then cuts to the judges tasting her food and making comments.
There’s a commercial, then it’s my turn to be humiliated. It’s pretty much the same drill for each of us. I wince when I see my interview because I look and sound so stupid. I say, “When I’m a celebrity chef, Caribbean food will be the hottest food around.” Ugh! That sounds so preachy.
After they show Randolph’s footage, Quade says, “And we’ll be back with the winner after this break.”
I’m getting tired from standing. I sit on the step behind the little platform. Brooklyn and Randolph do the same thing. None of us speak to each other. Somehow we know we aren’t supposed to, I guess.
There’s a countdown. We all get to our feet, back on the platforms. “And now, it’s time for the judges’ decision,” says Quade.
The judges step forward in front of us. First is that bubblehead, Sam Vitelli.
She turns toward Brooklyn. “This kid chef worked really hard, made some elegant dishes, and really held it together,” she says. “But there was something missing, a certain creativity and pizzazz. Brooklyn, I’m sorry, you’re going home.”
Brooklyn nods and smiles weakly, giving a wave to the judges and the cameras. She steps down.
I swallow. So Randolph’s the winner. I try to play poker face.
Connor Sebastian steps forward next. He’s looking at me.
“This young chef showed serious spirit,” he says. “No matter what the odds were, this chef kept going. But the food wasn’t always approachable and didn’t stretch out of a certain comfort zone.”
He gestures in my direction. “Anjali, I’m sorry, you’re going home.”
I turn to Randolph and smile as brightly as I can, then hold out my hand.
“Congratulations!” I say. Randolph looks at me, totally surprised. Maybe he didn’t know.
“Wow, uh, wow! Thanks!” He looks dazed. Then suddenly he shakes his head. “Yes!” He raises his arms up in the air.
Chef Daisy steps forward. “Well, the secret is out! Congratulations, Randolph!” She has to stop because he’s whooping and hollering so loud. I step away quickly and walk down the platform toward Deema.
“You were inventive and showed great skill for someone so young,” Chef Daisy is saying behind me. “Congratulations on getting your own show. I look forward to sharing a stage with you!”
A woman I assume is Randolph’s mom races past me with a little girl. They run onstage and hug Randolph like he’s just won a game show. They’re all jumping up and down and dancing around the set.
I can’t move. I’m supposed to walk off the set now,but my feet won’t let me. All the cameras are on Randolph, so nobody can see my makeup melting under the hot lights. Why can’t I get over this stupid contest? It’s over. Period. I tried and lost. I look for Deema, but she’s disappeared.
Brenda comes to where I am and gently leads me back toward my greenroom. “You’ve got an entourage,” she says.
I’m not even halfway down the hall when I see them all lined up in black Island Spice T-shirts from our roti shop — it’s Deema, Linc, Anand, Nyla, Mom, and Dad.
They’re holding a huge sign that says
POW
! Anand tosses an Island Spice T-shirt at me. “Put this on so people know you’re my sister,” he says.
I slip the shirt on over the yellow shirt from the network.
Everyone gathers around me. Like Randolph’s family, they’re jumping and whooping, and they’re chanting, “Anjali’s got
POW
!”
“Guys,” I say, “I didn’t win, remember?” I’m giggling.
Linc says,
“Pow
is not about winning — it’s about being you.”
We all crowd back into the greenroom, where Nyla has a tray arranged with a pitcher of ginger beer and some sweet
prasad
for all of us to eat.
We crowd into the small room, and somehow we all manage to fit.
“You know, Anjali, we have a saying in Trinidad,” Deema says. “ ‘One, one cocoa does full basket.’ Do you know what that means?”
I sip some ginger
There’s a commercial, then it’s my turn to be humiliated. It’s pretty much the same drill for each of us. I wince when I see my interview because I look and sound so stupid. I say, “When I’m a celebrity chef, Caribbean food will be the hottest food around.” Ugh! That sounds so preachy.
After they show Randolph’s footage, Quade says, “And we’ll be back with the winner after this break.”
I’m getting tired from standing. I sit on the step behind the little platform. Brooklyn and Randolph do the same thing. None of us speak to each other. Somehow we know we aren’t supposed to, I guess.
There’s a countdown. We all get to our feet, back on the platforms. “And now, it’s time for the judges’ decision,” says Quade.
The judges step forward in front of us. First is that bubblehead, Sam Vitelli.
She turns toward Brooklyn. “This kid chef worked really hard, made some elegant dishes, and really held it together,” she says. “But there was something missing, a certain creativity and pizzazz. Brooklyn, I’m sorry, you’re going home.”
Brooklyn nods and smiles weakly, giving a wave to the judges and the cameras. She steps down.
I swallow. So Randolph’s the winner. I try to play poker face.
Connor Sebastian steps forward next. He’s looking at me.
“This young chef showed serious spirit,” he says. “No matter what the odds were, this chef kept going. But the food wasn’t always approachable and didn’t stretch out of a certain comfort zone.”
He gestures in my direction. “Anjali, I’m sorry, you’re going home.”
I turn to Randolph and smile as brightly as I can, then hold out my hand.
“Congratulations!” I say. Randolph looks at me, totally surprised. Maybe he didn’t know.
“Wow, uh, wow! Thanks!” He looks dazed. Then suddenly he shakes his head. “Yes!” He raises his arms up in the air.
Chef Daisy steps forward. “Well, the secret is out! Congratulations, Randolph!” She has to stop because he’s whooping and hollering so loud. I step away quickly and walk down the platform toward Deema.
“You were inventive and showed great skill for someone so young,” Chef Daisy is saying behind me. “Congratulations on getting your own show. I look forward to sharing a stage with you!”
A woman I assume is Randolph’s mom races past me with a little girl. They run onstage and hug Randolph like he’s just won a game show. They’re all jumping up and down and dancing around the set.
I can’t move. I’m supposed to walk off the set now,but my feet won’t let me. All the cameras are on Randolph, so nobody can see my makeup melting under the hot lights. Why can’t I get over this stupid contest? It’s over. Period. I tried and lost. I look for Deema, but she’s disappeared.
Brenda comes to where I am and gently leads me back toward my greenroom. “You’ve got an entourage,” she says.
I’m not even halfway down the hall when I see them all lined up in black Island Spice T-shirts from our roti shop — it’s Deema, Linc, Anand, Nyla, Mom, and Dad.
They’re holding a huge sign that says
POW
! Anand tosses an Island Spice T-shirt at me. “Put this on so people know you’re my sister,” he says.
I slip the shirt on over the yellow shirt from the network.
Everyone gathers around me. Like Randolph’s family, they’re jumping and whooping, and they’re chanting, “Anjali’s got
POW
!”
“Guys,” I say, “I didn’t win, remember?” I’m giggling.
Linc says,
“Pow
is not about winning — it’s about being you.”
We all crowd back into the greenroom, where Nyla has a tray arranged with a pitcher of ginger beer and some sweet
prasad
for all of us to eat.
We crowd into the small room, and somehow we all manage to fit.
“You know, Anjali, we have a saying in Trinidad,” Deema says. “ ‘One, one cocoa does full basket.’ Do you know what that means?”
I sip some ginger
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