreate the Classic.] [Heat Control experience increased. Current level: B (74/100).] [Passive skill: Chef's Intuition proficiency +1.] [Culinary Rating: B+ (82/100).] Heat Control had gone up two points. It was progress he'd made entirely off the system's simulation, judging only by his senses. That felt more solid to him than any number the system handed over. He knew his French fundamentals really weren't as solid as Ethan's. That grainy pea purée was the proof. If he ran into a dish in the finale that was purely a test of fundamentals, he might well lose.

Only four left now. Ethan, Sarah, Jack, and himself. Tomorrow's second elimination round—who would go?