The intensity ratchets up. Mebel’s mind is silent. She moves around like an automaton, squirting sauce in a circular pattern on the plates. When every plate is painted with her homemade sauce, she places two crepe rolls in an X, then carefully puts some garnish on top of it. She’s chosen to go with a sprig of scallions and red chilies, both of which she has sliced into thin hairlike strands and steeped in ice water to make them curl up.
“Time’s up!” Chef Clarke says just as Mebel finishes putting the garnish on the last dish.
The tension in the room breaks, and everyone cheers. People hug one another. Mebel smiles and claps along, feeling slightly lonely, but then Adam and Bella come over and they both embrace her.
“Oh, I am so proud of you kids,” Mebel says.
“We’ve been jerks,” Bella says, squeezing Mebel.
“Yes,” Mebel agrees, “but is okay. Is very stressful situation.”
“Yeah, thank god we made it,” Adam says.
“Technically, we haven’t yet made it,” Bruce says, walking toward them. “The guests still have to taste the dishes.”
“Oh, Bruce, stop being such grouch,” Mebel says.
Bruce smiles and wraps an arm around Mebel. “You’re a pain in the ass, Mebs,” he says.
“But you love me.”
“I do.”
They all serve one dish to Chef Clarke and Alain, then the servers come into the kitchen to pick up their dishes to deliver to the dinner guests. Mebel watches her Peking duck rolls being loaded up onto trays. It’s like watching her child go off to college, she thinks. She utters a small prayer that the dish goes over well and that the guests love it as much as she and Gemma do.
“That was delicious,” a soft, low voice says from behind Mebel.
She turns to see Alain there, gazing down at her affectionately. The old anger, which has so far been mollified by the hustle and bustle of the day, ignites again. She could imagine herself reaching up and slapping him across the face, a smack so hard that it would leave her own palm smarting. Somehow, Mebel manages to stop herself from doing so. Somehow, she even manages to wrestle her face into a smile. “Thank you.”
“The layer of crunchy duck skin crumbles was inspired,” Alain says. “The perfect topping for the dish. And the spices you used to age the duck meat, that was a flawless blend. I love how you’ve poured so much of your own culture into the dish. Well done, Mebel.”
Mebel bites her tongue. She is this close to blurting out that the entire idea had come from Gemma and not her. When Alain leans down to give her a kiss on the cheek, she holds her breath to keep from smelling his cologne. She catches sight of the other students looking on with sour expressions, no doubt wondering if her relationship with Alain is going to bias him toward her. If Alain notices the other students’ discomfort, he does not seem to care, lingering near Mebel for another minute before sauntering away.
What a prick, Mebel thinks. He doesn’t care about how this would affect me. He is too high up, beyond the realm of reproach, and nothing he does here will affect him.
She comforts herself with the knowledge that she is about to show Alain that he is, in fact, fallible. Well, that is, if her plan works. If it doesn’t, then…well, who knows? Then she will probably be expelled from the culinary school and be blacklisted from every restaurant, just as Gemma was, and she will have no choice but to return to Jakarta with her tail between her legs. Wouldn’t that just be so typical Mebel?
For the next hour or so, as the dinner goes on, the students chat among themselves and nibble one another’s leftovers. Everyone who manages to get a bite of Mebel’s duck with crumbled skin tells her how delicious it is. Mebel goes around tasting the other dishes. She’s probably biased, but she thinks Adam and Bella’s dish is the best of the bunch, the meat cooked to a tender medium rare and well flavored. She is pleased to see that Kate and Matt’s fish dish hasn’t quite worked out as planned. The orange peel is overpowering, its fragrance an annoying distraction instead of a good accompaniment to the fish. She alsocatches Kate looking guiltily at her, which fills Mebel with a smug satisfaction. Still, she doesn’t do anything about it. She was young before and filled with ambition. She doesn’t fault them for doing what they did. Much.
“All right, folks,” Chef Clarke calls out finally. “Let’s all go out. The guests have cast their votes and we have a winner.”
The Pemberton College banquet is a black-tie affair, and everyone has arrived dressed to the nines. For Mebel, it is an entirely new experience, because for once, instead of wearing a slinky, fancy, crystal-studded dress, she is wearing an understated chef’s uniform. She files out of the kitchen alongside the other students, and they line up at the head of the dining hall. Conversations die out, and an expectant silence falls over the room. Every pair of eyes is now on them.
Alain strides out, waving at everyone as he does so, obviously used to the spotlight. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” he says. “I trust you have all enjoyed the meal tonight?”
There are enthusiastic applause and cheers.
“Some of you have had the pleasure of eating a seven-course meal prepared especially for you tonight. And here are the student chefs responsible.” Alain sweeps his arm wide open, gesturing at Mebel and her cohorts.
More applause, along with a few whistles.
“They have done well, eh?” Alain says. “It’s hard to believe that they are first-year students. I have tasted their dishes and found them to be excellent. Now, you have been asked to vote for your favorite dish of the night, and I believe we have a clear winner.”
Mebel is barely breathing. Next to her, the other students are equally as tense. None of them even blinks as they watchAlain remove a piece of folded paper from his suit pocket. In the few seconds it takes for him to unfold the paper and raise the mic to his lips, Mebel sees the last few months zipping by before her. Henk dropping a bombshell on her. Her moving in a huff halfway around the world. Her getting to know everyone here. Her tumbling in bed with Alain. She feels as though she is floating outside of her own body, looking down and watching herself standing there, with hands behind her back.
“Mebel Tanadi for her Peking duck confit dish!”
All at once, noise rushes back in. Mebel blinks. Bella is hugging her and shouting something. Chef Clarke is leaning over and shaking her hand. Alain is walking toward her. Now he is kissing her cheek, his lips moist. She reaches up and wipes the sensation off her cheek. She blinks again, and she thinks:My god. What now?
