18
“How do you feel?” I ask Bailey as we wait to present our display to the judges. “Confident?’
“Yeah, actually.” She smiles up at me, eyes sparkling and teeth showing. She’s glowing, and I want to bask in her light. “I think we have a serious chance. Literally everything turned out perfect.”
It’s true. I couldn’t have dreamed up a better outcome. We didn’t have a single hiccup. And while Bailey is still covered in half of the pantry, we managed not to spill anything important on the floor or in the oven.
“Riggs and Bailey,” the judge calls. “What have you made for us today?”
Bailey looks at me with a tinge of fear in her eyes, and I squeeze her hand. Then we grab the tray of plates we’ve arranged, and hand them out to the judges.
“Well,” I begin after the plates have been delivered, “we decided to highlight three popular desserts that are unique to Chicago, we chose each dessert because we felt it, in some way, embodied a concept of love.”
“We can’t wait to hear about it,” another judge says. “The presentation is beautiful, I have to say. I love the silver sugar and strawberry heart garnishes.”
“Thank you,” Bailey and I say at the same time. She flashes me a shy smile.
“What do you want to start with?”
I glance at Bailey. We discussed who was going to present what last night. I did the intro, and she’ll do the first and third items, so we trade off talking time.
“We’ll start with the cupcakes, which is our redo item from the week.” She winces playfully when she says redo, and the judges all chuckle. “We went with a white chocolate raspberry champagne cupcake. Both the cupcake batter and the raspberry buttercream icing use the most popular sparkling wine from Pops Champagne, here in Chicago, and the wine is actually made by Illinois Sparkling Company. For the white chocolate ganache, we used chocolate from Chicago’s own Veruca Chocolates on Halstead.”
Bailey stops talking to watch the judges cut into their cupcakes and inspect the ganache filling, and we both stare as the judges take their bites. Just like all the other times, they give nothing away. I see her swallow, but she continues on.
“We went with champagne and chocolate because, well, they’re sexy flavors, quite frankly.” Her shoulders loosen when everyone laughs. “Champagne and chocolate make us think of romantic dates and dinners, and that fits perfectly with the concept of romantic love.”
“Very nice,” a judge says after wiping his mouth with a cloth napkin. “And how about this one?” He uses his fork to point at the next item on his plate.
I clear my throat. “Those are traditional buttermilk donut holes, similar to the ones you’ll find at Do-Rites, but with our own Chicago twist. If you’ll cut into them...”
I watch as they each cut into their donut holes, finding different flecks of color inside. Bailey and I planned it so each judge has a different color scheme.
“Since we modeled our cupcakes after romantic love, we took a different approach here. What do Chicagoans love fiercely, loyally, and will go to battle for?” I ask, and immediately one of the judges speaks up.
“Deep dish and beer!” Everyone laughs, and I nod.
“Okay, yes, that too.” I chuckle. “But also, Chicagoans love their sports teams. No matter how much they may break our hearts, we stick by our teams through thick and thin. And let’s be real, usually it’s thin.” More laughter.
“The color schemes inside your donuts—red, white, and blue; blue and orange; red, white, and black; black, grey, and white—represent each of the big sports teams here in Chicago.”
“Hey, wait,” one of the judges yells. “I got a Cubbie one.” He looks at the other judges’ plates. “Give me yours,” he says, gesturing to the judge who has the black, grey, and white sprinkles.
“See?” Bailey cuts in with a wry grin. “Exactly our point.”
“The sugar sprinkles we used melted into the donuts when we cooked them, coloring the donuts without messing with the traditional flavor or texture.”
Again, Bailey and I watch as they sample their donuts. This time, though, I notice that a few of the judges ate their whole donut and went back for more of their cupcake. The longer we talk, the emptier the judges’ plates become. I look at Bailey to see if she notices what I do, and the way she rolls her lips to try and hide her giddy smile tells me she does.
“The final item on your plate is a chocolate strawberry French silk parfait,” Bailey says after the judges ask about our third dessert. “We made the chocolate pots de crème, once again, using bittersweet chocolate from Veruca Chocolates, and we layered that with vanilla Chantilly cream, and topped it with fresh strawberries.”
“I recognize this dessert,” one of the judges says, and I can’t hold back the pride in my smile. Bailey beams as well. “Is this the dish they serve at Temetum?”
“It is,” Bailey says with a smile. “Chicago’s only three-star Michelin restaurant.”
“Wonderful,” one of the judges mumbles as he tastes the parfait. “And how does this fit with your love concept?”
“Well,” Bailey says, then clears her throat and blinks a few times. “We chose this recipe to represent the familial bond, the unconditional love you get between a mother and child.”
I have to hold my breath and count backward from ten in French to keep from tearing up.
“This recipe was created by Odette DuPont Stanton, who happens to be my partner’s mom.”
The judges are all smiles, and I force one of my own. Not many people know why my mom retired from Temetum. We’ve kept it quiet at her request to avoid attention, and I’m grateful for that now. There’s no sympathy on the judges’ faces. Just appreciation for a well-executed recipe and a thoroughly connected theme.
There are a few more mmm’s and whispered praises, and then we’re ushered to the scene room for our interview. Bailey can’t stop bouncing, I can’t stop wringing my hands, and I would give my left nut for a few pieces of paper so I could fold a crane or a butterfly or a dinosaur or something. I don’t even remember what I say in the interview, and when we’re finally moved back into the main room for the announcement of the winners, I could fucking jump for joy.
“Is it just me or did that feel like forever?” Bailey groans once we’re back at our station.
“It did. It really did.” I look at her to find that she’s gnawing on her fingernail, so I reach over and take her hand in mine. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but even if we don’t win, we still did an amazing job.”
She huffs.
“I’m serious, Bailey. There wasn’t a single minute from this week that I wasn’t completely in awe of you.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Really.” I lift her hand to my lips and kiss her knuckles. “You’re sensational.”
“Okay, are we ready to begin?” a PA calls, and the judges tell her yes. The PA barks a few more orders, then we’re told the cameras are rolling.
The judges take turns talking, going over our desserts and the other team’s desserts, and I tune almost everything out. Some things jump out at me, like “delicious” and “perfect” and “creative,” but I don’t know who they’re praising. Instead of paying attention to them, I watch Bailey.
Her facial expressions dictate the entire judging ceremony for me. When she grins wide and her eyes light up, I know they’ve said something good about us. When her lips tighten and her mouth falls into a polite smile, I know they’ve praised the other team.
It’s not until her eyes start to well with tears that I start to worry. I squeeze her hand, but she won’t look at me, so I tear my gaze from her and return my focus to the judging panel.
“Honestly, this was an extremely difficult decision to make,” a judge is saying. “Both teams pulled off some seriously talented baking today.”
“Su and Parker, you made one of the best cheesecakes I have ever tasted.”
Bailey’s shoulders sag.
“Agreed,” another judge says, “it melted on my tongue.”