were all he needed to dazzle us and our palates.
It was all I could do not to leap forward for a whiff and a bite. Happily, a cowgirl rescued me with a platter of the mushroom mousse bruschetta. I passed on the sweet potato chips.
Finally, each plate was arranged and garnished. The chefs stood in front of their grills, plates carefully angled for the camera and live audience to see each little sprig and drizzle. Pete caught it all on film.
Then the focus shifted to a small table set for one. “Ladies first,” Gib said, then grew serious, cutting into Amber’s filet and taking a small, careful bite. “Hazelnuts aren’t exactly a new trend, but she’s handled them well and they add a nice texture.”
Behind him, Amber worked to control her face. He paused, fork in the air. “Home cooks, careful not to overcook the meat while you’re trying for that crisp crust. You might do better pan-frying. Gorgonzola can be overpowering, but this mixture is nicely blended.”
Nice.
Not exactly the highest praise. And the reference to overcooking clearly stung, implying she’d committed a mortal sin. It wasn’t the heat of the grill making her eyes water.
The kitchen runner whisked the plate away and Gib took a bite of Kyle’s steak. “Gravy’s always a home favorite, though it doesn’t usually make the cut in finer restaurants. For a dude ranch vacation, good choice.” He chewed, considering. “Actually, excellent gravy. Smooth, with lots of meaty flavor and something different. Thyme, of course, and”—he turned to Kyle—“a hint of star anise?”
Kyle wagged his eyebrows at the crowd, signaling a miss. Gib blinked, not liking being fooled. “It’ll hit me in a moment,” he said, pushing Kyle’s plate away and pulling Drew’s toward him.
I held my breath. Drew’s steaks regularly won raves in restaurant reviews. Gib’s left cheek twitched as he chewed. He cut a second bite, swishing the meat in a puddle of sauce before putting in his mouth. “Excellent use of local flavors—we’ll be visiting a cherry orchard later in the week. A great choice. The acid mixes with the sweet to give it just the right bite and balance. The filet is medium-rare.” He held up a large chunk and Pete zoomed in for the close-up. “Those red and pink juices transport the flavor all through your mouth.”
I waited for a barbed comment, a veiled criticism, but none came. A quick glance at Drew told me he’d been waiting, too. But he didn’t let his breath out yet.
“The recipes will be posted on the
Food Preneurs
’ website, so you can try all three yourself.” Gib stood. “Let’s give our chefs one more round of applause. And after a short break, we’ll crown a winner.”
Applause erupted as the chefs bowed. Gib smiled handsomely for the camera, then headed in to the Lodge’s dining room. His comments all but telegraphed a choice of Drew, but I’d already seen that Gib Knox thrived on being unpredictable.
My turn, I realized with a start, and stepped to the center of the patio. “While our judge ponders his difficult decision, please enjoy yourselves. We have plenty of appetizers, lots of beer and wine and other beverages. After the winner is announced, we’ll sample desserts from the Lodge, Le Panier, Applause!, and”—I searched my notes—“the Bayside Grille.” How could I forget Ray’s huckleberry-peach tartlets?
Cowgirls appeared bearing more trays, and Lodge staff helped the chefs clean up their stations.
“Ought to be a three-way tie,” Heidi said to my mother and me. “Every dish looked perfect.”
Fresca snorted. “He’s a master of the backhanded compliment. I’d like to backhand him.”
Mimi joined us, wild-eyed. “This was a terrible idea. I could strangle him.”
“You mean Nasty Knox?” I said. “Glib Gib?”
Mimi snatched a glass of Chardonnay from a passing tray and downed half of it in one swallow.
“‘Bite and balance’ is a cute phrase, but calling something nice over
It was all I could do not to leap forward for a whiff and a bite. Happily, a cowgirl rescued me with a platter of the mushroom mousse bruschetta. I passed on the sweet potato chips.
Finally, each plate was arranged and garnished. The chefs stood in front of their grills, plates carefully angled for the camera and live audience to see each little sprig and drizzle. Pete caught it all on film.
Then the focus shifted to a small table set for one. “Ladies first,” Gib said, then grew serious, cutting into Amber’s filet and taking a small, careful bite. “Hazelnuts aren’t exactly a new trend, but she’s handled them well and they add a nice texture.”
Behind him, Amber worked to control her face. He paused, fork in the air. “Home cooks, careful not to overcook the meat while you’re trying for that crisp crust. You might do better pan-frying. Gorgonzola can be overpowering, but this mixture is nicely blended.”
Nice.
Not exactly the highest praise. And the reference to overcooking clearly stung, implying she’d committed a mortal sin. It wasn’t the heat of the grill making her eyes water.
The kitchen runner whisked the plate away and Gib took a bite of Kyle’s steak. “Gravy’s always a home favorite, though it doesn’t usually make the cut in finer restaurants. For a dude ranch vacation, good choice.” He chewed, considering. “Actually, excellent gravy. Smooth, with lots of meaty flavor and something different. Thyme, of course, and”—he turned to Kyle—“a hint of star anise?”
Kyle wagged his eyebrows at the crowd, signaling a miss. Gib blinked, not liking being fooled. “It’ll hit me in a moment,” he said, pushing Kyle’s plate away and pulling Drew’s toward him.
I held my breath. Drew’s steaks regularly won raves in restaurant reviews. Gib’s left cheek twitched as he chewed. He cut a second bite, swishing the meat in a puddle of sauce before putting in his mouth. “Excellent use of local flavors—we’ll be visiting a cherry orchard later in the week. A great choice. The acid mixes with the sweet to give it just the right bite and balance. The filet is medium-rare.” He held up a large chunk and Pete zoomed in for the close-up. “Those red and pink juices transport the flavor all through your mouth.”
I waited for a barbed comment, a veiled criticism, but none came. A quick glance at Drew told me he’d been waiting, too. But he didn’t let his breath out yet.
“The recipes will be posted on the
Food Preneurs
’ website, so you can try all three yourself.” Gib stood. “Let’s give our chefs one more round of applause. And after a short break, we’ll crown a winner.”
Applause erupted as the chefs bowed. Gib smiled handsomely for the camera, then headed in to the Lodge’s dining room. His comments all but telegraphed a choice of Drew, but I’d already seen that Gib Knox thrived on being unpredictable.
My turn, I realized with a start, and stepped to the center of the patio. “While our judge ponders his difficult decision, please enjoy yourselves. We have plenty of appetizers, lots of beer and wine and other beverages. After the winner is announced, we’ll sample desserts from the Lodge, Le Panier, Applause!, and”—I searched my notes—“the Bayside Grille.” How could I forget Ray’s huckleberry-peach tartlets?
Cowgirls appeared bearing more trays, and Lodge staff helped the chefs clean up their stations.
“Ought to be a three-way tie,” Heidi said to my mother and me. “Every dish looked perfect.”
Fresca snorted. “He’s a master of the backhanded compliment. I’d like to backhand him.”
Mimi joined us, wild-eyed. “This was a terrible idea. I could strangle him.”
“You mean Nasty Knox?” I said. “Glib Gib?”
Mimi snatched a glass of Chardonnay from a passing tray and downed half of it in one swallow.
“‘Bite and balance’ is a cute phrase, but calling something nice over
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