Seven minutes did not belong only to Petrozza.
Dominic lifted the two halibut portions from the resting rack.
“They’re gone,” he said.
Petrozza looked toward them.
“They look good.” “They are good.
They won’t be in seven minutes.” Dominic placed them in the rejected-food tray.
Two more portions joined the cost of one rare steak.
“New halibut down in one,” Dominic called.
“One,” Bobby repeated.
Louross cleared Matt’s plated vegetables.
Matt reached for them.
“They can stay warm.” “They’ll be dead before the beef gets here,” Aurelio said.
“They’re vegetables.” “They’re already cooked vegetables.” “New garnish,” Bobby ordered.
“Matt, fire in three.” Matt scraped the plates into the reject tray.
“This is a lot of waste for one piece of meat.” Petrozza heard him.
“I know.” Sous Chef Scott removed the cut Wellington from beneath the heat lamp.
“This won’t sit there for seven minutes.
Replacement Wellington out of the oven.
Rest it properly.” “Yes, Chef.” Petrozza moved another Wellington to the resting rack.
He checked the beef fillet in the fresh pan, then looked toward the ticket rail.
“Current ticket,” Bobby said.
“Two halibut.
Beef medium.
Wellington medium rare.” “Following?” “One chicken.
Two beef—medium and medium rare—and one halibut.” “Do not cook the second table inside your head while your hands are on the first.” “I hear you.” “Say the time.” “Six minutes.” Bobby looked at him.
“You said seven.” “One minute passed.” Bobby nodded.
“Good.
Dominic?” “Fish down now.
Six minutes.” “Garnish?” “Three until we fire,” Louross answered.
For the first time since the rare steak reached the pass, every station possessed the same clock.
◆ Craig lifted a wooden high chair by its backrest.
The dining room offered several safer ways to carry it.
Craig found none of them.
He raised it to shoulder height and turned.
One of the chair’s legs struck a seated woman behind the head.
The woman jerked forward.
Her husband stood halfway from his chair.
“Oh, my God,” Craig said.
Jean-Philippe crossed the dining room before the high chair returned to the floor.
“Craig!” “I didn’t see her.” “That is very apparent.” “I was moving the chair.” “You were attacking the customers with furniture!” Craig looked toward the cameras, then at the woman.
“Sorry.” Jean-Philippe stared at him.
“That is how you apologize?” “I said I was sorry.” “You struck a guest in the head!” Craig turned fully toward the table.
“I’m very sorry, ma’am.
Are you all right?” The woman touched the back of her head.
“I think so.” “I’ll get you some ice.” “You will get nothing until you put that chair somewhere it cannot injure another person!” Jean-Philippe said.
Craig carried it away with both hands.
At waist level.
Jean-Philippe remained beside the table.
“I sincerely apologize.” The woman watched Craig disappear.
“Is he normally in the kitchen?” “Yes.” “That’s comforting.” ◆ “Halibut in four,” Dominic called.
“Beef in four,” Petrozza answered.
“Garnish firing now,” Louross said.
Matt placed a clean pan over moderate heat.
Aurelio arranged four warm plates without touching Matt’s food.
“Where do you want the vegetables?” he asked.
“Right side.” “Potatoes?” “Left.” “Sauce?” “Petrozza walks it.” Scott listened from behind them.
“Good.
Navarro plates.
Matt cooks and seasons.” “Yes, Chef,” Aurelio said.
Matt glanced at him.
“I know how to season.” “Then I won’t have to help.” Two minutes passed.
Petrozza pressed the fillet.
It resisted more than the first.
“Two minutes.” “Fish two,” Dominic answered.
“Garnish ninety seconds,” Louross said.
Bobby looked along the line.
“Everybody walks in two.” “Two,” the men repeated.
Petrozza removed the beef and left it to rest.
He didn’t cut it.
He didn’t look toward Ramsay.
He waited.
“Thirty seconds,” he called.
Dominic basted the halibut.
Matt brought his vegetables off the heat.
Aurelio spooned them onto the right side of each plate, matching the space Matt had indicated.
“Walking,” Dominic said.
“Walking,” Louross answered.
Petrozza cut the beef.
