We quickly fell into a rhythm. I toasted the chilies in a small pan over an open flame, careful not to burn them, while Ray observed the demonstration by another chef, mimicking the grip on the pestle and the circular motion used.
"These are seriously hot," I warned, transferring the toasted chilies to a small bowl to cool slightly.
"That's why I volunteered for the grinding part," Ray grinned. "Your delicate programmer's hands wouldn't survive this."
Ray began grinding the chilies with powerful, rhythmic strokes of the pestle. Chef Malida immediately shook her head and corrected his technique.
"No, no. Not with arm strength. Wrist movement, body weight," she demonstrated again, showing how the entire body participated in the grinding action. "Find rhythm like heartbeat—steady, never stopping."
Ray adjusted his stance and grip, focusing intently on matching her movements exactly. The motion was deceptively complex—not a simple pounding but a combination of grinding and pressing that required the whole body to work in harmony.
At the next station, Blaine was attempting the grinding while Gemini read instructions aloud from the recipe card.
"Step one, toast chilies for exactly two minutes," Gemini recited. "Step two, add garlic and salt. Blaine, honey, you need to press harder."
"I am pressing hard!" Blaine huffed, her perfectly styled hair beginning to wilt in the humidity. "This thing weighs more than my laptop bag!"
Our first batch was taking shape as Ray found his rhythm, the ingredients slowly transforming from distinct pieces into a cohesive paste. The spicy aroma intensified, making us both cough occasionally.
"Next ingredient?" Ray asked, not breaking his tempo.
"Garlic and salt," I replied, quickly peeling cloves and adding them to the mortar along with a pinch of coarse salt.
As Ray continued grinding, I noticed his movements becoming more fluid, less deliberate. His body was learning the rhythm, the way his muscles needed to move to achieve the right consistency.
When our first batch was complete, Khun Yai Pranee inspected it critically, comparing it to the sample paste. She dipped her finger into our creation, tasted it, and immediately shook her head.
"Too coarse. Chilies not ground fine enough first. Start again," Chef Malida translated.
Ray's face fell. "But I thought?—"
"Muscle memory takes repetition," I reminded him. "Let's analyze what went wrong and adjust."
Meanwhile, Gemini's Southern charm was in full effect as their judge rejected their first attempt. "Now, darlin', I know we can do better than that," she drawled to the unimpressed Thai grandmother. "Back home in Alabama, I can organize a three-hundred-person gala, surely I can manage a little cooking."
"This isn't about organization, Gem," Blaine said, wiping sweat from her forehead. "My arms are killing me. How do these little old ladies do this every day?"
For our second attempt, Ray adjusted his grinding technique, applying more pressure during the initial phase with the chilies and creating a finer base before adding other ingredients. I stayed focused on the preparation, measuring and adding each element at precisely the right moment.
"It's all about finding the perfect balance," I said as I watched Ray work. "Between technique and feel, between following instructions and developing instinct."
Ray nodded, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Like relationships."
The observation surprised me. "How so?"
"Well, there's the formula—the things everyone tells you make a good relationship—communication, honesty, compromise. But then there's the rhythm you develop together, the unspoken patterns that just work for your specific partnership." His hands never stopped their steady motion as he spoke.
Our second batch came closer to the standard, but Khun Yai Pranee still identified subtle differences in texture. She demonstrated again, her gnarled hands moving the pestle with practiced ease despite her age.
"Ray, try leaning into it more," I suggested. "She's using gravity to add pressure, not just muscle."
For our third attempt, Ray incorporated this insight, allowing his body to work in concert with the tool rather than fighting against it. The transformation was remarkable—the ingredients yielded more readily, breaking down into a smoother, more consistent paste.
By now, Gemini and Blaine were on their fourth attempt, their earlier confidence completely evaporated. Blaine's armswere shaking with fatigue, and Gemini was frantically consulting the recipe as if it held some secret they'd missed.
"Y'all, this is impossible," Gemini complained to their judge. "We're following every single step exactly like it says!"
"Recipe is map, but hands must know path," their Thai grandmother replied through the translator. "Cannot think paste into existence. Body must learn."
