Cook Off Casualties

Just when you think you have mastered skill

The Cook Off was underway. Contestants were ready and waiting for the signal go. Connor stood amongst them, cracking his knuckles. Five hundred practice runs cooking, dozens of broken utensils, hundreds of dollars of food all lead up to this moment. This is the moment that would determine his future.

“I hope you’re hungry folks, because today we’re making minestrone!”

Connor sharpened his knives, sterilized his utensils, cleaned his cooking surface. Nothing was left unaccounted for on his watch. He would leave nothing to chance. His mentor taught him everything a chef ought to know down to the last detail.

“All contestants, on my mark!” the announcer called.

Twenty other contestants occupied the surrounding cooking stations. Each of them an expert in their own right. Not a single one of these foolish challengers were willing to give up the fight to Connor. He would make them all grovel before his expertise.

“Get ready!”

Connor gave his knives a final round of sharpening. Every clean cut counted.

“Get set!”

One last look at all of the tools and ingredients. Everything was present and accounted for, not a thing out of place. Any distraction for even a moment would be a devastating set back.

“Go!”

The stove was on. Pots filled with water. Vegetables began to fly into pieces. Connor pounded away at every step of the process. His mentors’ teachings came to him like an echo through the canyon. It was second nature to Connor; to say he was recalling each step was an understatement. Every inch of his being was built to cook. Cooking was in the air he breathed, in every step he took, and each time he woke up.

The minestrone was coming together with masterful precision. The meat was prepared to perfection. The vegetables chopped to the millimeter. Pasta heated just right without making it soggy. Spices measured carefully. Broth made with a master’s pride. The end was near, Connor knew he would be the one to succeed. He just knew it.

An hour and a half passed in a breeze. When the buzzer called for the end, all chefs stepped away from their soups. Connor stepped back from his wearing his brightest smile.

When the judges called for samples to be brought to them, Connor brought his upon a silver platter and cover. When his turn came for testing, Connor could not help but present his with all the bravado of unrestrained ego.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I bring to you my magnum opus! This is the peak of culinary perfection! I would like to thank my Mom and Dad, brothers and sisters, my mentor, my friends and all my competition for this moment! I bring to you my masterpiece!”

Off came the cover. A collection of gasps echoed around the cooking hall.

“Is this a joke?” one of the judges asked.

Staring upon what was supposed to be his masterpiece, Connor could only stare. There was not a single word to describe his confusion. In the place of the minestrone sat a cream puff.

There was not a single ounce of logic to explain this outcome. Like how on earth did a mixture of meat and vegetables become carbs and crème. Or how the bowls became a plate. Let alone how five servings of food dropped to one. Connor was at a greater loss examining the trolley, the cover and his cooking station. Nothing but crème puffs all around. Everything crème puffs.

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What happened to Connor’s minestrone? How and/or why?

Is it possible that the conclusion was the result of karmic justice?

Would you agree if I said this was a lesson on the mistake of celebrating too soon?