Pink reached the center without turning red.
“Medium,” he said.
He cut the Wellington.
Its center remained warm and rose-colored beneath intact pastry.
“Medium rare.” The entire ticket reached the pass together.
Ramsay cut through the beef.
“Medium.
That is what I asked for!” “Yes, Chef.” “And you knew it before you sent it?” “Yes, Chef.” “The first one—you knew that was rare.” “Yes, Chef.” “So the difference wasn’t whether you could cook it.
It was whether I could fucking trust you!” “Yes, Chef.” Ramsay tasted the halibut, checked the Wellington, and inspected the garnish.
“Service!” Jean-Philippe took the plates.
Petrozza returned to his station.
Dominic replaced his towels.
Matt reset his pans.
Seven minutes had cost two halibut, one Wellington, two sets of garnish, and nearly the team’s momentum.
It had also produced the first blue entrée.
◆ In the red kitchen, Christina lifted a scallop pan from the heat.
“Fish walking in thirty.” “Risotto walking now,” Corey called.
“Sharon, meat time?” “Four minutes.” Christina stopped.
“The ticket was called for three.” “I need four.” “Then say four when the ticket comes in.” “I just said it.” “You said it after my fish was cooked.” “I can’t make beef cook faster.” “I didn’t ask you to.” Ramsay slammed one palm against the pass.
“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!” “Meat needs four, Chef,” Christina said.
“THEN WHY IS YOUR FISH WALKING?!” “She didn’t give me a time, Chef.” “I thought she knew,” Sharon said.
“YOU THOUGHT THE FISH STATION COULD READ YOUR FUCKING MIND?!” “No, Chef!” Ramsay pointed at Christina.
“And you fired without a time!
Both of you are screwing the ticket!” “Yes, Chef!” Sharon turned toward her board.
Her tongue pressed between her lips while she concentrated.
Ramsay’s expression changed.
“PUT YOUR TONGUE BACK IN YOUR MOUTH!” Sharon froze.
“Chef?” “You look like the female Hannibal Lecter!
Stick it back in and concentrate!” “Yes, Chef!” Christina lowered her voice.
“New fish when meat is at three.” “I heard you.” “Say the time.” “Four minutes.” Christina discarded the scallops.
Another correct component joined the waste because the ticket had never shared one clock.
◆ The blue kitchen’s second entrée ticket began cleanly.
“Chicken six,” Petrozza called.
“Medium beef five.
Medium rare beef four.” “Halibut six,” Dominic answered.
“Garnish four,” Matt said.
Bobby repeated each time.
Aurelio set the plates.
Petrozza marked his pans by turning the handles in different directions.
Medium pointed left.
Medium rare pointed right.
Chicken remained in the oven.
For two minutes, the system worked.
“FOLLOWING!” Ramsay called.
“Two Wellington medium, one beef rare, two halibut!” “YES, CHEF!” Petrozza looked at the new ticket.
His hand moved toward the pan pointing right.
“Current ticket,” Bobby said.
“I know.” “What’s in your hand?” Petrozza looked down.
The tongs hovered over the medium-rare fillet.
“Current medium rare.” “And what were you about to do?” “Turn it again.” “Does it need turning?” Petrozza checked the sear.
“No.” “Then leave it.” Petrozza lowered the tongs.
“I feel like I have seven people standing inside my skull.” “You have seven people standing in the kitchen,” Ben said.
“Listen to those.” “Chicken four,” Petrozza called.
“Halibut four,” Dominic answered.
The second ticket continued.
◆ Sharon carried a seared beef fillet toward her cutting board.
One raw chicken breast already occupied the lower corner.
The tongs she had used on it lay across the board.
She placed the rested beef beside the chicken.
The edge touched.
“STOP!” Ramsay’s voice crossed the red kitchen.
Sharon’s hand remained above the beef.
“DON’T MOVE A FUCKING THING!” Ramsay reached the station and pointed down.
“Cooked beef touching raw chicken!
And the raw-chicken tongs across the same board!
Are you trying to poison someone?!” “No, Chef!” “Then why the fuck have you put them together?!” “I didn’t realize they touched.” “That is why you have separate boards!
