A few other chefs we know join our table, and the conversation turns to shop-talk over personal. And that’s fine with me. Food is my talent and my calling, my love language, and my livelihood. I enjoy the company of people who see the world the same way.
“Matt’s looking for pastry,” Jude tells the group, as if I hadn’t made sure to tell everyone I could find at this thing.
“Speaking of pastry, did you hear about what happened out in SLC at Glazed?” Jude asks me, our conversation falling back between the three of us. “They walked in one day, and one of the pastry chefs, some pretty, young guy with talent, had been stealing recipes. Trademarked techniques, too. Glazed had to fire him on the spot or be sued.”
“Not only that,” Cat interjects, “I heard he also had a non-compete clause from his former place covering Salt Lake.”
“Can they do that?” I ask. Jack takes care of anything that looks like legal issues, but what Cat is describing seems extreme. I try to imagine what I would do if I had a non-compete clause that said if I left, I couldn’t cook.
“I can guarantee you—every chef who heard about it was rereading their contracts. Who knows what someone might put in there if you aren’t careful? I’ve heard horror stories,” Jude says, squeezing Cat’s hand. Their place was a leap of faith, and one that paid off. I know before they came into their own, they both worked at places that weren’t so easy.
I wake up early the next morning, ready to meet with the competitors for the cooking championship. I am a guest judge, joined by a food critic named Sam, and Leigh, a woman with a top-spot cooking show, a line of cookbooks, and other merchandise.
Sam and Leigh are both very nice and professional and have done this before. The celebrity host, John St. Clair, is a news anchor on a popular morning news show.
John is easygoing, telling us what these three kids—Bryan, Madison, and Riley—have gone through to get to this level. Sam and Leigh have judged throughout the competition, but each week features a new third judge. Due to my popularity with the video, that’s me this time.
The fact that these talented young people care so vividly about the culinary arts and know who I am is . . . humbling. Not going to lie—it’s kinda a trip, this whole thing. I’m not a celebrity by any means, but being one of the Mann brothers has had its own share of recognition to deal with over the years. People knowing who I am because of my restaurant? That’s new.
The kids first make a dish from items in a box. They don’t know what ingredients until they open it. How they perform allows one of them to have an advantage in the next round.
The way it plays out makes me laugh, and John asks if it is too artificial for the real kitchen world. I recount the times I had to make up something on the fly because the supplier sent the wrong thing, the wrong quantity, or was out of an essential ingredient. “Sometimes, being a chef is making metaphorical lemonade with real-life lemons,” I tell him.
We sample the kids’ creations and award a winner.
Mostly, I walk around and observe the kids, offering comments and suggestions, as John told us to do. Cameras are everywhere, so I try to ignore them and just talk about the food. Telling the quiet Bryan that I too, am useless with pastry is worth filming. When we take a break, Bryan goes the confession booth and recounts how affirming that was.
When I was their age, I wasn’t trying to make a reduction sauce. I couldn’t have told you what a roux was. My knife skills were appalling. When I was their age, I was just trying to understand a world too big for me with only my grandmother by my side.
Madison looks at me with big blue eyes and whispers the pictures of Jack and Perrin’s wedding were “the most beautiful moment I have ever seen.” I tell her she isn’t wrong. It was a magical night, and I gush about the food prepared by Cat and Jude. I show her some pics from my phone that didn’t make the internet, cataloging a beautiful event full of love.
She tells me her older brother heard her mom and dad talking about how beautiful the wedding was, and that gave him the courage to come out to his family. Then we talk about the amount of garlic and butter she has in her dish. Later, the producer asks me for a release for some of the official pictures from the wedding to edit it into Madison’s story arc. I just give them Jack’s office number.
John St. Clair gives me a big thumbs-up and pats me on the back, telling me I’m doing well.
The second round is the true championship round. Here, the kids will make the same dish from the same ingredients. Again, we walk around and give observations and advice. When the day is over, I’m not afraid to say I am exhausted. Being “on” all day is its own kind of worn-out, and I have to record the video with the winner and my own demonstration the next day.
Still, when Cat and Jude invite me to a local place with rave reviews for dinner, I go. It has been a while since I have been to another chef’s place. John St. Clair joins us, and I have the most memorable night between colleagues in a while.
I miss this.
The next day goes better than I anticipated. Madison, our kids’ champion, asks a lot of questions, and her general effervescent personality allows for ease in front of the camera. I give my best at the demo, allowing myself to show more than food puns and a smile.
On the last day, Madison does her own demonstration and then presents her plate. I’m not judging or even tasting. I am just there to be part of the B-roll footage and support our winner.
The smile taking over Madison’s face is so proud, and shy, like she obtained a whole new level of happiness because someone enjoyed what she created.
My mind drifts. I have seen that expression before, plastered on Theo’s face at Summit House as people looked at the cake he brought for the party. His face as we sampled the practice cake at family dinner. In back of my head, I feel like I am missing something. Pieces of a puzzle trying to snap together.
Is it the way people hold their utensils, reminding me of Theo? Or do I just have Theo on the brain? The words from Jude about the cake. The story about Glazed. These things all tumble together in my head, trying to connect.
Glazed. Pretty. Young. Talented. . . Glazed. That’s in Salt Lake.
It was the farthest place from Salt Lake I could get on a bus with the money I had.
Stole recipes and fired on the spot. A non-compete that reached to Salt Lake.
Theo arrived around October, while Jack and Perrin were split. New pastry was in Maxine’s by March. Maxine’s secret baker. Secretwhy, though?
