I Got the Almighty Tongue - Chapter 68



Only Noblemtl

hard puncher

The venue where the second round of the Master Chef auditions was held was filled with tension. One contestant kept shaking his legs, while another was constantly biting his fingernails.

As the two hundred contestants gather in the Master Chef kitchen, the lights suddenly turn on, cameras flash, and a large door with the Master Chef logo opens.

The three judges walked in. Only then did the contestants begin to relax and applaud and cheer for them.

“Welcome to the MasterChef Kitchen. You can be proud of yourself.”

Gordon Ramsay gives opening comments.

“There were tens of thousands of participants who wanted to be here but couldn’t. But you did. And now you’re here.”

After Joe finished speaking, he looked at the participants.

“Now I want you to ask yourself: Do you have what it takes to become a Master Chef? Passion, skill, creativity, and courage.”

Jehee finishes his comment.

“As advertised, the winner will receive $250,000 and the chance to publish his or her recipe. But there’s more to it than that.”

When Gordon paused, Joe placed the suitcase he had brought on the table and unlocked it with a click.

“This is it.”

Joe holds the Master Chef trophy high for everyone to see.

“This trophy is what you all came here for. You came here as home cooks, but when you walk out with this trophy, you won’t be. You will forever be remembered as the first American MasterChef.”

All the contestants applaud and cheer at Jehee’s words. There were quite a few contestants who shed tears, as if they had imagined themselves becoming master chefs. Everyone was staring intently at the trophy.

“Most of you have probably heard that you are a good cook. At school, at home, at work, when you make barbecue, everyone enjoys it. When you make a burger, you get compliments that it is better than In-N-Out.”

The chairman becomes quiet at Gordon’s words. Someone nods in agreement.

“But you don’t need any of that. We’ll tell you. We’ll tell you what your cooking is really like.”

The participants become tense at Joe’s words.

“And the real and the fake will be revealed. Those who are content to be home cooks and make delicious meals for their family and friends at home. Oh! Of course, that’s important. But they will go home.”

When Jehee mentions elimination, everyone’s expressions harden.

“But the few who don’t will finally be able to stand at the starting line, right on the path to becoming a Master Chef. And they will receive this.”

As soon as he finishes speaking, Gordon raises his hand. He is holding a rolled-up white cloth. As he relaxes his grip, the apron with the Master Chef logo falls down.

“Only 30 out of 200 people will be given this Master Kitchen Apron. You will have to cook to death. And bring us a surprise dish. In one hour.”

As Gordon speaks, the names of all participants appear on the LED screen.

“Bring your food in the order it’s served. The kitchen can accommodate up to 30 people at a time. It’s going to be a long day. Let’s get started!”

At Jehee’s words, the contestants start to move. The judges watch them and then leave.

* * *

Ella felt like her heart was going to burst. The judges she had only seen on TV came out in person and explained the rules to them and said they were expecting her to cook. Ella had never had a mother since she was young and had to make meals for her younger siblings in place of her father who went to work.

The two younger sisters were picky eaters. If something didn’t taste good, they would keep their mouths shut and never eat it. Ella, who wanted to cook delicious food for her younger sisters, saved up her allowance and bought a cookbook. And from then on, she developed her own culinary world.

After graduating from high school, she wanted to be a chef, but she had no one else to cook dinner for her children in the evenings. Eventually, Ella had to choose a job with fixed hours.

Her chance came. With a $250,000 prize and the honor of being the winner of MasterChef, she could easily cook while taking care of her children.

It was scary to present my cooking to the judges. But on the other hand, I was also curious. I was really curious about how the best chefs would evaluate the dishes I had made so far.

“Let’s make the dish I used to make when my little sister wouldn’t eat.” Ella decided on the menu.

When I went to the pantry, it was like a huge supermarket. One wall was like a fruit shop with all kinds of fruits from all over the world, and the other side was filled with manufactured goods like flour, pasta, and canned goods. Fresh fish and meat were waiting for someone to pick them up from the refrigerator.

But Ella didn’t even pay attention to them and returned to her seat with only the basic ingredients: pumpkin, carrots, dried shiitake mushrooms, and flour.

‘First, make the bechamel.’

Ella melted the butter in a pan and stirred in the flour to make a roux. She added milk little by little to get the right consistency and simmered it until thick. When the sauce was almost done, she added salt, pepper, nutmeg, and hazelnuts.

Stir-fry carrots and shallots in a pan, drain the soaked mushrooms, and stir-fry them together. Once the ingredients are cooked to a certain degree, pour in the prepared bechamel sauce and cover.

Ella looked at her watch. There was still plenty of time. She cut the pumpkin in half and scooped out the seeds with a spoon. She wrapped it in plastic wrap and microwaved it. She kneaded the flour, butter, and eggs, then mashed the softened pumpkin and started kneading again.

Roll out the dough into the pie pan and shape it. Taste the filling that is boiling in the pot. It is perfect. Pour the filling and seal the pie. Now just put it in the oven and turn it.

The door opens. A contestant comes out, sobbing as if the world has collapsed. What did he hear?

After some time, a white man who looked about the same age as her came out with an apron, looking casual. The participants looked at him with envious eyes. He snorted, “Huh!” and went to a corner. Then he picked up his backpack and walked up to the second floor. Ella remembered his face as it passed her.

* * *

An unidentified dish is placed in front of me now.

