Page 25 of The Baking Games
"Your challenge, should you choose to accept it," he says, winking at the camera, "is to create one dozen unique chocolate truffles. Each one should be a masterpiece of flavor and a spectacle of design. Now, this is your reward challenge, and it will include your skills as a chocolatier and your ability to dazzle and charm the audience with elegance and sophistication. These dozen truffles will be no ordinary truffles. They must be fit for the most glamorous black-tie event."
He pauses for dramatic effect, letting the weight of the challenge sink into each contestant, and then turns back to us with a mix of mischief and encouragement. "Each truffle should be the perfect blend of flavor, texture, and visual appeal. I want you to think that you're making these for clientele at a high-end gala, mingling under chandeliers, everyone wearing evening gowns and sharp tuxedos. Your creations need to compliment a gathering such as that."
He gestures to a display table laden with exotic ingredients, luxurious flavorings, and various decorative elements. “You have at your disposal ingredients that range from the finest Belgian chocolate to rare spices and edible gold leaf. Your truffles should not only taste exquisite but look that way, too. You will have just two hours to complete this task. That clock will be relentless, so use all of your creativity and precision."
A large screen in the corner of the space suddenly lights up, displaying a countdown clock set to two hours. Its red digits are stark against the bright backdrop. I can feel the tension ratcheting up a notch.
"The winner of this challenge," Dan says, his voice rising with excitement, "will get an invaluable advantage at this week’s main challenge. You'll get thirty extra minutes, which could very well be the difference between victory and defeat. Although no one goes home during the reward challenge, someone will go home at the main challenge, so these extra minutes are critical.”
He points to where each of our stations are. I look at my station quickly, the array of tools and ingredients laid out like an artist's palette, and despite the turmoil inside of me, I suddenly feel a spark of determination. I know how to do this. I'm trained. I can do this. I have to. It's for Sadie.
Dan's next words snap back my focus. “Bakers, please take your positions." He holds his arm up in the air like he's standing on a racetrack, about to tell the cars to take off.
I move to the edge of my station. My heart is pounding in sync with the ticking clock. As I reach for my first ingredient, I realize this will be a real challenge.
"Let the games begin," he suddenly yells and slams his hand down on the corner of one of the stations as the timer starts up above.
I steel myself, ready to transform my fears into something sweet. I'm not just going to survive the competition; I will prove to myself and everyone else that I belong here among the best of the best.
RHETT
After the initial shock of how giant this kitchen is, I go to work on planning my truffles. As I do with every project, I start to sketch it out in a notebook that I always keep with me. I simply cannot make any food item without drawing it first. Call it some kind of a quirk or whatever you want, but it works for me. I draft them much like an architect drafts blueprints.
When the challenge starts, I spend the initial few moments sketching my designs and planning each detail because I want to win. I need to win. Maybe it’s ego, but I need this like I need blood in my veins.
My concept is inspired by the architectural elements of Art Deco. It's known for its rich colors, bold geometry, and decadent details, which will go well with these truffles. I want each of them to represent an Art Deco design.
They will be tiny edible sculptures. Some will be sleek and geometric to match the streamlined shapes of 1920s architecture, and then a few of them I will embellish with lavish ornamentations from the table, creating characteristics of the era, such as fans or chevron patterns. For my geometric truffles, I decide to incorporate a marbled effect, using dark chocolate and white chocolate to create sharp, contrasting lines.
After sketching, I get to work. I want these to be ornate and luxurious—the perfect dessert item for a black-tie affair. I might even use some of the gold dust and edible glitter from the table. They've given us a lot to choose from, which is nice. I don't always have these sorts of things at my beck and call out on the open ocean.
But just as I'm starting to focus on the delicate task of creating these truffles, with my hands working almost independently without my input, I notice something. Savannah is at the station next to mine, and I can't help but watch her. She's always been interesting to watch, even in school, the way that her fingers are so deft in the way that they mold the chocolate.
She’s petite, which is to say short, but she has long, slender fingers that are hypnotizing if you look too long. I can tell she's putting her heart into this challenge. I don't know much about her background. We haven't had long, deep talks about our hopes, dreams, and families, and I definitely don't want to.
But what's catching my attention is Connor, her ex-boyfriend, who is staring at her from across the room. His workspace is directly across from hers, and he's craning his neck as he watches her. He's pretending to look for his ingredients, but I can see what he's doing. His presence is like a dark cloud in this bright kitchen.
There's something about the way that he watches her that sets off my alarm bells. It's not just a casual observation; there's some kind of intensity there, suggesting that maybe he's not just watching her, but he's assessing her, planning something. I shake my head, trying to refocus myself. Why should I care if Connor has ideas about sabotaging Savannah? It is a competition, after all. Every contestant for themselves. If she gets tripped up by whatever he does, that's just one less baker I have to worry about in the race for the prize.
As I temper another batch of chocolate, I find myself looking back over at Savannah. She's deep into her work, not looking at anyone else. There's such an earnestness about her efforts that commands respect, no matter who she is. I can't help but admire it. Again, why do I care? We're competitors; we're supposed to be rivals. We hated each other in pastry chef school, and we've barely exchanged more than a few words, except for when I caught her falling off the kitchen counter last night.
But I don't like the thought of Connor playing dirty; it doesn't sit well with me. I don't like bullies. I might seem like a bully to some people, but I'm not. I'm just pointed, direct, and honest, but I don't bully others. And if Connor tried to sabotage or bully his ex-girlfriend, he would do anything to anyone in this competition.
I try to shake off the uneasy feeling and bury it under my work, but the discomfort lingers whenever I see Connor looking her way. It's more than just competitive spirit or some kind of fair play. He's watching her in a way that tells me he's planning something.
I force myself to turn my back and perfect my truffles. I am going to stay here. I want to win this round. But I also feel this unsettling realization that maybe I don't want her to fail completely, at least not at Connor's hands. It is a competition, and I'm ready to win at any cost, but not if it means that I'm watching someone like Savannah get sabotaged by an ex-boyfriend who's a complete jerk. Even if I don’t particularly like or understand her, I like him even less.
As the clock is ticking down, I set my last truffle on the tray and take one final glance at Savannah. She's finishing up. I can't tell what she did with her truffles, but she looks proud of herself. I can see her smiling. I turn and see Connor looking at her again, and this time, I force myself to make eye contact, lowering my eyebrows, a warning look on my face. He scoffs and turns around, returning to his work as if he did nothing, but we both know he's up to no good.
SAVANNAH
As I stand at my station, I wipe my hands on a towel and feel my heart racing in my chest. I have a mixture of nervous anticipation and dread. We just finished the reward challenge, so there's nothing else I can do but stand here and wait to be judged. It wasn't until now that I realized I don't like to be judged, but here I am anyway.
The judges—Chef Alain, Tessa, and Marco—begin their rounds. They start with Connor’s sleek, modern truffles. I can see them on the big screen in the corner of the room. His creations are displayed in high definition. Each truffle has a perfect glossy shine to it. They look like something out of a gourmet magazine. A knot tightens in my stomach.
For so long, I thought I was in love with Connor, but he has turned into a very negative, spiteful man. He glares at me momentarily as the judges walk to his station. I can't hear what they're saying, but he's smiling like a Cheshire cat, so apparently it's good.
I don't know why he has such a terrible attitude toward me. Yes, I broke up with him, but it was he who didn't want my sister around. Maybe we could have had a strong relationship, but not if he wouldn’t accept my sister in our lives regularly.