Chapter 89. Chef’s Kiss: pt. 6

I stood blindfolded on the stage, the fabric soft against my eyelids, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest. The emcee’s voice echoed through the speakers, explaining the rules one last time—each contestant would draw a mystery dish from the ballot box, no peeking, no second chances. My fingers trembled as I reached in, the papers rustling like dry leaves. I grabbed one at random, unfolded it carefully, and slipped off the blindfold to read: Salmon à la Crème alongside Ratatouille. A classic French pairing, elegant but demanding precision. I exhaled slowly, already visualizing the sear on the salmon, the vibrant medley of vegetables in the ratatouille. This was it—the World Chef Association Games in Switzerland, my shot at owning my own culinary school.

The timer started with a sharp beep from the red button, and I dove in. Two hours. I moved fast but deliberate, hands flying across my station—chopping zucchini into perfect dice, slicing eggplant thin enough to melt in the