Page 63 of Chef's Kiss at the Chalet
She flashed a patient smile and strode over to the island where I was still chopping. “Today is the town’s Thanksgiving Throwdown, isn’t it?”
I was too embarrassed to answer.
“Well, then you better hurry up and get down there. Bragging rights are on the line.”
A flicker of hope rose in my gut. “Your mother . . .”
Amelia waved off my concern. “We’ll have a terrific spa day at the ski resort in town. Besides, what’s the point of having her own wine locker at the hotel restaurant if she never uses it?”
“Really?” I asked, absolutely elated. I’d worked so hard on my plan for the contest, it seemed a shame to let it go to waste. “You’re sure?”
She smiled, shooing me away. “I’m sure. Go! Kick some gingerbread butt for me!”
“Thank you, Amelia!”
I gave her a hug, sort of surprising us both. Then I rushed out of the kitchen and back to my cottage to change and grab my backpack before texting Mia that I was on my way. I’d give Maplewood Creek a gingerbread extravaganza to remember.
Chapter 22
There was already considerable fanfare surrounding the large tent when I arrived, having jogged three blocks just to find parking. Spectators surrounded the baking stations, where folding tables and racks of portable ovens stood waiting for the frenzy of gingerbread to get underway.
“Elle, over here!” Bea called from the far station where she waited with Delilah and Mia. “You made it.”
“Barely.” I was still breathing heavily as I set my backpack on the ground beneath the table and pulled on an apron. “We good to go?”
“Got everything you asked for,” Mia said. “Ovens are preheated.”
“Everyone gets to start with one pre-boiled pot of water and four portable convection burners,” Bea continued as she led me around the station, consisting of three folding tables in a horseshoe shape. “You’ve got two stand mixers, a handheld beater, a small blast chiller, and plenty of baking sheets.”
“This all looks great,” I told them. “Thanks so much for all your help.”
I had brought my own knives of course, but beneath the center folding table were pots, pans, mixing bowls, and baking sheets, as well as various utensils and consumables like parchment paper. Several canvas bags behind the station contained my ingredients. Those I immediately began arranging on the station to get organized, separating structural cookie products from the decoration and tasting components.
“Five-minute warning, contestants,” a voice over a loudspeaker announced. “That’s five minutes until the start of the Thanksgiving Throwdown.”
The crowd of spectators applauded, cheering on their favorite bakers. There were ten of us in all, a diverse group that included the owner of the local bakery, the pastry chef from the ski resort, and several local home cooks.
“You can thank us by winning,” Delilah said, giving me a playful nudge for encouragement.
“We’ve got to get back to The Snowdrift for a bit,” Bea said regretfully. “If we don’t keep an eye on him, Pops will end up on the roof with more lights.”
“Yeah, and I’ve got to get back to the marketplace,” Mia said. “But you’ve got this. We’ll swing by as much as we can to check in on you.”
“No sweat,” I told them. “Looks like I’m all set up.”
“Ladies!” said a voice.
“Terrific.” Mia’s face crinkled with disgust at the sound of Tom’s voice as he approached us. “Quick, hand me that pot of boiling water.”
Delilah stifled a laugh, elbowing Mia.
“Lovely to see you all again. Jumping into the gingerbread fray?” Tom said with a plastic smile. He looked like he belonged on the streets of Manhattan, wearing a conspicuous Burberry scarf with black leather gloves. “I don’t think I recall any of you entering the Thanksgiving Throwdown before.”
“We’re here supporting Elle,” Mia said, lifting her chin.
He fixed me with a patronizing grin that saidaww, isn’t that cute. “You’ve got yourself a ringer, huh?”
“She’s going to wipe the floor with the rest of them,” Bea told him confidently.
