Hell's Smitten

Monday, June 24th, 2013

All of the other contestants and I gather at the entrance to the airport, waiting inside for further instructions just like we'd been briefed to do. Monday airport traffic is no joke, cars are lining up outside and throngs of people weave their way through each other, toting suitcases. That's not to say the airport lobby of Los Angeles was not beautiful, the tall glass windows allowing for the beautiful day's sunlight to shine through.

I take this time to examine my competition. There are fifteen other chefs aside from myself that are going to be competing against each other this season. Eight men and eight women. Most of them are sitting in the airport lobby chairs, idly chatting to one another. I stand to the side of the chairs, leaning on the handle of my rolling suitcase. Thinking back to past seasons, I wonder which chefs were put here just to stir up drama. My wondering is cut short with an almost uncanny interruption.

One of the women, dressed in a low-cut floral top, white skirt and with bleached blonde hair decides to gather everyone's attention. Or at least, the attention of the people who weren't already staring at her near exposed breasts.
"Oh my GOD can you guys believe it!!" She bounces in place, her boobs jiggling, "I'm like, actually here. Of all the applicants I got picked! I can't wait to see which of you makes it to the final five with me." She grins wickedly like the Cheshire cat.

"Should be real easy, my competition doesn't look very... fierce." Her eyes quickly flit about the contestants, stopping on me for what seemed to be just a second longer than the others.

One of the few to not be at a loss for words was a middle-aged, stout and bald man who scoffs at her.

"This is Hell's Kitchen, not Keeping Up with the Kardashians. Unless you keep your cooking skill in those tits then I doubt you'll make it to the final five with that self-absorbed attitude. This is a team game."
Though he is stocky, his voice is commanding, and surprisingly the blonde looks sheepish at being talked down to. She hadn't even came up with a snarky retort by the time that a tall man in a suit approached us.

"Hell's Kitchen contestants?" he questions the group, then continues after seeing our collective nods, "please follow me." He then starts walking towards the exit.

Our bustling group of contestants all happily follow him to a sleek black limousine with the initials "HK" branded on the side parked just outside the loading gate. All of us look giddily at each other. Excitement buzzes through my body as I lock eyes with the girl next to me, her brown curls bouncing in place as she jitters. We both give a shy grin, recognizing the other's excitement. As we approach the limo, the driver opens the door and lets us all inside.

The limo is plush and cozy and there is an ice box with a bottle of champagne situated in the middle. The driver introduces himself as Paul and passes out champagne glasses to all of us before he takes his seat at the front and begins the drive to the kitchen.

One of the younger men- green-eyed, thin with messy ruffled brown hair- takes hold of the champagne bottle, opening it swiftly and begins pouring glasses for everyone with finesse. His winning smile is contagious as he confidently leads us all in a discussion of where we'd come from to get here, and cracks a few jokes. Soon enough all of us are smiling and laughing together.

After about 30 minutes of driving and laughing, the lights of the tinted window limo go out, leaving us in partial darkness. The chatter dies down and everyone starts looking around somewhat confused. Shortly, a small TV flipped open right by the window between the driver and us contestants. On that TV was none other than Chef Ramsay, wearing his striking white head chef jacket with his arms crossed across his chest in what one may consider his signature pose.

"Good afternoon, Hell's Kitchen contestants! I hope you all are enjoying yourselves on your trip to Hell because things are about to get a lot less luxurious. As soon as you arrive, I expect you to hop in the kitchen and begin work on THE signature dish of yours that you are," he adamantly shakes his fist, "MOST proud of." The passion in his eyes burns in a way that could be felt through the screen. All of us are silent, at rapt attention.

"You have 45 minutes from the moment you arrive to complete your signature dish. The red and blue team will be competing, so be sure your dish impresses. I will meet you all as soon as you've finished. Good luck, contestants." he finishes and turns his back to us as the screen folds back up and the lights turn back on.

We are all silent for a few seconds, until one of the women sitting closest to the screen weakly says, "Gee, he sure is intimidating."

She is small even while sitting down, her curly red hair frames her pale white face. She has freckles across her nose that really stand out when her skin drained of color, as it was now.

One of the men sitting next to her- somewhat built, brown eyed and black-haired with a buzz cut- comfortingly wraps his muscled arm around her shoulder, rapidly bringing color back to her cheeks.

"Chin up Red!" he exclaims, "ya wanna be brave when you talk to Ramsay, even if you're scared, don't show 'em that you are."

She nods delicately, curling her shoulders in to avoid touching his arm as much as possible. He doesn't seem to notice and leaves it around her for the rest of the duration of the ride, about another 15 minutes or so.