‘Leanne will show you where your workbench and the changing rooms are, and then you can bring your ingredients in and start familiarising yourself with the equipment. After thatyou can get changed, and the heats will begin at eleven o’clock. Okay?’
‘Yes, that’s fine,’ Jay said. His legs trembled as he allowed himself to be led down the corridor.Treat this like a normal function, he told himself as he resisted the urge to ask where the nearest toilets were so he could be sick.
Leanne led him into a room containing eight large workstations, surrounded by cookers, fridges and equipment, with a long table and three stools at the front. His stomach churned again as he imagined the stools occupied by the three judges, watching the competitors’ every move as they cooked.Get a grip,he told himself as he remembered Emma’s words about being able to cook these dishes in his sleep. He certainly hoped she was right and that once the competition started his muscle memory would kick in. For the time being, he would concentrate on getting himself organised and try not to think about what lay ahead.
Jay managed to distract himself for the next half an hour and then changed into his chef’s whites, tying his traditional navy-and-white headscarf around his auburn curls to keep them in check and to stop him running his fingers anxiously through his hair. So far he’d managed to avoid talking to the other competitors. He was afraid that would make him even more nervous, so had merely nodded at them politely. But as they all gathered in the small lounge off the changing area, conversation was unavoidable. There were eight of them in total — six men and two women. Two of the men he judged to be in their early thirties. One of them, Ben, had worked briefly at La Emporium. He had short dark hair and a neatly clipped beard, and wore chef’s whites that looked brand new. Jay recalled that he’d been quite fastidious by nature, but lacked creative flair. He also remembered Ben as being cocksure, but that his skills weren’t as good as he gave himself credit for.
The other man of a similar age was in complete contrast to Ben. As he’d shaken Jay’s hand he’d said his name was Demetri. He looked scruffier than Ben, with long hair tied back in a ponytail. His whites were older and bore the marks of food stains that hadn’t quite come out in the wash. He wore his sleeves rolled up, and his arms and hands were heavily tattooed. The two younger men looked to be in their early twenties, both with traces of acne still on their skin. One, Andrew, was tall and thin with pale hair, freckles and a Scottish accent, the other more thickset man, was Dan, but they both seemed nervous and could barely look anyone in the eye. There was one Asian man who had shyly introduced himself as Rav. He had a few streaks of grey in his thick, dark hair, which was swept back from his forehead, and Jay guessed he was in his forties. He smiled a lot and Jay wondered if it was from nerves. Of the women, Lucy was perhaps in her mid-thirties. She was short and thin, with mousey blonde hair in a scruffy bun, while Sarah was in her fifties, tall with short silver hair in a neat crop.
‘Well, there’s no going back now,’ Andrew said. He jiggled his leg nervously from his position on the sofa
‘No,’ Sarah replied. ‘I did this because I thought I needed a challenge, but now I’m beginning to wonder what I’m putting myself through.’
Jay agreed readily. ‘Me too.’
‘Life is boring if you don’t challenge yourself,’ Ben said in his overly confident manner.
Jay remembered something his mum used to say to him before an exam. ‘Just do your best — you can’t do any better than that.’ He nodded to himself as he thought of her. Although they were still at a tentative stage it was good to have her back in his life. He hadn’t met up with his stepfather yet, but he knew that would have to come eventually. In the meantime, he was happyenough to head into the competition with his mother’s wise words in his ears.
Leanne appeared at the door and said, ‘If you’d all like to come through, the judges are ready for you.’
Jay felt his stomach lurch again as he stood up. They all muttered hesitant wishes of good luck before following Leanne into the kitchen.
Jay positioned himself behind his workbench at the back of the room. He was glad he wouldn’t be in full view of the judges as they were seated at the table, although he knew that they’d be going around the room and speaking to each competitor, so he wouldn’t be entirely out of their gaze.
He clasped his hands behind his back as they waited for the judges to enter, mainly to stop anyone else from seeing how much they were shaking. After a few minutes, three judges filed in and there was a collective gasp as everyone realised who they were. There were two men and one woman. The woman was Angela Markham, Chef Patron of a two-Michelin-starred, modern British restaurant in Surrey. She was a chef Jay had admired for many years and the thought of being in the same room as her, let alone being judged by her, terrified him.
