Wax - Chapter 70: Chapter 70

Some people think the best and only indicator of good food is its power to magic clothes away and transport people to a whole new dimension filled with enlarged versions of every ingredient used in the dish, sparkling to the echo of moans and sometimes weird-ass imagery. Beats me where that came from. If Pao and Amelia were somewhere in another dimension making snow angels in vanilla ice-cream, undressed, good for them. If the genius behind this challenge was doing the same, well, good for me.
"What's taking them so long?"
Half the room gave Andre the side-eye for disrupting our peace. They had us wait in a fancy lounge area by the sea that looked visually stunning for the camera but a huge pain-in-the-ass for the sound guys; minutes passed, and then it was an hour after I'd prepped my dish for tasting. The air in the lounge had been heavy to begin with and the silence after I headed off to present my dish—the last one—added to that weight. Andre was the first to kick up a fuss. Nothing new.
"I mean, we all crushed it," Layla reasoned to no one in particular, staring up at the ceiling while she laid on her back and rested her leg. They'd given her a lounge chair for extra support. "Maybe they're having a hard time deciding on a winner."
"True," Garland sighed, gaze sweeping the room before coming to a stop. "My money's on you, Cox."
I said nothing.
"Well, your crab curry smelled amazing too, Chef Garland," Du Bellay smiled from across the room. "I'm sure the judges had very nice things to say about it. But... I agree. Leroy's—Chef Cox's dessert was stunning. The whole concept was extremely elegant and just, overall, something you'd see in the best of fine-dining restaurants."
Andre had more to add. "What, edible candles? Pretty sure it's a thing at birthday parties for kids."
"... I'm sure it's not a block of chocolate, Chef Andre." Du Bellay was clever enough to back out of the conversation trap he laid. "The bottom line is that everyone fulfilled today's challenge competitively, advantage or not. And so the judges are having a hard time finalizing their decision, is all." She then turned to Layla for another round of compliment-exchanging and I'd tapped out by then.
Truth was: I wanted the win. So fucking bad.
Visually, I'd hit a home run and everyone seemed to think the same. I knew it was good; but up against the other authentic, local delicacies that the other chefs came up with, I wasn't going to place my bets on anything just yet. With Layla in the middle of her recovery period performing at half her best and the rest of the contestants having to pick a star ingredient from a selection that wasn't exactly meant for Indonesian flavors, I was, in some way or another, a step ahead.
Yet, no one else in the right mind would've said the same in my position.
Without the advantage that came with winning the previous challenge, I had to rely on the selected ingredients in my crate—one selected ingredient. And with that, came the greatest risk of all time; it had to be a dessert.
This was by far, the biggest fucking challenge anyone had dared to send my way and of course, no one else but him would've known exactly what I needed. Still can't figure out how we haven't fucked.
"Chefs," one of the producers came through the door with a folder in hand. "Places in five. The judges are ready."
Chairs scraped and we got ourselves into the pre-arranged order while the assistants on set cleared the area for a clean shot. Wardrobe went down the row retouching faces. I checked myself in the mirror twice; famously illegal top button undone, yes. Stan entered the room with a couple other producers in tow. Siegfried was one of them.
What I hadn't expected was for him to blatantly meet my eye out in the open, holding his gaze for a moment that was a tad bit too long for comfort.
"Counting down: one minute to silence on set."
To my right, Garland had her head fixed in the direction of the door, waiting for the trio's grand entrance. I glanced at Du Bellay. Layla. Saito. Pierson. Still, the door.
It was one last call for places before Stan finally called action and, seconds later, the long-awaited return of the judging panel who hadn't a clue who cooked what.
"Alright chefs!" Amelia's eyes were ablaze. You could tell she was in a good mood. "The challenge was to create a locally-inspired dish from the ingredients picked out by your loved ones, and for that dish to tell its story.
"Heads up, we still don't know who, exactly, made which dish. But we do know... what the least appetizing dishes were."
"Okay but before my friend Amelia and Banilla destroy you with their words," Pao raised a hand, "I want to say that every dish still wowed us in one way or another. So big, big compliments to you chefs today. Well done."
I could feel the adrenaline in my ears; the beat in my head as the room began to clap and cheer. The wait was long.
