Page 66 of Chef's Kiss at the Chalet
“We have now officially passed the halfway mark of the Thanksgiving Throwdown,” the announcer declared to a smattering of applause from the crowd still mingling around the tent. “That’s three hours to go, and probably six more cups of coffee for me. If anyone would be so kind, I’d love a double espresso with extra whip.”
“I should really get back to it,” I told Charles as I finished my sandwich and balled up the paper wrapper. “Thanks for stopping by. I really needed the second wind.”
“My pleasure.”
He gathered up our trash and stood, letting me shove the cooler back behind my station.
“Come back for the judging?” I asked shyly.
“Wouldn’t miss it.” He flashed that charming smirk that reminded me why I’d found him so irresistible when he’d first sauntered up to me at The Foggy Goggle. “You know, you’re awfully cute all covered in flour. I should really spend more time in the kitchen.”
Blush immediately bloomed across my cheeks as I shoved him away from the station and wiped at my face with a rag.
“Get out of here,” I ordered. “You’re too distracting.”
“Right,” he said, snapping his fingers. “I’m supposed to be working on that. Sorry.”
Half my time was gone, and I really did need to kick it into high gear. Because it wasn’t only my gingerbread butt on the line.
Chapter 23
My shoulders were burning, my vision blurred. A solid hour hunched over this table constructing tiny sugar furniture had become an exercise in torture. My hands began to ache from so much small, intricate work. It reminded me why I’d been eager to evolve beyond pastry in the first place. The results were beautiful, but the labor was intensive.
Around me, the other contestants’ designs were beginning to take shape. There was the predictable Griswold house fromNational Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, and a Nakatomi Plaza fromDie Hard. Some more unorthodox entries too, like a gingerbread man brass band, and a parachuting turkey.
“There are just two hours left,” the announcer said. “If you can believe it, we’ve been here four hours already, and absolutely no one has offered me a gingerbread sample yet. Not sure how I feel about that. But I’m on my second mulled cider, thanks to the fine folks at The Foggy Goggle, so it’s not all bad.”
That was my cue to get my tasting elements on the go. In one stand mixer, I combined gingersnap crumbs, brown sugar, ground ginger, and a pinch of salt with melted butter to form my pie crust. Once that was in the oven, I filled my second mixer with cream cheese, brown sugar, and lots of warming spices to combine, then added my eggs a little bit at a time. Next in was sour cream, molasses, rum, fresh ginger, and lemon zest, to create a fragrant and delectable gingerbread cheesecake. The baking of which was just a little trickier because it required a water bath.
Once my crust was done, I poured my filling over it and wrapped the bottom of my pan with tinfoil. That went into a larger, deeper pan filled with a couple of inches of boiling water. Then, the whole thing went into the oven for one hour. During which I absolutely could not open the door, or it would release all the steam and ruin my filling. It was a ridiculous choice to make in a baking competition, but would hopefully earn me points for bravery.
Then it was time to start construction. I made up a huge batch of royal icing—perfect for its sturdiness and stickiness—which would be my primary adhesive. First, I cut my gingerbread into precise slabs, according to numerous paper templates I’d printed and cut out last night. Then, on a piece of plywood I placed on the center table of my station, I plotted the foundation of my primary structure in icing, and began setting up the first gingerbread slabs, propping them up with small ramekins, bowls, cans, anything heavy enough to keep the walls upright while I worked.
I realized very quickly that I might’ve underestimated how long this design would take to construct. Minutes seemed to tick by at an increasingly rapid pace while I tediously lined my board and slabs with icing and stuck each piece in place with a wish and a prayer. The size of the whole thing seemed to balloon exponentially larger than I’d imagined in my head. My measurements were all exact, but as the structure grew higher, I faced the growing difficulty of how to access the upper portions without toppling the whole thing. I climbed up on the cooler. Then up on top on the table.
“Whoa. Looks like we might have to punch a hole in the tent soon,” the announcer commented, to laughter from the audience. “Contestant number ten is certainly taking the Thanksgiving Throwdown to new heights this year. Right, folks? What do you say? Let’s give our bakers some encouragement as we come down to the home stretch.”
I had exactly enough materials to accomplish this design, so there was no room for error. I couldn’t risk crumbling one gingerbread slab or it would endanger the whole structure. Which meant I had to work slowly. I was sweating bullets as I lathered on colored icing and glued down decorations. Inserted dozens of tiny pieces of furniture. Planted candy trees and dusted gingerbread rum ball snowmen in coconut. Installed candy glass windows and put little skating sugar people on a candy glass pond.
“This is incredible!” Mia appeared in front of my station just as I was hanging a gingerbread blondie helicopter from a hooked wire that dipped over the main structure. “Elle, I can’t believe you built this by yourself.”
“Don’t celebrate yet,” I warned her. “I’ve almost fallen on this thing like three times already.”
“I brought you some coffee,” she said, setting a cup down on one of the side tables near my mixers.
“We are down to the final hour, bakers. One hour left,” the announcer told us. “This is really getting exciting now, folks. You’ll want to grab a good spot for the final judging.”
“Any sign of Bea or Delilah yet?” I asked, teetering over my gingerbread monstrosity with a piping bag as I layered on the snow-covered roof.
“Not yet. But I’m sure they’ll be here any minute.”
“Oh, shit!” I almost forgot. I jumped down from my perch and dropped my piping bag to check on my cheesecake.
But when I got to the oven, something wasn’t right. The little orange light above the temperature dial was off. Inside, the oven was dark and the water bath wasn’t bubbling.
No.
No, no, no.