The second judge was Philip Saunders. Now in his sixties, he was well known not only for the three restaurants he owned, but also for his commitment to sustainability and using local produce. But it was the third judge who made Jay’s stomach almost drop through the floor. Louis Garcia, his former head chef and the man who had bullied both him and Liz at La Emporium. The man who had lost his job because of what Jay had told Roberto. How had Louis managed to turn things around so that he was now a judge in this competition? And would he want to use this competition to exact his revenge?
Around him, he sensed movement. The competition had started and everyone was busy at their workstations, but hecouldn’t move. His eyes were firmly fixed on Louis, who was talking to Angela. But then Louis suddenly looked up and locked his eyes on Jay. Louis smirked and Jay felt as though he’d been punched in the stomach. Fury rose within him. What was it about people like Louis who, no matter what they did, always came up smelling of roses? And then he realised what he had to do. He couldn’t let the man get the better of him. He’d have to show him that he wouldn’t be cowed, just like last time. There were three judges in the competition, not one. He’d have to go all out to impress the other two and then whatever opinion Louis had would be outweighed. As he gathered his ingredients together in front of him, he wondered if he could really do it. Well, he’d just have to give it his best shot like his mother had taught him. Jay took a deep breath. First things first — he needed to make the broth for the sauce.
In an ideal situation he’d simmer the broth for several hours to get the depth of flavour he needed, but he only had two hours and within that time he also had to cook the pie, so he’d experimented using a pressure cooker to reduce the cooking time and was pleased with the results. He also placed a roasting tin containing bones with marrow in the oven. The bone marrow would add flavour and the all-important umami flavour to the gravy inside the pie. Once the stock was on, Jay started work on the shortcrust pastry. He had considered using flaky pastry to elevate the dish, but he wanted to make the pastry from scratch and that would put him under too much time pressure. He’d perfected his shortcrust so that it was buttery and crumbly, but also strong enough to hold the filling without anything leaking out.
Once the pastry was resting in the fridge, Jay started on the pie filling. Reaching for the onions, he spotted the judges heading towards him and tried not to let them see that his handshad started to shake again. He took a few surreptitious deep breaths to calm himself down.
‘Hi, Jay. How’s it going?’ Angela asked.
‘Good, thanks.’ Jay pinned a smile on his face in the hope that it would make him appear confident.
‘And what are you making for us today?’ Philip asked.
‘Well, I was born in Bethnal Green and, as this is a regional competition, I wanted to stick to my roots and the food I grew up with. Us East Enders love our pie and mash, so that’s what I’m making for you today.’
‘Pie and mash?’ Louis asked with his telltale smirk of disdain. ‘How on earth are you going to turn that into fine dining?’
Jay kept the smile on his face. ‘Traditionally, the pie was made from the cheapest cuts, minced beef usually, bulked out by whatever was available to the cook. But today I’m using the finest fillet of beef. Again, going back to tradition, oysters were commonly eaten in Victorian London, before the Thames was silted up with animal waste and they became more of a coastal food. But today I’m adding oysters to give the feeling of extra sumptuousness. You can see I’m making the broth in a pressure cooker, to give it the depth of flavour it needs in the short time it has, and I’m also going to add roasted bone marrow. Instead of a traditional pie dish I’ve sourced these springform moulds, so that the pie will stand alone and provide better presentation.’
Louis scoffed. ‘Let’s hope you can get the pies out of the moulds in one piece then, or you won’t have a dish.’
‘I’ve practised it many times and, as long as I grease the inside of the moulds sufficiently, there shouldn’t be a problem.’
‘And how are you going to present the mash?’ Philip asked.
‘Well, that’s where I’m cheating a bit. Instead of mash, I’m actually making pommes Anna as it’s easier to present on the plate.’
‘Lovely. And will we be expected to eat the eels?’ Angela asked, pointing to a bowl on his workbench and pulling a face.
‘I will be cooking them,’ Jay replied. ‘But I know they’re not to everyone’s taste so I’m just using them to flavour the liquor, so that it’s authentic.’