"The first dish we did not like... was 'Tropical Waters'—a coconut and blue-pea flower agar-agar jelly dessert," he spoke first, starting off with my daily fill of glasses-adjusting. "While the concept felt incredibly novel and promised a visually exciting gelatin-based dessert, the dish tasted one-dimensional and failed to meet our expectations of an elevated, restaurant-quality dessert."
... fucking hell, he murdered that one.
"Next, we were unfortunately... less than pleased by the 'Seafood Paradise' platter cooked pepes style. Albeit traditional and fairly delicious to the common palate, a bunch of seafood on a plate did not do well for the dish's supposed star ingredient—tiger shrimp. While the spices and sambal made from scratch tasted decently authentic, the lack of attention to detail when it came down to treating each specific ingredient made the overall dish lose its extravagance."
... and that one.
"And finally, 'Happiness'—a dessert inspired by pisang goreng. Chocolate fried bananas paired with a scoop of vanilla ice cream did not turn out to be the best of ideas, especially if the declared, chosen star ingredient is the famous Madagascar vanilla bean of Indonesian variety. Simply put, there was little, if not, no emphasis on the main ingredient of the dish that ultimately felt overly rich and heavy on the palate with its one-dimensional sweetness."
He was handing out blade after blade like this was a fish market and they promised a one-for-one deal for every swimmer he hooked. Three of the chefs remaining were up on the block. No one seemed to know who they were except the chefs themselves.
"Okay now we move on to the fun part," Pao laughed, rubbing his hands together which by now, I figured, was his signature move for excitement. The evil kind. "The best."
"First, we have a clever clever idea I've never seen before in my life—Beef rendang dumplings in spicy broth. Oo, this was so good. The broth hit the senses in every good way and who would think rendang in dumplings could be so juicy and perfectly cooked? So creative. We loved it. Even Amelia who is weak and cannot take spice ate two."
"Pao; what did I say about calling non-spice-lovers weak?" Amelia raised a brow for comedic effect, nudging him in the side. "The second dish we absolutely adored was 'The Garden'—a mille feuille that paid homage to the local edible herbs and flowers of Bali whilst demonstrating extraordinary skill in French pastry techniques."
That was Du Bellay's. I saw it on her station when she came by for tasting.
"... crisp, decadent puff pastry and layers of light, floral pastry creams made from all sorts of edible flowers that had the most stunning fragrances. Visually, it..."
I waited.
My head was tapping in and out every other second. Truth was, the thing in my chest was about to dip, waiting to be called. With two dishes already singled out and put in the spotlight to no end, my chances of landing the top spot was—
"But the chef deserving of the toque blanche for this challenge... is the one who made 'Company'."
I looked up.
His eyes were nowhere near mine despite the words he was saying but one fucking look and I could tell; just how hard he was trying not to meet my gaze in the midst of the clapping, the cheering, and when he couldn't seem to resist the draw of the flame any longer, he did. And those eyes did not leave.
I stood rooted, sealed in the midsummer pool that all of a sudden felt like waves lapping against the shore. Speechless. It was a rippling—sizzling of foam from the sea and the feeling was a sound I hadn't heard in the longest time. A creak. The moment before the boom.
I could see Pao beckoning in the middle of the noise. For some reason, it no longer mattered which team I'd given an entire catch to; everyone seemed... weirdly happy about my win. Not only was I one of the younger chefs on board, I was pretty much the only contestant without a proper kitchen career.
Pao was the one who pinned the toque blanche onto the lapel of my chef's jacket.
I could hear Amelia in the back. Somewhere far. She sounded far.
"You. Shocked. All of us. We were blown away by your dessert. You never said a thing about being good with sweets! Hid the card way up your sleeve and needless to say, it worked wonders. The artistry, the concept, the sheer execution of what may look like simple tempering techniques and the incredible flourish. And of course, the taste! Well, I'd better let someone much more articulate describe it. Vanilla, please."
Heads turned.
He stood quite still.
"Vanilla?" There was another prompt. The rest of the room had gone deathly quiet at his silence, stunned by his very first show of failed words.
He swallowed once.
And then when he was ready, asked just one, quiet question.
"Did you taste your dish?"
I faltered. Saw no reason to lie. He might've rejoiced back there, in that moment. If this would break his spell, so be it.
"... No."
