Disclaimer: I do not own VA and thank Richelle Mead for writing such an awesome series.
Sorry it took a while to get this new chapter done but such is life…
Anyway, now that Romitri Forever is done and dusted I can focus on this little baby.
As we go through the 'competition' I may ask my lovely readers for suggestions on cuisines (to include), so hope you are up for the challenge!
In my story Rose is 25 and a virgin, while Dimitri is a 'man-whore' – my characters, so my choice on how I wish to portray them. With the kind of lifestyle and upbringing they have, it made sense to me to make them so.
Can't please everyone but thought I'd let you know it was done for a reason…
Two rival restaurants and chefs – what happens when love joins the menu?
Restaurant Wars
CHAPTER 4
Rose POV
I was bored…
You would think someone who worked close to 100 hours a week would cherish their downtime, but all I felt was boredom.
If I had my way I would work non-stop, but baba didn't think it was 'healthy' and insisted that all his children had a good 'work/life balance'. So whether I liked it or not, every fortnight I was forced to have a day off.
I tried to use that day to my advantage – helping the parentals around the house, getting in some exercise like swimming/pilates, doing research/courses to sharpen my cooking skills etc.
Normally I would co-ordinate my day off with my brothers so that once I was done with my activities, I could spend some 'quality' time with them. Unfortunately, this was not the case today (hence the reason for my ennui).
Deciding to 'hassle' my baba instead of channel surfing, I made us a little snack – a meze platter for two = three kinds of dips, lightly toasted pita bread and dolmades. I also grabbed a couple of pieces of baklava and Scottish tablet – I inherited my baba's sweet tooth after all!
Balancing the platter in one hand skilfully like I used to back in my waitressing days, I knocked on the large, ornate door of the study, waiting for permission to enter.
"Come in, Kiz"
Entering the large office, I found baba sitting behind his expensive marble desk. Even though it was his day off, his idea of casual wear was a deep purple silk shirt over black silk pants. A gold scarf wrapped around his neck complimenting the hoop earring in his left ear. He was even wearing those ridiculous traditional Arabian slippers, the ones were the tips curl up in front. If it wasn't for the ostentatious clothes he wore on a daily basis (that made him look like a gay Arabian pirate) you would have thought the man was a mobster – everything about his presence (and office) screamed power and wealth.
Chuckling at the image of my baba playing the role of a mobster Godfather, I laid down the platter on an empty area on his desk.
"Come take a break baba and have some food".
Like me, he didn't need to be told twice to drop whatever he was doing to eat. I moved the platter to the coffee table next to the plush two-seater lounge, where he joined me with two bottles of sparkling water that he had grabbed from the mini-fridge next to the large bookshelf behind his desk.
We ate in companionable silence, enjoying and savouring the flavours – in our line of work, where everything was done in a rush, it's nice to have some reflective time where you can really enjoy the food you make.
"So I finally got the email about the competition, you know Restaurant Wars…"
I paused mid-way in eating a piece of pita dipped in humus and stared hard at baba. On the surface he looked cool and calm, but his eyes and rigid posture betrayed a nervousness I hadn't seen in a long time. Clearly the email about the competition had rattled the old man.
Putting the unfinished piece of bread down, I leaned in close to place a reassuring hand on his arm.
"What's wrong baba? Why are you so frazzled? We have entered this competition for the last 9 years so know how it works. And this year we have a real shot at winning since Tatiana's restaurant will not enter because she is part of the judging panel this year. Now we can finally show the Belikovs whose cuisine reigns supreme!"
Baba's posture slightly relaxed as he chuckled at my Iron Chef reference – one of our favourite shows from my teenage years. We would watch it together late at night (after he returned from the restaurant), laughing at the silly English voiceovers and critiquing the different dishes the chefs prepared. It was one of the few cooking shows we loved watching together.
"Ah Kiz, you always know how to make me smile. I know I shouldn't be nervous – like you said we have done this competition numerous times in the past and now finally have the perfect opportunity to humiliate the Belikovs and take the ultimate title. But they have changed it quite a bit this year, which is why I'm worried…"
Taking a long chug of my water, I waited patiently for him to continue. When he didn't, I nudged him for further information.
"How have they changed it…?"
Letting out a loud sigh, baba brushed off his hands and swiftly got up. Walking back to his desk, he picked up the piece of paper he had been studying intently when I had entered the room.
"For starters, they have already selected the 10 restaurants that will enter the competition – based off past competitions and local patron votes. Then they have extended the competition to run over 10 weeks, instead of the usual 4. And finally, the whole damn thing will be televised like a bloody reality TV show on Channel 10! Think this whole '10' theme is to do with the competition turning 10 this year".
I could empathise with him – running a competition like this over 10 weeks would be tiring and difficult. It would put undue strain on the restaurant, while baba and I worked on the competition. And we would struggle maintaining the innovative side of things – even though I didn't know the specifics, I could imagine certain categories/themes of the competition would overlap, which would mean we would have to prepare beforehand as much as possible with whatever information they shared with us. This wasn't going to be easy, but then again nothing worth having in life ever is.
"Don't worry about it baba, we will figure it out together. In the end, the important thing is to beat the Belikovs. I can't believe we tied for 2nd place last year! They are so arrogant and self-centred, considering themselves to be superior to others even though majority of their dishes are plain and bland".
I couldn't help but make a face. I wasn't speaking from experience (I would never set foot in their restaurant – my ancestors would roll in their graves!), but from the few recipes I had perused, the flavours and originality was lacking when compared against Turkish food. To me it felt like comparing a plain cotton dress to a vibrantly coloured cocktail dress – yes they are both dresses, but one clearly outshines the other!
