“Yes,” said Lindsay.
Pedro laughed and slapped his knee. “I read that review. My cousin is a line cook there.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
She meant she was sorry if she’d offended Pedro or his cousin, but Pedro seemed to take it as she was sorry his cousin had to work there. He laughed harder. “The head chef there is a hack. Hardly knows the difference between a jalapeño and a bell pepper. Julio is only working there until he can find a better job. I’m not surprised the food is bland.”
Well, that explained some things. “The restaurant seems to be doing okay. My friend manages the café across the street, and every time I go by, there are plenty of diners.”
Pedro shrugged. “I give it six months.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. It’s owned by some boy-band singer, right? So it’ll get some traffic just from his fans or people who want to see what a celebrity restaurant is like. And you’ll get the crowd who read your review and want to see if you were exaggerating. But it’s in Brooklyn, so you won’t get much of a tourist crowd because the folk who come to New York to see a Broadway show or the Statue of Liberty don’t generally go to Brooklyn, and soon enough, there will be some new novelty restaurant everyone is going to. So, yeah, six months. Tops.”
“Where is the restaurant?” asked Amanda.
“Whitman Street,” said Lindsay. “About halfway between the Barclays Center and the river.”
“Ooh, yeah. That’s a tough area for a tourist trap. Chef Sakai used to have a sushi place there and struggled to keep it open.”
Lindsay didn’t know who Chef Sakai was, but she assumed he was another Food Channel personality. There seemed to be about thirty of them, and they were all contractually obligated to act like they were great friends with each other. The affection between Amanda and Priya seemed genuine, and everyone seemed to like Pedro, so maybe the camaraderie was authentic.
Lindsay would judge the first and third episode filmed that day. The first panel called was Lindsay, Amanda, and Priya. An all-female panel sounded fun. They were escorted to the judge’s table. Lindsay settled into her seat as the host walked over.
The host, Ben Hawthorne, had gotten his start as the food guy on a makeover show where he’d helped the makeover candidate, usually a hopeless straight dude, cook a nice meal for their romantic interest. So he had some food credentials—and a culinary degree from the same school Lindsay had attended, she learned via small talk while they waited to start—but had opted to be a TV personality instead of a restaurant chef. He was cute but definitely batted for Evan’s team.
And then the show got started. The first episode featured four chefs who marched out in their show-branded black chef’s jackets and took their places at each of the four stations. Ben had explained he’d record a voice-over with the bio for each chef after the fact, but for now, he read each chef’s name and the city they came from.
Then Ben walked to the center of the room, where a huge table had been set up while the judges had been hanging out in the green room. It was covered with a giant metal cloche that was attached to a cord that went to the ceiling.
“Here’s how this will work,” said Ben to the camera. “We’ve got four chefs. In the first round, we’ll give them a mystery ingredient that must be featured in an entrée. They’ll have an hour to prepare that entrée. Our illustrious judges will taste each dish and choose two or three chefs to advance to the final round. For the final, the chefs will have thirty minutes and a new mystery ingredient from which they must make either a dessert or a small plate. The best chef will win ten thousand dollars! Are the chefs ready?”
The chefs each murmured their assent.
Ben said, “Today’sMystery Mealmust include…”
The metal covering began to rise to the ceiling. The judges had no idea what the ingredients would be. Lindsay hoped this one was something she liked. She’d had to provide her allergies to the show in advance—she was sitting out the second episode because, she suspected, the mystery ingredient was something from her allergy list, probably lobster—so the meal would be something she could at least eat.
The table was covered in lovingly displayed large cuts of what looked like beef.
“Skirt steak!” Ben said triumphantly.
Well, that was disappointingly mundane.
“And your time starts…now!”
Ben then did a bit where he introduced each judge. “New York Forumfood editor, Lindsay Somers!” sounded pretty amazing coming from Ben’s lips.
Erica Sanchez had been over the moon. When Lindsay had told her boss she was going on a Food Channel show, Erica had actually said, “Wow, this could save your whole department.” Lindsay doubted that, but it was very good publicity for theForum.
Brad may very well have saved Lindsay’s job. And for no reason other than that she’d asked him.
Well, okay, she suspected that he helped her because he wanted her to like him and take him back. He’d come through for her in a spectacular way. She’d spent the better part of the last week trying to work out what thatmeant. Was he trying to show she could trust him? That she could ask him for something and he’d deliver? Was he trying to impress her? Did he genuinely care about her success?
It almost didn’t matter, because the larger question was whatshewanted. Did she want him back? And if so, could she trust him to be faithful to her? He talked a good game, but did she believe it? And if she was even asking herself these questions, did that mean shedidwant him back in her life?
She had more pressing matters now, so she focused back on the proceedings. Her role was mostly to watch the chefs cook and chat with the judges about what was happening, not to obsess over her ex-boyfriend.
