Blake’s joviality was making Sera sick. She’d forgotten how he could pour on the charm when he wanted to dazzle unsuspecting victims—er, customers. The audience seemed to be eating it up. She just hoped the crumble wasn’t as good as it looked—because it did look (and smell) pretty darn tasty. Everett’s doing, no doubt. Sera saw him flinch as the Food Channel’s PA’s started scooping out chunks and divvying the dessert up among a hundred dessert plates, taking no care whatsoever with the presentation. Sera could spare no sympathy for her fellow chef, however, because now it was her turn in the hot seat.
The statuesque host struck a pose, beaming down at Sera. “So, Chef Wilde, we noticed you chose not to go with most of the signature ingredients on our mystery trolleys. Bold choice there. Care to tell us what were you thinking?”
I was thinking somebody stole all the good stuff, Sera wanted to say. But she knew she’d only make herself look bad if she went crying about unfair advantage. Her time with Blake had taught her that he’d have an answer for everything, and she didn’t think today’s spectators, already flushed with their first cups of strong spiced wine and hot buttered rum, were in a mood to hear her excuses.
“Well,” she said, pasting on a smile and straightening to her full five feet two, “I really wanted to make something that spoke to all the great traditions I’ve been learning about since I moved here. The inspiration for this recipe comes from generations of New Mexican women who have passed the secret of its preparation down from daughter to granddaughter over many years. Using a few simple ingredients and flavors like anise seed, brandy, and cinnamon,” she explained, “you end up with a cookie that’s deceptively delicious. In fact,” she said, warming to her subject despite herself, “I have my friend Hortencia to thank for these cookies.” Sera searched the crowd until she spotted her aunt’s life partner, waving at the older woman, who blew her a kiss in return. At her side, Pauline beamed and gave Sera a thumbs-up gesture. “Hortencia said we’d never really earn our Santa Fe stripes unless we offered these on our menu over at Bliss. She’s graciously trusted me with her abuelita’s treasured recipe, and I’ve made a few alterations of my own that I hope will honor the original.” She held up a rather plain, star-shaped cookie sprinkled in cinnamon and sugar.
“What do you call them?” Vanessa asked dutifully. For a moment Sera could see the doubt in her eyes, and a message. Seriously? This was the best you could come up with?
“Well, they’re traditionally known as biscochitos, but I’m calling mine Bliss-cochitos for obvious reasons,” Sera said.
The audience chuckled and clapped genially.
“The secret’s in the lard,” she rattled on, encouraged. She shot Blake a triumphant glance. Teach him to mess with my mise en place, she thought. What he’d probably thought was a useless, throwaway lump of fat was actually the key to making kickass biscochitos. Then she noticed the audience had gone silent, and she gulped. TMI, Sera. No one likes to know their cookie batter’s based in pig fat, even if it is the single greatest shortening known to mankind.
“Really, they’re pretty good,” she finished lamely.
Even Malcolm winced.
“All right, here’s the moment you’ve been waiting for!” Vanessa announced, glossing over the awkward moment. “Round one! Take a bite of both, everyone, and then we’ll vote!”
The PAs handed around plates containing both chefs’ offerings, and people started to nibble. Muted “yums” and “wows” went round the room. It was impossible to tell which dessert elicited what response.
Vanessa held up an applause-o-meter. Must have dug that one up from deep in the vaults of TV Land, Sera thought. “Okay, who’s for Chef Austin’s Green Chile Apple Crumble?”
The dial swung wildly as the crowd stomped and cheered. Sera, who’d managed to snag a plate, sneaked a taste herself.
Oh, fuck. It is good. Kudos to Sam Everett, because there was no way Blake had come up with that spicy-sweet blend of flavor and texture that melted in her mouth and left it tingling with pleasure. I honestly did not believe there was a place for green chile in the pastry spectrum, but I may have just changed my mind. Her heart sank.
“Now let’s hear it for Chef Wilde’s Bisco… ah, Bliss-cochitos.”
For a moment Sera couldn’t believe it.
Her humble little spice cookies had the crowd shouting fit to shake the rafters. The dial on the device winged into the red.
Up front, Pauline and Hortencia were howling and stamping their feet, and the rest of the BRBs were grinning through crumbs as they clapped their hands as hard as they could. Asher was practically doing a Flamenco number, eyes shining with pride as he gazed at her over the heads of the BRBs. But it was the strangers—good citizens of Santa Fe and tourists alike, whose approval made Sera tear up. She glanced quickly at Malcolm, who’d gone a bit rosy in the cheeks. He patted her shoulder gently. “They really are that good, lass. Enjoy this moment.”
One of the PAs announced there’d be a short break while the kitchen was put to rights, and warned the crowd the lines for the bathroom were about to get pretty long. The audience began milling around, nibbling hors d’oeuvres, chatting, and generally getting in the way of the Food Channel’s crew. The camera guys took a smoke break, and Sera sagged against the counter.
I won. Round one, anyway.
She sneaked a peek at Blake. He was livid. And he was taking it out on Sam Everett, who was stoically absorbing the abuse. What else could the poor guy do? Blake was the boss, and Sam’s job hinged on keeping the man happy. Sera could have told him that was an impossible task. “What do you want me to say?” she heard him ask Blake when the senior chef wouldn’t stop berating him. “I did the best I could with that green chile crumble. It’s usually a big hit at the restaurant. But Chef Wilde’s biscochitos? I honestly don’t know how she did it, but that texture—it’s like angels came down and blessed it. She took one of the simplest, most old-fashioned recipes around and somehow… I don’t know… made it magical. I’ve never tasted anything like it.”
Sera’s ears turned pink with pleasure. Then her cheeks did the same as Asher shouldered his way to the front. He had a half-eaten cookie in his hand. “Beautiful, Bliss,” he said simply. He kissed her gently. Just a hint of cinnamon sugar still lingered on his lips, and Sera had to fight to stop herself from licking them clean in front of God and everyone.
Vanessa looked at the tall Israeli, then looked some more, with obvious appreciation. She sized up how tenderly he was gazing at Sera, gave the shorter woman a “good on you, girl” look, and helped herself to one of the cookies still on the counter. She took a delicate bite and closed her eyes as the sugar, shortening, and spices melted on her tongue. “Heavenly,” she murmured. “Normally I wouldn’t allow myself a whole one, but…” With a wink, she popped the rest in her mouth and then looked around for her makeup crew to make sure her lipstick was still fresh.
“You’re going to win this, Bliss,” Asher said, stroking Sera’s cheek. She blushed again.
Muttering about how mush ought to be banned from kitchens, Malcolm busied himself clearing the mixing bowls and bossing around the Food Channel staff until he had the prep area arranged to his satisfaction.