“So, your name is..?”

“My name is Anton. My friends call me Hunter.”

A man wearing a cowboy hat speaks with confidence.

“Are you saying this is wolf meat?”

Joe’s eyes tremble.

“That’s right. I shot them myself. Winters in Idaho are cold. Wolves often raid homes in search of food. We have to protect ourselves.”

“Why did you bring out wolf meat?”

“It will broaden the judges’ perspective. Wolf meat, which is hunted, skinned, slaughtered, and eaten right away, is delicious. When I apply my secret rub (a powdered mixture of spices and herbs) and grill it over a wood fire, it tastes fantastic. It’s a man’s taste. Clearly, our ancestors who pioneered the American continent ate the same thing. Unfortunately, we couldn’t light a fire, but we did our best.”

“Okay, then I’ll try it first.”

Gordon and Joe wink at me. They can’t help it since they don’t have time.

I saw wolf meat on the table. It was steak. I don’t know which part it was, but it was a very unfamiliar food to me, who had never eaten dog meat before.

“It cuts more smoothly than I expected.”

The knife goes in easily. The meat is originally soft. I was worried about parasites, but fortunately it was cooked well-done. I cut the meat and put it in my mouth.

It smells fishy. It smells seriously fishy. The meat is soft. The rub is made with salt, sugar, rosemary, turmeric, pepper, parsley, and ginger. It’s made with more normal ingredients than you’d think. The rub suppresses the fishy smell to some extent. It seems like it’s not an exaggeration to say that I’m confident in my cooking. However, as I eat, I chew on the fat. The fat is chewy like gum and an unpleasant taste comes out. I couldn’t stand it any longer and ended up looking for a tissue.

“shit.”

I spat it out on a tissue and rinsed my mouth with water.

“Anton. This dish may not be bad for the villagers to hunt and enjoy together. However, it is not suitable for serving to the general public who are not immune to the gamey smell. In addition, the fat and sinews are not properly removed, so it has a chewy and unpleasant taste and texture on the tongue. And as you may know, hunting wolves is illegal.”

Gordon and Joe eat the meat, taste it, and spit it out.

“Oh my god.”

“Holy moly.”

“Thank you for coming. The exit is over there.”

Anton looks at us with discontented eyes and goes out the door.

“The level of the participants is poor.”

I complained. Are these the evenly matched contestants? The cooking standards of American amateurs may be even lower than I thought.

“But Dominic was okay. There are still 190 people left, so let’s wait.”

The door opens and the next contestant walks in. She is a white woman in her early twenties. If she were a man, she would probably be called a nerd. She is wearing a checkered button-down shirt all the way to her neck. If you look closely, she has a pretty face, but her large glasses cover half of her face.

“Please introduce yourself.”

Ella opens her mouth at Gordon’s words.

“Ella Schmidt. Twenty-one years old. I work as a librarian.”

“Can you explain the dish to me?”

“This is mushroom pumpkin pie. I hope you enjoy it.”

“I’ll go first this time.”

Joe walks out first, feeling relieved after seeing the pie. Then he cuts the pie with a knife and puts it in his mouth.

“It’s okay. The filling is well-cooked and the dough is just right. It reminds me of the pies my grandmother used to make when I was a kid. But it’s not quite Master Chef level.”

Ella lowers her head. Her hands are shaking.

Gordon follows Joe in tasting it.

“It’s better than I expected. The basics are good. There are no burnt or undercooked parts. I like the harmony of the filling and dough. I think this is good enough for me.”

In the end, I got to decide Ella’s fate. Ella looks at me with a nervous face. I cut the pie and put it in my mouth. The béchamel sauce, mushrooms, and carrots spread in my mouth. The filling mixes with the pumpkin in the pie crust, creating a synergy effect. The chewy texture of the dried mushrooms makes up for the lack of simple ingredients. Above all, it’s soft.

“Ella.”

“yes.”

“Who are you making this dish for?”

“I have two younger siblings. I have been making food for them since they were little.”

“The mystery is solved. The kids didn’t eat well, did they? They didn’t eat vegetables either.”

“How did you know?”

“I feel like I’m struggling with this pie. How can I make carrots and pumpkin taste good? I’m going to wrap up the flavor with bechamel and make the texture of mushrooms make the rest of the ingredients chewy. Thanks to that, my younger siblings will be able to enjoy it too.”

“Yes, that’s right. It’s my little brothers’ favorite pie.”

“Joe’s right. This pie isn’t Master Chef level. But you are.”

“yes?”

“You’re a hard puncher. You know how to combine flavors. You ground nutmeg and hazelnuts into the béchamel. You added meat because it’s too much for kids, but you wanted to add a rich fatty flavor. Thanks to that, an ordinary vegetable pie tastes rich.

Your strength is your punching power. Your weakness is that you don’t know it. No matter how strong a boxer is, if he doesn’t trust his punches, he can’t win the match. Get away from the bland, safe food that children eat and try challenging cooking. I told you, I’m a hard puncher. Anyone who gets hit hard will fall down.”

“Thank you, Chef.”

Ella sheds tears. She tries to wipe away the tears with her hand, but it’s not enough.

“Tell me. Who are you?”

“Ha..hard puncher.”

I can barely manage to answer in a sobbing voice.

“Okay. You pass.”

Only then does Ella raise her head. She looks at me with a tear-stained face and smiles.

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