My comments made my baba laugh out loud, releasing the last of the tension in his body. Turning to me, he returned with the piece of paper. Taking it from his hands, I quickly read through it, my mind already planning the possibilities to enter in the 10 categories. I was so wrapped up in my thoughts I hadn't heard my brothers and anne return home nor notice that baba had left me alone in his office.
"We are home, mo ghraidh!"
Hearing my anne's sweet greeting towards my baba floating through the house snapped me out of my world. I don't know why but the more I thought about the competition and the Belikovs the more apprehensive I became. Something felt different about the competition this year and I couldn't help but feel that by the end of the competition (regardless of whether we won or lost) my life would change forever.
Shaking off these strange feelings, I made my way towards the family dining room, where my brothers were busy setting the table and distributing the food they had grabbed from the restaurant for us to have for dinner.
"Merhaba kardeşler!"
I went to each of my brothers and gave them a quick hug and kiss on their cheeks, which they returned. It was funny watching them argue over a soccer game, completely lost into their own little bubble. It's always been like this and when I was a little girl I learned very quickly that if I wanted to be included in their lives and activities I would have to love sports and video games and give up dolls and tea parties. So it's no surprise that I'm more of a tomboy than a girly girl, but sometimes I do wish I had a sister, another girl who would understand my emotions better. Don't get me wrong, I love my brothers, but when on the rare occasion I want to go clothes shopping or talk about boys, I wish I knew a girl (close to my age) with whom I could do this with.
Anne and baba came back into the room (I hadn't noticed their absence) and took their respective seats on the table. After reciting the usual Arabic prayer and Grace, we dug into the food (the earlier snack had not diminished our hunger). A comfortable silence settled around us, while we enjoyed our meal. Slowly the discussion around the soccer game resumed, this time pulling baba into the discussion. This allowed anne and I to strike up a conversation.
"Are you excited about the competition, mo chridhe?"
My eyes narrowed suspiciously at my anne. I loved her dearly (though I will always be baba's kiz) but she rarely used affectionate nicknames with me. My brothers, on the other hand, she showered with such pet names, but me, I couldn't remember the last time she called me anything other than Rosemarie or Rose.
"Yes, anne, I'm just as excited about the competition as baba, if not more. It will be interesting this year, what with Tatianna's restaurant not competing and the whole competition televised".
My brothers stopped mid-argument and three pairs of eyes, plus my baba's turned to me.
"What?! Are you kidding me?! They are putting the competition on TV…that's fucking awesome!" Mason shouted excitedly.
"Mason! Don't swear!"
Our anne scolded him while my brothers and I snickered at his excitement. Baba took over and told the rest of the family the same things he had told me.
"Wow, that's amazing baba. It doesn't matter if we win or lose, think of all the free publicity we would be getting, and I'm sure by the end of it you guys will become local celebrities".
Where Mason jumped from one extreme emotion to another, Eddie was calm and level headed. He always looked at the positives in life or any situation he found himself in. Christian, on the other hand, had a darker sense of the world.
"I hope you both realise a lot more is at stake now. It was one thing being part of some obscure publication's competition, but now the whole country is going to be aware of us. That's a lot of people and pressure. Are you both sure you can handle it?"
I knew he meant well, but Christian's pessimism sometimes made me want to slap him. I found it hard in these moments to comprehend how he owned a successful club. His dark view on life and the world made me think he would have been better suited in life as a poet or a painter, not an entrepreneur and enterprising businessman.
"First of all Christian, it's not an obscure publication. Gourmet magazine is a well-known foodie magazine. And we know what's at stake. But the rewards outweigh the risks. Like you said this competition will now have national coverage and that kind of publicity is worth the risk. Even if we lose, people will know about us and the fact that we were one of the 10 restaurants to make it to the competition".
I could tell he wanted to say more, probably start an argument (his favourite activity with me), but baba put his hand up to silence everyone.
"Christian, I can appreciate your concern, but like Rose said you can't get this kind of publicity. My only concern with this competition is beating the Belikovs – I really don't care if we win or not, as long as we do better than them. Anything more is an added bonus".
We all nodded our heads in agreement – this was one thing we could all rally behind – outshining the Belikovs and their precious Russian restaurant. As I looked over the faces of my brothers and baba, I could see the raw determination and drive to defend the family honour and vanquish our archenemy. Everyone seemed eager and motivated to get things rolling – everyone except anne. She was uncharacteristically quiet and seemed lost in some other world. When I reached out and touched her hand, it startled her back into the present world. No one else seemed to have noticed this strange behaviour.
"Is everything ok anne? You seem distracted…Are you worried about the competition as well or is it something else?"
A strange look passed over her face (that almost reminded me of sorrow or regret) as she stared at my face, before she regained her composure.
"I'm fine Rose. Will you be attending the welcome party?"
I looked at her confused.
"Welcome party? Huh?"
She shook her head in exasperation.
"Honestly Rose, did you even read the schedule? Before they film the first episode they want all those involved in the competition to attend some kind of welcome party at the Ivy. First part is mingling and cocktails, followed by dancing in the club they have at the venue. I think they said they would have some local celebrities attending as well. Sounds like fun, huh?"
My answer to her weird enthusiasm was a shrug – sometimes it felt like my own anne didn't know me. Such parties didn't excite me (fake people eating sub-par canapes) and the last time I went clubbing was in my final year at high school (so it's been a while). Nonetheless I knew my baba would expect to attend and 'network' (check out the competition) so I knew I didn't have much choice but to attend.
Who knows, maybe I will actually have a good time…
Official Scotland Website (Scottish Gaelic)
Mo ghraidh = my love
Mo chridhe = my heart
Google Translate
Merhaba = Hello (Turkish)
Kardeşler = Brother (Turkish)
Again, let me know if there are any mistakes. And as always, I love reading your thoughts…