"It’s a culinary war, chef!” I heard Jack Stagnicky’s shout coming from behind me. The judges, along with the special guest in the form of the one-and-only, three-star Michelin chef, Hubert Dumas, all laughed at the statement of this absolute imbecile of a cook.

I was carefully arranging my plate, building the tower of langoustines that I poached in a citrus-infused court-bouillon. Then the thinly sliced black truffle, savory tuile sheets, micro-herbs. It smelled even better than it looked: the nutty scent of cooked butter, the earthy aroma of truffles, perfectly cooked langoustines producing the fresh ocean breeze—all intertwined with a drizzle of balsamic reduction. It was a masterpiece. It was a romance between the ocean and the forest.

“Alex, what say you, how do you feel about what Jack just said?” I heard one of the judges ask me. All three were standing in front of me now, with the camera up in my face. I bit my tongue; I wanted to tell them to shove off and leave me be.

“Chef, all I can say is that for me, it’s a culinary dance, not a war. Imagine how dance tastes, then imagine the taste of war. Which would you choose?” I asked and saw approving nods all around. On top of being the best cook here, I was the most well-spoken, and I damn well knew it. The audience will love me, I thought. It was the most popular culinary show for home cooks, after all; you don’t win by food alone.

“The langoustines and truffle tower looks exquisite, keep it up!”

“Yes, Chef!” I shouted back, giggling like a little schoolgirl at the compliment from Dumas. He was the best.

I was putting the finishing touches on my plate, the last of the edible flowers, when I heard a loud bang. I turned around to see Stagnicky crushed by the studio’s lighting. There it was, his body lying in a pool of blood and a big lamp in place of his head.

I turned back towards my plate and proceeded to drizzle the balsamic essence onto it, placing drops in random places around the langoustines’ tower. I heard the screams, people rushing around. All I could think of was that the judges would never want to taste my dish now.