Everything on there goes in the bin!
EVERYTHING!” “Chef, the beef—” “I SAID EVERYTHING!” “Yes, Chef!” Sharon discarded the meat.
Christina turned away before her expression reached Sharon.
It reached the camera instead.
“New meat time?” Christina asked.
“Seven minutes.” “Fish fires in four.” “I know.” “Then answer.” “Seven on meat.” “Fish down in three.” Ramsay looked between them.
“Stop reacting to each other and RUN YOUR FUCKING STATIONS!” “Yes, Chef!” Christina said.
“Yes, Chef!” Sharon answered.
Christina reached for fresh halibut.
Sharon scrubbed and sanitized her board.
Corey watched from appetizers.
The red team’s strongest risotto could not shorten seven minutes.
◆ Petrozza’s chicken, two beef fillets, and Dominic’s halibut reached the pass together.
Ramsay cut the medium beef.
“Good!” He cut the medium rare.
“Good!” Then the chicken.
“Moist.
That’s what I want!” Petrozza released the breath he had held since the first cut.
“Thank you, Chef.” “Don’t thank me!
Do it again!” “Yes, Chef.” Ramsay inspected the halibut.
“Dominic.” “Yes, Chef.” “Three portions tonight.
Three cooked.
Don’t start admiring yourself!” “No, Chef.” “Service!” The plates left.
Dominic turned back to fish.
He smiled only after Ramsay could no longer see him.
Louross saw.
“Bottle caps.” “Bottle caps,” Dominic agreed.
◆ Matt poured oil into a hot garnish pan.
Too much struck the center.
A narrow stream ran over the rim and down the outer wall.
“A little heavy,” Aurelio said.
“I’ve got it.” Matt reached for the vegetables.
The oil touched the gas flame.
Fire climbed the side of the pan.
“Gas off,” Aurelio said.
Louross turned the burner knob from his side.
Matt jerked the pan backward.
“Leave it flat,” Aurelio said.
“Cover it.” The lid sat six inches from Matt’s hand.
He grabbed it and lowered it over the pan.
The flame vanished beneath the metal.
Smoke rose around the edges.
Ramsay spun toward them.
“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!” “Oil caught, Chef,” Matt said.
“You’re on garnish, not demolitions!
Stop trying to burn the fucking building down!” “Yes, Chef!” “Do you plan on leaving a kitchen for the winner?!” “Yes, Chef!” “Then less oil, you donkey!
New pan!
MOVE!” “Yes, Chef!” Matt removed the covered pan from the range with a dry towel and placed it on the cold landing.
He looked at Aurelio.
“I knew to cover it.” “You were moving it.” “I was getting it off the flame.” “The flame was on the outside.” “I said I had it.” Louross put a clean pan on the range.
“You had a fire.” “Stay out of it.” “Both of you,” Bobby said.
“Next garnish in four.
Can you make four?” Matt looked at the clean station.
“Yes.” “Then make four.” The argument ended because the ticket didn’t care who was right.
◆ Rosann approached the pass with another ticket.
Ramsay read the time written across its top.
Then he read it again.
“WHEN DID YOU TAKE THIS ORDER?!” “About an hour ago, Chef.” “AN HOUR?!” “I had other tickets ahead of it.” “WHERE?!” “In my pad.” “Why the fuck was it in your pad?!” “I didn’t want to overwhelm the kitchen.” Ramsay pointed into the red dining room.
“That table has been sitting there for two fucking hours!
You’ve ruined everything you’ve touched tonight!” “I was trying to space them out.” “STOP THINKING FOR THE KITCHEN!
Take the order, bring the ticket, and let the cooks cook!
MOVE!” “Yes, Chef!” Rosann returned to the dining room.
Jean-Philippe intercepted her.
“Do you have any more hidden orders?” “One.” “Bring it now.” “They just finished ordering.” “That is when an order is normally brought.” Rosann removed the ticket from her pad.
Jean-Philippe walked it to the pass himself.
◆ “ORDER IN!” Ramsay shouted.
“Two Wellington medium rare, one beef medium, one halibut!” “YES, CHEF!” Sharon turned toward her oven.
“Wellington six.
