"And if you lose, then I lose." Evelyn looked up at him. "But at least I'll have tried. At least I'll have stood up for myself instead of running away." Something shifted in his expression.
"You're not planning to lose, are you?" "Not if I can help it." He smiled then, a real smile that transformed his whole face. "Good, because I've tasted your cooking, Miss Harper. And if those county ladies think they can beat you, they're in for a surprise."
From the porch, Lily called out, "Can I help you practice, Miss Evelyn?" Evelyn turned to look at the girl, who was practically vibrating with excitement despite not fully understanding what had just happened. "Absolutely." Evelyn said. "I'm going to need all the help I can get."
That night, lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, Evelyn let herself feel the full weight of terror at what she'd agreed to. Three weeks to prepare. Three weeks until she'd stand in front of everyone who judged her and prove them wrong, or fail spectacularly and confirm everything they believed. She closed her eyes and thought about her mother, who'd faced down worse odds with grace and strength, about the months she'd survived at Thornridge despite everything working against her, about the feeling of Lily's small hand in hers while they cooked together, and Ridgewell's rare smile, and the satisfaction of feeding hungry men food that made them grateful. She had three weeks.
She'd better make them count. The preparation consumed her. Every spare moment between regular meal services, Evelyn tested recipes, adjusted techniques, and pushed herself harder than she'd ever pushed before. Her mother's recipe book became her Bible. Each stained page a road map to something she needed to perfect.
Mrs. Chen threw herself into helping with an intensity that surprised everyone. The older woman appeared in the bunkhouse kitchen early one morning with a wooden box full of ingredients Evelyn had never seen before. "What's all this?" Evelyn asked, examining jars of unfamiliar spices and dried herbs. "My grandmother's pantry.
Well, what I could recreate of it." Mrs. Chen set the box on the prep table with reverence. "She was the best cook in her province back in China. Taught me everything she knew before we came to America." "Mrs. Chen, I can't use your family recipes in a county competition.
That wouldn't be right." "You're not using my recipes, you're learning techniques." The older woman pulled out a jar of star anise. "These county ladies, they'll make the same dishes their mothers and grandmothers made. Good food, traditional food, but predictable.
You need something that stands out without being too strange. And you think Chinese cooking techniques will help with that? I think flavor is flavor, regardless of where it comes from. A touch of ginger in apple pie? Nobody will know what makes it special, just that it is."
Mrs. Chen smiled slightly. "Besides, your mother's recipes are solid foundations. We're just going to make them exceptional." They worked together late into the night, blending techniques and testing combinations that shouldn't work, but somehow did. Evelyn's fried chicken gained a subtle heat from Sichuan peppercorns ground so fine, they were nearly invisible.
Her biscuits became impossibly flaky after Mrs. Chen showed her a folding technique that created dozens of delicate layers. Lillian pointed herself official taste tester, showing up every afternoon after her lessons to sample whatever Evelyn had created that day. The girl had opinions, too. Unfiltered and honest in the way only children could be. "This one's too sweet," she announced after trying a revised apple tart recipe.