Stepbrother Bad Boy's Baby Boxed Set(12)

"Bang the gong, we are on!" the timekeeper, a funny man who loved using cheesy lines from the original dub of the Japanese version, yelled. Ignoring him, I sprinted over to my station on the line and immediately started my mise en place, or preparations. In a professional kitchen, having everything in just the right place saved precious seconds later.

I tore through the Frenching of my lamb rack, where I shaved off the lower end of the rib to make it look like bare bone in a rapid pace, while Horst overlooked my work. "Keep going," he said, slipping out of his referee role to do some coaching. "Don't miss that silver skin just to save some seconds!"

I saved some time by using garlic paste rather than chopping fresh garlic, and had my rack in the oven by the thirty five minute mark. I immediately turned to Shannon, who was chopping away like a madwoman on her own dishes. "Chef! Station clear!"

"Good. Help Smith with his vegetables."

"Yes, Ma'am!" I immediately went over to help one of Alinea's best saucers with the vegetable prep for the other dishes. He told me what to do, and for the next ten minutes the only thing we focused on was working our way through potatoes, bell peppers, some radishes, turnips, and a pile of parsnips that I figured would be quick roasted and turned into a puree. With ten minutes to go, we were doing pretty well, I thought.

The last five minutes was total chaos, with all three assistants bringing things over to Shannon at full speed, either plating them as she ordered us, or turning the pots and pans over to her to plate. I got a dollop of hot parsnip puree splashed on my right hand, burning me, but I didn't stop until the timekeeper counted down the last seconds. As soon as the time was up, I ran over to the sink and stuck my hand under the cold water, soothing the already red section on the back of my hand. Shannon came over to check on me. "You okay?"

"Yes Chef," I replied, gritting my teeth. Burns were one of those things you learned to deal with in a professional kitchen, as much as you tried to minimize them. "Just got some parsnip on me."

Shannon nodded. "Sorry about that. I was getting a bit wild with my spoon there." It was nice of her to admit she had been the one who burned me. In all the hubbub, I didn't even know who it was. "Keep it there for five minutes, then we'll all sit down, taste and critique."

It was my favorite part of each practice, the tasting and critiquing. Whereas in the real show we'd have food critics and different TV personalities giving us points, in the practices we only had the four of us, Horst, and the timekeeper. Horst also rotated out, making sure we got different points of view on the food.

The first course was the sliders, which Shannon had done herself. Everyone agreed the pork was juicy, but there was some debate as to whether the sauce needed more spice or more vinegar. "It's going to come down to the judges, really," the timekeeper said. "Like, if you have Judy Joo or Curtis Stone up there, then you can really lay down the spice. On the other hand, if Amanda Freitag is up there, lay off the spice in favor of the vinegar. Total judgment call."

My course was up next, and I was happy that everyone praised my prep work. "The French cuts on this and the spice rub are perfect," Hobards, one of Alinea's pastry chefs said. "Great work."

"I agree, but check that your internal temperature stays in the range I want," Shannon critiqued. "Did you use a thermometer or a timer and the oven dial?"

"Just the time and oven dial, Chef," I said. "Sorry."

"Not a problem now. I know we all get used to things in our own kitchen. Just remember, in Kitchen Stadium everything will be a bit different from what it's like in Alinea. The right time for our oven may not be the exact time there. This kitchen seems to be a bit hot in theirs compared to ours."

"Yes Chef."

The rest of the critique went well, which I expected. It was our fifth practice session together, and we were two weeks out from flying to New York for taping of the show. As we broke up, the clock on the wall beeped that it was now noon. Shannon looked up. "Okay team, you all have at least three hours off before I expect those of you working shift down at Alinea at your stations for service prep. Horst, I'll take the pass tonight, so you can be off until five. Let Banner oversee prep, he's been aching for a shot at sous for a while. I'll keep him in check tonight."

"Good. Now go get some rest, everyone."

We broke up to let the guy who ran the cooking school turn the cleanup over to his apprentices, and headed out into the Chicago sunshine. After five weeks of practice since returning from my Mom's wedding to John Castelbon, my life was going a thousand miles an hour. At least twice a week Shannon had us in for a team practice such as what we'd just done, as well as daily little quizzes and other mental preparations for the show itself. I'd spent dozens of hours with Shannon overlooking my work and filling my head with knowledge, and I knew for sure that in those weeks I'd learned more than I had in my entire four years of culinary college at Kendall.

I was grateful that I actually had the rest of the day off. I'd worked the previous five days, and Shannon was making sure going into the show that her battle crew was staying close to the supposedly normal forty hour work week. Although to tell you the truth, at that point in my life I had never met anyone, from line cook to executive chef, who worked in a high end kitchen and only did forty hours a week. Most did fifty, with ambitious climbers doing sixty to eighty hours regularly. Twelve hour days were not that uncommon, five and sometimes six days a week.