Beef five.” “Halibut six,” Christina said.
“Garnish four,” Vanessa called.
“Together in six,” Jen added from beside Corey.
For the first three minutes, the red kitchen moved.
Then Ramsay called the following table.
“ONE CHICKEN, TWO BEEF—BOTH MEDIUM—ONE HALIBUT!” “YES, CHEF!” Sharon repeated the new meats under her breath.
“Chicken.
Two medium beef.” Christina checked the first halibut.
“Current fish three.” “Current meat three,” Sharon answered.
She opened the oven and removed the Wellingtons.
Only two rested on the tray.
She looked toward the ticket.
“Where’s the beef?” Jen turned from appetizers.
“What beef?” “The medium beef.” “The current ticket has one.” “I thought that was on the next ticket.” Sharon checked her pans.
Both held later orders.
“Sharon?” Christina called.
“Hold fish.” “How long?” “Six minutes.” Christina stared at her.
“You said three.” “I forgot the beef.” “Then I need a real time.” “I just gave it to you.” Ramsay had already heard.
“YOU FORGOT AN ENTIRE FUCKING BEEF?!” “Yes, Chef!” “HOW?!” “I mixed up the tickets.” “Did you talk to Christina?!” “I assumed she would be ready.” Christina looked toward him.
“She told me three, Chef.” “And now?!” “Six.” Ramsay faced Sharon.
“You spend more time arranging yourself for the cameras than arranging your fucking station!
You’re a showgirl right now, not a cook!
START THE BEEF!” “Yes, Chef!” Sharon placed the fillet in the pan.
Christina removed her halibut before it overcooked.
Vanessa cleared the garnish.
Jen returned to the risotto pans.
Corey watched Sharon’s refire begin.
Her own appetizers had reached the dining room.
The entrées had not.
◆ Petrozza placed two Wellingtons on his cutting board.
He wiped his knife.
The first slice compressed the pastry.
“STOP!” Ramsay shouted.
Petrozza lifted the blade.
“You’re sawing through it!” “I’m trying not to crush it.” “You’re crushing it because you’re afraid of the fucking knife!
One stroke.
Let the blade work!” Ramsay took a clean slicing knife and cut through the center of the first Wellington.
The pastry remained intact.
The beef inside showed a warm medium.
“That is beautifully cooked.” Petrozza looked at it.
“It is.” “You sound surprised.” “A little.” “Why?” “I haven’t worked a line like this in nearly twenty years.” “Your hands remember.
Your head keeps interfering.
Cut the second one!” “Yes, Chef.” Petrozza positioned the blade and drew it through in one motion.
The pastry held.
“Better!
Now plate it!” “Yes, Chef.” Petrozza plated both portions.
“Walking meat.” “Walking fish,” Dominic called.
“Garnish walking,” Matt added.
The ticket reached the pass.
Ramsay checked every plate.
“Service!” Another blue table received its entrées.
◆ Three hours into service, the blue team reached its final savory ticket.
“TWO HALIBUT, ONE CHICKEN, ONE WELLINGTON MEDIUM RARE!” Ramsay called.
“YES, CHEF!” “Six on fish,” Dominic said.
“Six on chicken, five on Wellington,” Petrozza answered.
“Garnish four,” Louross called.
Bobby looked toward Aurelio.
“Plates?” “Hot and ready.” “Matt?” “Station’s clean.” “Ben?” “Cold side closed and wiped.” “Then everyone walks in six.” No one challenged the time.
Dominic placed the halibut skin-side down.
Petrozza checked his chicken.
Matt measured the oil before it entered the pan.
Aurelio arranged the plates and stepped back.
He could hear the red kitchen behind him.
Sharon was asking which beef belonged to which ticket.
Christina was demanding a time.
Jen was calling garnish.
Every instinct Aurelio possessed wanted to turn around.
Scott stood beside him.
“Your kitchen,” the sous chef said.
Aurelio kept his eyes on the blue plates.
“Yes, Chef.” “Four minutes,” Dominic called.
“Four,” Petrozza answered.
The red kitchen grew louder.
Aurelio did not cross the center line.
◆ Sharon cut into a beef fillet.