But he smiled. It was the kind I missed. "Well, perhaps you'd be happy to know..." He reached behind him. "I saved some for you."
________________
There was something about the rain that reminded him of the day he left behind.
It smelled of iron and ice; roads and fields of grass crossing paths in the thundering above for the round, mellow scent of soil, asphalt and rain. Even in the firehouse where it was warm, he could feel the chill of the storm. And in the cold, Leroy knew; he was alone.
"Lads, sound the alarm. We're out of ice cream."
The day had been long. His first forty-eight was a shift filled with back-to-back fires. The engine was due for some cleaning, the gear needed to be checked; his PPE hosed down and dried; the lawn mowed; the treadmill in the gym repaired; the bathroom scrubbed; the fridge re-stocked. Yet, all he could think about at present, gazing out the window at stormy grey streets was walking the dog he'd taken in after his first day at station twelve.
That was a week ago.
Looking down at his boy all snuggled up on the couch by his side, Leroy wasn't sure if he had the energy to do anything at all after his first forty-eight-hour-shift—about to end in approximately six minutes at five-thirty in the morning—let alone check off a single one of the tasks he had on his to-do list.
He figured he hadn't much of a choice, eventually. Being on probation meant having a ton of senior firefighters to impress and at the very least, putting in the effort to fit in and be a part of the team.
Alas, he sucked.
Leroy knew batshit about making friends and while the kitchen was never a place for rainbows and unicorns, the work of a firehouse depended on the bonds of those living in it—finding themselves knee-deep in life-or-death situations and having to look out for each other on a daily basis.
One week into the job and still, he hadn't a single proper conversation about non-work-related matters under his belt. And even then, the crew had devised a ton of ways to crack open his shell over the week with signature dark humor and memes; so the snuffed-out candle knew, full well, that this was all him. All introvert. All closed-up, raining, and storming. Just how he'd always been.
"Ice cream?" "Zales. Pal. It's freezing outside mate, you alright?" "When is it ever not raining in London?" "It's fucking five in the morning! Sit your ass down and have something else. I'll make you some tea." "I can't be the only one thinking about ice cream after a day of fires on a forty-eight. I hate all of you." "It's freezing, and, you're nuts. Just grab anything else in the freezer."
"Cravings don't work that way."
The room turned to stare at Leroy who'd spoken out of the blue. He was known as Probie back then—the quiet one, who preferred his own time and space, away from the noise. Just like he'd always... no.
Maybe it wasn't. Maybe, he wasn't always like this and there was a time he'd felt the draw of another's presence and basked in every opportunity of conversation with the one, crystalline chill. At present, he'd become something akin to that himself. A cold, sharpened knife that had known nothing except the heat of the kitchen all its life and now, placed elsewhere, felt almost lonely. And lost.
"They're... not that easy to ignore, is what I'm saying," he added after a pause, realizing he'd spoken out of turn and the entire room had gone silent when in truth, Zales, Parker and Jaeger were beyond pleasantly surprised and needed a moment to recover from hearing his voice for the first time in hours.
In fact, half the team had been expecting news about Leroy dropping out of probation and leaving for good.
"Hey." Station twelve's battalion chief walked into the scene of chaos that was a winter storm. He paused, momentarily shocked by the silence in the common room. "So uh. Shift's about to end in five and I'm thinking of running to the store for... whatever it is you kids need. Anyone got a list?"
"... chief, you don't ever run errands." "... shut the fuck up." "BC? Doing chores?" "It's just heading to the store and buying a bunch of shit. Where's the list?" "Add ice cream to the bottom of that." "Just this once. Aight the rest of you, get out of here. Shift's over. Probie," he singled out Leroy before leaving the room. "Come with me."
The knife had seen this coming.
He knew whatever had happened that day was no mistake, and the time had come to pay the price; perhaps no matter how hard he tried, there simply was no other place for a tool meant only for the kitchen. No other place he could belong.
"So you wanna tell me what went down at the school the other day?" The chief said as soon as they hopped into his SUV and made the drive two streets down. Leroy was quiet. Words had never been a friend of his and at present, they felt stranger than ever.
"Parker said he'd never seen you so worked up. Something about the prank hit a nerve?"
