Page 35 of The Baking Games
RHETT
That mortifying question from Dan about Savannah and me is still ringing in my ears as the challenge kicks off. Why in the heck would viewers think there was anything romantic going on between us? We can barely stand to be in the same room most of the time. What kind of a vibe are we giving off that American viewers think something is happening?
I shake my head, trying to force myself to put it out of my mind. I need total concentration right now to knock this ambitious chocolate sculpture out of the park. Only three hours to create this intricate masterpiece that somehow looks like it's moving. That's way easier said than done.
I pick up my sketch pad and start drawing, which is always the first thing I do before I create anything. It's just part of my process. Although some other people think it’s strange, I need to see it on paper to make sure that what's in my mind can actually be created.
The base of this will be a solid, wide disc that anchors the piece. From there, the tornado will spiral upward, growing thinner and thinner and more twisted as it reaches the top. I hope to add some debris and smaller elements like branches and leaves to give it a realistic look. That will add the needed illusion of movement.
Once I have the design clear in my mind, I start the process of tempering the chocolate. I need it to be perfect. It has to be glossy, smooth, and strong enough to hold the shape I have in my mind. I carefully melt the chocolate, bringing it to just the right temperature before I cool it on the marble slab and then reheat it slightly. This process requires precision, but it calms me. I enjoy the repetition.
As the chocolate cools to the perfect consistency, I prepare the molds for the base and the initial spirals of the tornado. I pour the chocolate into the molds and make sure to get rid of any air bubbles that could weaken the structure. While the base sets, I will start on the tornado's body. I use a rotating platform and begin building the spiraling structure. I pipe the chocolate in a continuous motion, starting wide at the base and gradually tightening the spiral as I move upward.
Every layer needs to harden a bit before I can add the next to ensure stability. I use a hairdryer on the lowest setting to cool the layers faster without causing them to crack. Once I turn on the hairdryer, pretty much everybody in the kitchen turns to look at me, wondering what I'm doing. I will use anything at my disposal to win this.
As the tornado takes shape, I add those smaller details to enhance the sense of motion. Thin strands of chocolate are draped around the sculpture that look like swirling winds. I attach my pieces of debris, which are tiny branches and leaves that I've made out of fondant and dark and white chocolate, making them appear as if they're being sucked into the vortex. All of it is intricate work. I can't believe this is week one. What will the other weeks be like? I use tweezers to place the elements precisely.
The kitchen around me is just a blur of activity, but I stay focused on my own creation. I can hear the sound of mixers, the clatter of utensils, and the talking of other contestants. All of it fades into the background. My entire world is narrowed to focus on the sculpture before me.
Just as I'm feeling confident about my design, I finally glance around the kitchen at my fellow contestants. Most of them have already descended into that laser-focused baking zone, their heads down on their own projects.
I look over at Savannah's station and nearly laugh out loud. She's battling with an industrial mixer like it's a wild animal. I can see the sweat glistening on her forehead, and her full lips are pressed into a determined line.
I should be focusing on my own work, but I can't help but look over because of all her frantic movements. I'm sure the cameras are catching all of it, and it will be great television.
The thing is, this isn’t the Savannah I knew in school. She was calm, cool, and collected. She didn’t show fear or worry or angst of any kind. That’s why I refer to her as Sunny. But this woman? This is a whole different level of panic I’m seeing.
She's cranking the mixer speed knob up and down, and the metal bowl is rattling like it's about to leap off the counter. There's chocolate spattering everywhere, and I wince when I see thick ganache spraying out in big globs.
Her face is full of frustration, her fingers jabbing at the controls with increasing desperation. I'm way further along in my project than she is. I don't know how she'll even finish this. I tell myself to mind my own business. She's not my problem. We're not friends, and this is a competition, but seeing her struggle like this pulls at something in me.
With a sigh, I grab a side towel and make my way over to her station, dodging all the curious glances from other contestants. "You have to stop assaulting the mixer controls like that," I whisper loudly as I walk toward her, trying to keep my tone neutral.
She jumps at the sound of my voice like she's had an adrenaline rush, turning to face me with wide eyes. "What? Oh no, it's fine. I've got it under control."
"Clearly you don't," I say, stepping over beside her. "At least let me take a look."
"I don't need your help, Rhett," she says quietly, a hint of panic in her voice. "People already think there's a romance between us. Go back to your station."
Ignoring her protests, I gently nudge her aside with my hip and then swipe my towel across the controls. "The key to this one is steady, even pressure on the speed lever. You were just jackhammering it back and forth, which is probably how you gummed it up." I adjust the speed dial with a smooth, controlled motion, and the bowl finally begins to whirl, the ganache churning into a perfect consistency. "See? Easy as that." She glares at me, her eyes flashing with a mix of gratitude and possibly annoyance. I look at her. "What? Any idiot could have figured out what you were doing wrong after watching you for ten seconds."
She huffs and puts her hands on her hips. "Oh, really? Then why did it take you so long to come over and help me?"
"Maybe I was paying attention to my own project, or maybe I’m not supposed to be helping my competition.”
She rolls her eyes, but I can see a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Well, thanks for the help, I guess. Not that I needed it."
"Sure you didn't," I say, stepping back. "And don't go breaking any more mixers. Those things are expensive."
She squares her shoulders, lifting her chin defiantly. "I'll be fine, Rhett, but please don't let me keep you from your masterpiece."
"You're very welcome," I say with a tight smile, remembering that cameras are watching us. To ward off any thoughts about romance with the audience, I quickly add, “But good luck not screwing anything else up in the meantime."
Her eyes narrow, and for a moment, I think she will throw something at me, maybe the mixer, but it's too heavy. Instead, she turns back to her work, her shoulders stiff but determined. I walk back to my station, but I can't help but glance over my shoulder. Despite her fiery attitude, something about her makes me want to see her succeed, even if it means putting up with all her stubbornness.
SAVANNAH
Things are not going well. I slam the heavy stainless-steel bowl down on the counter with a deafening clang, the sound reverberating around the kitchen. Of course, it draws the attention of everyone around me, and I can feel everybody staring. My face burns with embarrassment. I want to crawl under my workstation and disappear.