Milly sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his hands. They were burned, calloused, and stained with the permanent scent of garlic and degreaser. Across the room, Nick was mentally rehearsing the steps to a perfect risotto, his lips moving in a silent, frantic prayer.
One by one, the red team filed into the back, the weight of the failure sagging their shoulders. [S10E14] 8 Chefs Compete
The kitchen felt different tonight. The blue and red teams had been dissolved into a single hunt, though for now, they remained in their original stations. The air was heavy with the smell of searing protein and the sharp, acidic bite of balsamic reductions. Milly sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his hands
"They’re rubber, Michelle! Rubber! RUBBER!" Ramsay slammed a plate of scallops onto the pass, the porcelain shattering. "You’re serving bouncy balls to table twelve! Get out! All of you, GET OUT!" One by one, the red team filed into
"This was the night to prove you belong in the final five," Ramsay said, his voice dangerously low. "Instead, you gave me a disaster."
Meanwhile, the Blue Team was a portrait of controlled chaos. Milly found his voice, barking orders that kept the flow moving. "Two minutes on the bass! Walking with garnish!" He was no longer just a cook; he was a conductor.
"All right, listen up!" The voice of Marino, the maître d', boomed through the speakers. "Chef Ramsay is waiting."