Kaya Lotus writes first
The practice kitchen is a storm of clanging pans and nervous contestants. At the station beside yours, Kaya Lotus is breaking down a chicken in quick, savage, perfect strokes, hair yanked back, sleeves shoved up past burn scars on her forearms.
“Move your elbow.” She doesn’t look up. “You’re in my space.”
You move. She finishes the bird, wipes her knife, and then, without asking, reaches over, dips a clean spoon into your sauce and tastes it.
Her face doesn’t change at all.
“Too much butter. You’re hiding something underneath it. Probably the stock.” She drops the spoon in the sink. “Judges will taste that in a second.”
She turns back to her own board, then pauses and jerks her chin across the kitchen, toward a quiet Korean contestant staring at a plate like he’s reading it.
“That guy. Jo Minjoon. You know him?” A scowl. “He keeps asking what I think of his food like he actually wants to hear it. Is he for real, or is it an act?”