It was clear to him that everyone else reporting about the incident had tried to downplay his reaction to some college seniors who thought locking people up in a freezer was the best and only way to initiate freshmen into the club. College hazing. And to Leroy, something of that level was no simple prank. This was a ritual, conducted with every intention, to cause pain and harm to another as part of their initiation into a childish, unimportant fraternity.
"I understand it can be tough to open up sometimes. And I want you to know that the crew have nothing else but great things to say about your work. But you haven't spoken to anyone the entire day and it's affected your performance on every call in the past couple of hours. On top of that, those college kids have their parents threatening to file charges against you. It's... big reason to fail your probation, Cox."
He knew.
"Anyone else in the right mind would agree with you. Hazing is fucked up, and pranks like that, people should never be allowed anywhere near them. Those kids thinking about bribing you and the crew afterward with their million-dollar lunch money to leave them out of your report, yes, dumb motherfuckers deserve to be taught a lesson, but Cox. We don't use our fists."
He knew.
"Never choose violence. Man, we're supposed to be the ones patching people up, not the ones putting them down. So. I need you to know... over here, we fight fires."
He knew.
"And that includes our own."
He began to sob.
The thing in his chest felt, then, so pained and weak at the memory that stung from within that all he could do was watch it burn inside and leave in its wake, dust and ruin. Quiet tears made every word feel like a shard in the back of his throat that he was dying to remove but suffered as he did; baring his heart in a moment of entirety, he spoke of a time when the one existence he so cared for had been a victim to a similar circumstance and yet, all he did was watch.
"I'm sorry chief," he cried, lost in the snow. "Fuck."
"... Leroy." They pulled into the parking lot at six in the morning, the only car in front of the store. "You don't need to apologize to me. That's not what I'm looking for. What I want was to hear your side of the story and that was exactly what you told me. And I thank you for sharing something so painful and personal—it's not easy, and it's certainly not what you see every day. So thank you. And I'm sorry you were put through something like that in the past."
He held out a box of tissues. The probie swiped at it. "Anyway, things like this happen. Back in my probation days, pretty sure I fucked up much more than you ever did. And don't tell Jaeger, but he got people suing him left right center for damages. I'm not failing you, Cox. But I need your word: something like this must never happen again."
And so he gave him his word.
The pair spent some time in the SUV in silence and memories, collecting themselves before heading into the store with the crew's shopping list in hand. It was a pleasant, almost profound and tranquil experience going through the aisles this early in the morning when the rest of the world was still asleep and waking. Shelves were in the process of being stocked up, baskets cleaned and fresh produce wheeled in. They made exceptions for the local heroes every now and then, shopping late into the night or before the break of dawn when everything was still and quiet.
In fact, the only time they began to hear the noise of the day was halfway through their shopping list, running into another pair of firefighters in the store who'd popped by on the pretense of coincidence.
"Eey, it's chief and probie." "What are you guys doing here?" "Just, you know, shopping for home, things, uh, didn't know you guys liked this place huh." "... Zales, this is the only store open at this time, what the fuck are you on?" "Why can't you just play along for once chief?" "Aight you two shut up and get the rest of the things on the list would 'ya? Cox and I got us down to half." "So... the ice cream is just right around this corner." "Jaeger has she been like this the entire day?" "I don't know what she's on, chief. Do we get to choose the flavors at least?" "Fuck you all."
They picked out a tub of mint chocolate chip and raspberry ripple for the team before lingering at the boxes of individual ice cream cones. Assorted flavors.
"Probie, pick one," said the chief, turning to Leroy with a smile. "It's on me."
Neither Zales or Jaeger complained. They knew he needed a little something extra after his toughest forty-eight yet.
And so, the truth was due. He told them about his condition; that all sweet things inevitably tasted like nothing and that he'd lived with the condition for several years. This revelation did not seem to matter very much to the party of three; of which, one had already known.
Jaeger clapped him on the back.
"Don't worry about it. Savory stuff is the way to go anyway, so you're not exactly missing out. What would you pick for your last meal on earth? I'd go for—" "What the fuck Jaeger, the kids' only just come on board and you're asking about his last meal before he dies." "What's the harm? It's hypothetical, what the fuck you going on about." "Probie, you don't have to answer that question." "Why do you always have to spoil the fun? Probie's fun. He'll play along."
Collectively, they turned his way; waiting for an answer.