Page 10 of The Golden Spoon
He gives me a half smile, which I simply cannot read. Is he mocking me, or is that what his face looks like when he’s trying to be nice?
“It looks like a beautiful dough, Gerald, and I like that you used so many types of fresh herbs. I’ll be impressed if it works.” I feel a stab of irritation. Doesn’t he understand? Of course it will work. It was tested. Many times. Anxiously I blink into the cameras, forgetting for a moment another one of the rules gone over in the dossier in addition to our prefilming orientation this morning—Do not look directly at the cameras. How easy it was to break rules here even when you didn’t mean to.
I quickly look back at my breads. I’ll need nearly all the remaining two and a half hours to allow for everything to rise and bake properly. “All the variables have been accounted for,” I retort, confident I’ve put an end to this conversation.
HANNAH
“It’s the moment of truth,” Archie says, leaning over to check on my bread as I pull it from the oven.
I am aware of the cameras watching me, so I let my hair fall into my face playfully as I pull my rolls out of the oven. They’re perfectly baked, golden brown on the edges. The chai-spiced filling bubbling to just caramelized.
Archie looks them over and his head dips approvingly, a smile stretching across his face. “Those look… very good.”
I laugh, pleased with myself, and pull a bowl out of the cupboard in my baking table to begin my icing.
“What kind of icing will you be putting on these?” Archie asks, his face serious as though it’s a problem on a quiz. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Melanie watching from the side of the tent. I know that it’s her job to keep track of what’s going on at all times, but still, there is something about her that makes me uneasy. She’s not a friendly person. I disliked her the moment she introduced herself when I first arrived at Grafton. I could feel her judging me, looking me over with her cool stare. She is so shiny and put together, thinks she is so important. I saw the look on her face as she took my phone away then, how she smirked at my glitter case. She probably thinks I am just somelittle baby, playing grown-up. I try to brush her opinions of me aside. What does she matter anyway? Right now, I need to focus on Archie and looking good for the cameras.
I put a hand to my heart in mock horror at there even being a question. “Cream cheese frosting, of course! But I’ll add some of my favorite spices to make it sing!”
His face breaks out into a full grin. I’ve passed the test. I can feel my body relaxing. “Well, they smell incredible.”
I look at him sideways just to make sure he’s not teasing me. But his face is earnest as he gazes down at the cooling rack. Archie is more handsome in person than I’d expected. He’s just a bit older looking off- than he is on-screen—a few wrinkles fan out around his eyes and two deeper lines cut through his cheeks and curve around his chin. They all just serve to make him more attractive. His skin is remarkably smooth otherwise, almost pore-less. I wonder what kind of products he uses. Could he have had work done? I know I am in an entirely different world than where I’ve come from. Back in Eden Lake, no one has had any sort of plastic surgery.
“And they’ll be even better once I get this icing on them.” I laugh. “You just wait, you won’t be able to keep your hands off them!”Oh my god, was that too much?I watch as his lips break into a boyish smile. If I’ve overdone it, he doesn’t seem to mind. I’m beyond flattered that Archie Morris wants to eat something that I’ve baked. I look down at my tray admiringly—this batch did turn out very well. Golden on the edges, soft in the centers. I find myself feeling strangely confident. It’s a new sensation, and it takes me by surprise. I can win this.
“I can’t wait,” he says.
Neither can I, Archie. The cameras move on to gather around Pradyumna’s baking table. Before he turns to go, Archie gives me a wink. I feel myself flushing. If it weren’t a completely ridiculous idea, I would think that he is flirting with me.
PETER
“Bakers, put down your utensils!” Archie booms from the front of the room, giving me a heart palpitation despite the comforting fact that my bake is already done. I take a step back from my table, putting my palms up just in case anyone should think I wasn’t following orders. I’ve been doing nothing but waiting these past five minutes, confounded that I’m finished ahead of the others and trying to make sure I haven’t missed anything as I watch them rush around. It’s been interesting to watch the atmosphere in the tent turn, the mood slipping quickly from amiable to anxious. You can practically feel the adrenaline flowing through the tent.
Next to me, Stella scrambles to get a last detail right on her cutting board, and I feel a flash of annoyance.The time is up, so why do you think the rules don’t apply to you?I think uncharitably. But then, this is a competition, even if it doesn’t come across that way on television.
“Please bring your breads to the front of the tent and place them on the judging table,” Betsy says. By now things are quiet, the tension in the room heavy as the six of us catch our breath and stare at the judge’s table.
I scoop up my tray of bread and bring it forward. I’m proud of what I’ve done today. My baking tray is piled high with a stack of softspiraled bread shaped like cornucopias. I’ve piped them full of a thick chocolate custard. A shiny dark chocolate drizzle crisscrosses the top. Next to them, sliced in even rows is my pepper and cheddar babka. They are both precise, their sizes even, each braid and twist neat and purposeful. I pride myself for my attention to detail. It is what gives me a leg up in my work in restoration and the key to my most successful bakes. I place the tray down on the judging table behind the placard with my name on it. I feel myself brimming with confidence as I peek at the other contestants’ breads. With the exception of Gerald’s sesame-encrusted herb boule and meticulous cinnamon buns, mine are the prettiest and neatest of the bunch.
I step back, standing in line with the other five, and wait to be judged. Betsy and Archie take their places on the other side of the table. I breathe a long, shaky breath. First breads up on the table are Stella’s. She steps forward to the table nervously. I watch as Betsy and Archie put their first bites into their mouths, chew. I am relieved when they don’t sigh in pleasure. Betsy puts her fork down and looks across at Stella, who watches her adoringly, her hands clasped in front of her. “I think it’s good, but you could have done more with the flavors. Didn’t you say you used miso?”
Stella’s face falls a bit. “Perhaps I should have used more.”
“Yes, I agree,” Archie says. “The texture is there, but the flavor just isn’t coming through.”
They move on to her rolls, which go over about the same. “Technically it’s very good, you just need to be braver with the spices,” Betsy concludes.
It’s not the worst assessment, but I see Stella shrug sadly as she steps back into the line. I hold my breath as they move on to my bread.
“Oh, I love a babka, and this one is very well baked,” Archie says, taking a bite.
“And look at this pattern.” Betsy taps on the top of the loaf with her fork. “Just beautiful. I love the way this tastes, Peter. Terrific work.” I beam. I am proud of how steady my hand has been today.The result has been even better than any I’ve done at home without a soul watching.
“Now the chocolate horns.” I watch with excitement as Betsy picks one up and puts the chocolate-custard-filled end into her mouth. Her lips close and her eyes open wide in surprise. My heart drops as her face twists into a grimace.
“Oh, gosh, what’s wrong?” I ask weakly, instantly regretting saying anything at all. It’s a problem of mine, talking too much when I’m nervous.
I get no response anyway and watch in horror as Betsy turns her head away from my bread as though it has offended her. She flutters a hand at Archie, her mouth puckered theatrically.