The center was rare.
The order required medium.
She looked toward the waiting halibut.
“Meat walking,” she called.
Christina turned.
“What temperature?” “Medium.” “Did you cut it?” “Yes.” “And?” “It’ll carry.” Christina had heard those words from the other kitchen earlier.
“Show me.” “I have it.” “Show me the beef.” Sharon angled the sliced fillet away.
“Put it on the pass,” she said.
Ramsay saw the movement.
“WHAT ARE YOU HIDING?!” “Nothing, Chef!” “BRING IT HERE!” Sharon carried the plate forward.
Ramsay touched the meat, then separated the slices.
“IT’S FUCKING RARE!” “Yes, Chef.” “You knew it!” “It was close.” “It is not close!
You forgot one beef, contaminated another, and now you’re sending me raw meat because everyone else is waiting!” “Yes, Chef.” “That is not an explanation!” “No, Chef.” Ramsay shoved the plate back.
“START AGAIN!” “Yes, Chef!” Christina removed her fish from the pass.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
“CHRISTINA!” Ramsay shouted.
“Yes, Chef!” “You’ve stopped!” “I’m refiring.” “THEN OPEN YOUR MOUTH!” “New halibut in six.” “LOUDER!” “NEW HALIBUT IN SIX!” Sharon fired another beef.
The red dining room continued waiting.
◆ “BLUE WALKING IN ONE!” Bobby called.
“ONE!” the team answered.
Dominic basted the halibut.
Petrozza sliced the Wellington and checked the chicken.
Matt brought the garnish off the heat.
Aurelio plated it.
“Fish walking.” “Meat walking.” “Garnish walking.” The final blue ticket reached Ramsay.
He checked the chicken first.
Cooked.
The Wellington followed.
Medium rare.
He pressed the halibut and opened one portion at its thickest point.
It separated into moist flakes.
“SERVICE!” Jean-Philippe carried the plates through the dining-room doors.
The blue kitchen had completed every entrée ordered from its side.
Dominic looked at the empty fish rail.
Petrozza looked at the clean board in front of him.
Matt checked that every burner was off.
Bobby exhaled.
No one celebrated.
Across the pass, the red team still had four tables waiting.
◆ Ramsay watched Sharon’s latest beef cook.
He looked toward Rosann’s dining room.
Then toward the clock.
“STOP!” The red team continued moving.
“I SAID STOP!” Every pan remained where it was.
The cooks turned.
“THREE HOURS!
Blue has finished every entrée, and you still have four fucking tables waiting!
They could have driven home, cooked for themselves, and come back!” Rosann lowered her order pad.
“Corey, your appetizers were good.
Jen, you tried to keep it moving.
The rest of you let one station drag the entire kitchen into the shit!” No one answered.
“Christina, you found your voice and then lost it!” “Yes, Chef!” “Sharon, you contaminated food, forgot a beef, lied about another, and never controlled your fucking station!” “Yes, Chef.” “RED KITCHEN CLOSED!
CLEAN DOWN!” “YES, CHEF!” The red team began clearing its stations.
The blue team remained on the opposite side.
Ramsay looked at them.
“WHAT ARE YOU STARING AT?!” “Nothing, Chef,” Bobby said.
“THEN CLEAN YOUR FUCKING KITCHEN!” “Yes, Chef!” Blue returned to work.
Aurelio gathered the used plates from garnish.
He did not cross the center line.
It felt less like discipline than abandonment.
He understood the difference.
Albeit reluctantly.
◆ Both teams lined up after service.
Grease marked jackets that had begun the evening clean.
Petrozza had flour across one sleeve.
Matt smelled faintly of smoke.
Sharon’s makeup remained almost untouched.
Ramsay stood before them.
“That was a pathetic service.” No one answered.
“Blue team, you finished.
Do not smile.” Several men stopped themselves.
“Petrozza, you knowingly sent rare beef!” “Yes, Chef.” “Matt, you set your garnish station on fire!” “Yes, Chef.” “Bobby, you burned the first quail eggs!” “Yes, Chef.” “Craig assaulted a customer with a chair!” Craig looked down.
