Oh so tenderly, I brushed the carefully seasoned glaze over the succulent thigh until it shimmered under the stage-lights. Just the right amount. Too much and it overwhelms the meat, and that was the last thing I wanted to happen. I glanced up at the judges, who were walking around with their clipboards wearing expressionless faces, checking boxes the rest of us couldn’t see.

As I placed the meat into the oven, I wiped the sweat from my brow and chanced a look at my competition. Mrs. June was scrambling now, looking full on panicked as she wiped her hands desperately on her apron. My heart went out to her. She couldn’t handle the stress. Her family was in the audience cheering her on, but they too looked rather worried. One of her children was crying.

Then there was Mr. Alverson, who had bitten into his lip hard enough to create a dribble of blood down his chin while concentrating on the slab of meat before him. I suddenly became wary of the fact that I’d already gotten mine in the oven while they were both still perfecting theirs.

An alarm went off, and the head judge ordered everyone to place their dishes in the oven as they were. Mrs. June began to cry and Mr. Alverson swore aloud. I felt a small sense of relief.

We waited, the minutes ticking on seemingly endlessly. Finally, mine was done. I pulled it out, making a few last minute adjustments, adding some olive oil and bay leaves. With a shaky breath, I walked my tray up to the judges table, the floor crinkling under my feet as I went. Eventually, the others did too.

We stood there, three in a row, all of us holding our breath as the judges began to cut off pieces from each of our meals and taste them, whispering amongst themselves and marking on their clipboards some more. Finally, the head judge stood up, addressing everyone in the room.

“A decision has been made amongst the three finalists. The winners this round are Mr. Alverson,” I jumped as Alverson whooped in excitement, “And Mr. Farrell!” I sighed in relief.

Mrs. June screamed. She began to beg and plead. One of her children got past the guards and ran up to her, gripping onto her, but it was no use.

Several butchers rushed forward, tossing the child aside and grabbing Mrs. June. One slit her neck all the way across. Another attached a hook to her ankles and hoisted her upside down, her blood draining onto the plastic that lined the floor.

I took several deep breaths to steady myself as I waited for new instructions.

The main judge smiled, “Gentlemen, our final dish will be a kidney stew.”

I shivered as the butchers hacked and chopped, finally bringing Mr. Alverson and myself Mrs. June’s kidneys. I returned to my post to create the most important meal of my life.