Chapter 0174
“Okay, Abby. Let’s get everything in ce. Farro mafaldine, ck truffle butter, and the mushrooms,”
John says, his hand passing over each individual ingredient—and lingering over the coveted ck
truffles—as he speaks.
I nod. My body feels like it’s about to burst, I’m so excited. “I can’t believe we’re finally doing this,” I say.
“If we can just nail this dish, the cook-off is ours.”
Karl chuckles from the sidelines. “No pressure, huh?”
John and I share a quick nce and a collective breath before diving in.
He works on preparing the handmade pasta, expertly feeding the farro mafaldine through the machine.
I focus on the mushrooms, slicing them with surgical precision before turning to the star of our dish: the
ck truffles.
Carefully, I shave thinyers of the truffles, letting them fall into the small pot of melted butter on the
stove. The aroma is intoxicating, filling the room and making my stomach growl with anticipation.
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After what feels like an eternity, the dish is finallyplete. John and I step back, looking at the
steaming bowl of farro mafaldine, ck truffle butter, and mushrooms sitting on the countertop.
“Well, here goes nothing,” I say, scooping a generous portion onto three tes for taste testing.”
We each pick up a fork, the atmosphere between us thick with anticipation.
But the moment the pasta touches my tongue, I know something is wrong. The vors sh
horrendously, causing my pte to wince in response. The ck truffle butter, rather than enhancing
the dish as it should, is instead overpowering the dish with a dirty, murky vor.
I spit the food out instinctively, my eyes going wide as I chug a ss of water sitting beside me to wash
out the taste of soil. “Oh, this is bad. This is really, really bad.”
John’s face mirrors my sentiments, his eyes widening as he puts his fork down and swallows harshly.
Karl doesn’t say anything, but the slight grimace on his face speaks volumes.
“We can’t serve this,” I mutter, already dumping the disgusting dish into the trash. “I’ve never cooked
with ck truffles before. I didn’t realize they could overpower a dish so easily.”
“Me neither. But let’s try again,” John suggests, surprisingly lighthearted despite the failed attempt and
our limited supply of ck truffles.
Once again, we get to work. We start by making adjustments to the recipe, cutting down on the truffle,
changing the ratios of spices.
But the result is somehow even worse than the first attempt. The three of us almost spit out our bites in
unison, John’s face paling to a sickly hue.
“Good god!” I exim, clutching the edge of the counter with a grimace. “What are we getting wrong?”
Karl mumbles something to himself, poking at the pasta with his fork. “Maybe… too much butter?”
I shake my head. “Can’t be. If anything, it was dry.”
“And you’re sure these are ck truffles, and not some… I don’t know, hallucinogens or something?”
John spits out.
“No, they’re definitely ck truffles,” I say. “We just need to keep trying. God, I wish I could just get
some help from someone with experience in cooking this sort of thing. Then it wouldn’t be so bad.”
Frustrated and verging on desperate, I take the bowl of the failed second attempt and march towards
the dumpster outside.
This is absolutely not how I envisioned the night going, and my head feels like a swirling mass of
disappointment and anger. With the cook-offing so close, I don’t know how I’m going to do it. I
thought that it would all be smooth sailing once I got the truffles, but it’s turning out to be anything but.
Cursing under my breath, I storm over to the dumpster and lift the lid to throw the failed dish in. But
that’s when a haggard voice suddenly catches my attention.
“Hey! Excuse me!”
I whip around, my eyes going wide.
Standing at the far end of the alley is a homeless man. His eyes aren’t on me, but rather on the bowl in
my hands.