“Accidentally, Chef.” “An accidentally injured customer is still fucking injured!” “Yes, Chef.” “But after that, you communicated.
Dominic gave honest times.
Petrozza recovered.
Bobby listened.
Navarro cooked a strong risotto and supported garnish without trying to become the entire brigade.” Ramsay looked along the blue line.
“You completed your side.
You won.
Get upstairs!” “Thank you, Chef.” “MOVE!” “Yes, Chef!” The blue team started toward the stairs.
“RED TEAM, STAY WHERE YOU ARE!” The men passed behind them.
Aurelio let the others go first.
His gaze moved once along the blue jackets ahead of him and settled only after Craig cleared the doorway.
Christina turned her head as he passed.
She caught the movement of his eyes.
Not toward the doors.
Toward people.
◆ “Red team, you lost.” “Yes, Chef.” “Corey, you produced the strongest food on your team.” “Thank you, Chef.” “You are the best of the worst.
Go upstairs and nominate two people for elimination.” “Yes, Chef.” “Think carefully.” Corey looked toward Christina.
Then Jen.
“I will.” ◆ The blue team gathered in the common room.
Petrozza lowered himself onto the couch.
“I remembered the menu and forgot how to tell the truth to a steak.” “You corrected it,” Dominic said.
“After feeding half a farm to the bin.” “Tomorrow, don’t do that part.” Petrozza looked at him.
“Excellent advice.” Matt sat in the nearest chair.
“The fire was small.” “So was the pan,” Louross said.
“I handled it.” “You tried to carry it.” “I was moving it somewhere safe.” “With fire on the outside.” “It went out.” “Because you covered it.” “I knew to cover it.” “After Navarro told you.” Matt looked toward Aurelio.
“You think I would’ve burned the kitchen down?” “No.” “Then why did you jump in?” “I told you where the lid was.” “I knew where it was.” “Then next time, use it sooner.” Matt leaned back.
“There won’t be a next time.” “Good.” The red team entered before Matt could answer.
Corey walked past everyone and stopped beside the dining table.
“I need to make two nominations.” “Sharon,” Jen said immediately.
Sharon stared at her.
“You don’t get to decide for Corey.” “You contaminated meat and forgot an order.” “Rosann held tickets for an hour.” “I was trying not to overwhelm the kitchen,” Rosann said.
“And how did that work?” Christina asked.
“Don’t start.” “I’m asking.” “It didn’t work.” “Then own it.” “I just did.” Corey looked from one woman to another.
“Does anyone want to tell me why it shouldn’t be them?” Silence answered.
She waited.
“Really?
Nobody?” “Chef Ramsay saw what happened,” Shayna said.
“Nominate who hurt service.” “That isn’t the only way to play this.” Christina’s eyes narrowed.
“What does that mean?” “It means I have two names to give him.” Corey left the table and crossed toward the blue team.
Ben looked up.
“You asking us?” “I’m asking what you would do.” “Worst two cooks from service,” Bobby said.
“Even if you could eliminate someone stronger?” Bobby studied her.
“You’re thinking about taking out the best?” Corey crossed her arms.
“I am the best.” Jen heard her from across the room.
“So why ask?” Corey turned.
“I didn’t ask you.” “No.
You’re just planning to nominate me.” Corey smiled without warmth.
“You said it, not me.” The room divided without anyone moving.
Red on one side.
Blue on the other.
Christina stood near the center.
Her gaze shifted from Corey to Aurelio.
He was watching everyone again.
“Who are you looking for?” she asked.
Aurelio’s attention stopped.
“No one.” “You looked back twice when we came upstairs.” Several conversations quieted.
“Habit.” “From what?” Christina asked.
Aurelio glanced toward the cameras.
Then toward the stairwell.
“Travel.” Petrozza’s expression changed slightly.
“Something happened on one of those trips.” Corey called Christina’s name from the other side of the room.
The nomination waited.
Aurelio looked at Petrozza.
“Not tonight.” Petrozza held his gaze for a moment.
“All right.” Christina did not receive an answer.
She received something more useful.
A boundary.
She turned toward Corey.
“Let’s finish this.” Corey looked at the women she had cooked beside.
Then at the two strongest.
“I already have.”