After I washed out in the semifinals of the Flash Fiction contest, I entered the NYC Midnight Short Story Contest. The format was just a shade different: Each round had different story lengths and deadlines, but the same types of wacky prompts. I finished in fourth place in my heat for this round to advance to the second round.<\/p>\n
Here was my first entry:
\n2,500 words \/ 8 days to write (a luxury – both in words and time)
\nCharacter: Executive Chef
\nSubject: Cryptocurrency
\nGenre: Comedy (woo-hoo!)<\/p>\n
Instagold<\/p>\n
Synopsis: The Queen of Social Media Food CryticsTM<\/sup> pays a visit to the renowned Satullo restaurant, and #FlambeFlimFlam erupts, cratering the Instagold markets.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Instagold<\/p>\n \u201cShe\u2019s here.\u201d<\/p>\n Mara\u2019s icy warning crackled through the hiss and sizzle of the busy kitchen, three hours into its Friday night swing. Postures straightened at every station. Down the line from the fryer to the fish counter, heads turned to glimpse the most powerful food CryticTM <\/sup>in social media.<\/p>\n Madelaine Green, a.k.a. @ElleMange, had reserved a table for two.<\/p>\n With 20,457,320 verified followers and a virtual net-worth of one million-Instagold ($4.8 million-USD), @ElleMange founded the Ruth Reichl Institute of Digital Cryticism, in honor of her culinary muse.<\/p>\n When @ElleMange liked, hearted or sad-faced, foodies swooned.<\/p>\n \u201cYou know what to do \u2014 let\u2019s get back to work.\u201d Chef Nico stalked the line, a jocular drill sergeant cajoling his brigade de cuisine<\/em>. \u201cAct like you\u2019ve been there before.\u201d<\/p>\n And they had: Satullo, the tiny jewel box in a palm-lined corner of Old Town Scottsdale, boasted a Michelin star. The James Beard Foundation named Chef Nico Best Chef Southwest in 2019 and 2020.<\/p>\n \u201cWait a sec, Chef\u2026 We\u2019ve got a Goldigger. Slipped in behind her.\u201d<\/p>\n Nico screwed in his EarPod to blunt the hubbub that greeted the new arrivals: \u201cA Goldigger? We met our monthly quota last week\u2026 You want Rafi to take care of him?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLooks like they\u2019re together.\u201d<\/p>\n Nico wiped his hands on his full-length black apron and made his way to the performance end of the kitchen. The stainless counter with its eight-burner stove commanded the panorama of the dining room. Cash-paying customers got a seat at the bar to watch sparks fly at one end, while Crytics gathered around cozy, candlelit tables at the other.<\/p>\n \u201cMaybe she\u2019s training him? Like a Baby Ruth?\u201d<\/p>\n Mara nodded, acknowledging his fears without tipping her guests to the voice-box hidden among the pearls at her razor-sharp collarbones. She pulled the seat of honor facing the kitchen for the birdlike @ElleMange, austerely beautiful in her trademark white silk T-shirt and wide-legged black trousers. Then the Goldigger pulled out a different<\/em> chair, flapping at @ElleMange with the unbuttoned cuffs of his flannel shirt.<\/p>\n At least it had a collar.<\/p>\n He brushed his furry lips past the Crytic\u2019s delicate cheekbones as she alighted beside him.<\/p>\n \u201cWell, I\u2019ll be.\u201d Nico ran a calloused hand through his thatch of black hair. Thirty years in the business hadn\u2019t thinned or grayed the cowlicked mess on his head, but this night might.<\/p>\n The Chef logged into the POS system: The Instagold 7000 differed from other point-of-sale systems because it managed cryptocurrency transactions, reporting real-time balances from customers\u2019 virtual accounts. A Gold-Certified Crytic like Madelaine Green paid with higher-valued Instagold, while Goldiggers like her guest Humphrey Blbec worked their way up to Crytic-status by visiting the right restaurants; posting the right combination of photos, likes and status updates; and racking up Instagold like retirees at a slot tournament.<\/p>\n With followers in the low thousands and anemic engagement scores, Blbec was a true P-O-S in the POS: The only things going for him were a Brooklyn ZIP code and a beard that looked like it\u2019d been appliqu\u00e9d to his face by a third-grader with a popsicle stick. Over the past month, Humphrey had gobbled up seventeen of the 4:30 PM dinner reservations allotted for his kind at Gold-Certified establishments in New York, where he checked off high-value feats of gustatory adventure \u2014 sweetbreads, blowfish, haggis, durian.<\/p>\n \u201cHe\u2019s a hustler \u2014 I\u2019ll give him that.\u201d The grudging admiration churned up from Nico\u2019s Jersey roots: He started out washing dishes at a bistro in Newark, working his way up the line in the City before heading West to seek his fortune.<\/p>\n \u201cExcuse me, Miss.\u201d<\/p>\n The term \u2018miss\u2019 clawed at Mara\u2019s back like a mangy cat. @ElleMange hadn\u2019t even situated her #760.4-IG ($3,650-USD) Louis Vuitton Pernelle on its purse-pedestal before her companion managed to issue a complaint.<\/p>\n Mara inhaled her composure, stuffing the irritation back between her shoulder blades.<\/p>\n \u201cHow may I help you, Mr. Blbec?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s Bluh-BECK \u2014 you pronounced it bill-BETZ.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cPlease forgive me, Mr. Bluh-BECK. That\u2019s Czech, isn\u2019t it?\u201d Of the four languages she spoke fluently, Mara learned Czech in her Babi Krajicek\u2019s arms. \u201cHow may I be of assistance, Mr. Bluh-BECK?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThis lighting is terrible. How do you expect anyone to capture your food in here?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLighting for Crytics\u2019 tables was installed by the chief of photography for Bon APPetit <\/em>magazine.<\/em> It was the first investment Chef made with his Instagold earnings.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat a thoughtful touch,\u201d @ElleMange cooed. \u201cI thought the ambiance seemed familiar.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe system identifies our guests\u2019 devices and adjusts accordingly. Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Mr. Bluh-BECK. It will be corrected immediately.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhatever. Look, I don\u2019t like being on display here,\u201d Humphrey sniffed. \u201cKnowing ElleMange\u2019s status, I\u2019m sure you understand.\u201d<\/p>\n With just twenty-four seats inside and January winds gusting outdoors, Mara had no other Crytics\u2019 tables available.<\/p>\n The only option was the lonely Goldigger two-top on the way to the restrooms. Having heard the conversation through Mara\u2019s EarPod, staff was already setting it up.<\/p>\n \u201cRight this way, Mr. Bluh-BECK.\u201d<\/p>\n First bite: Dainty quail eggs spilled their golden yolks onto tender green asparagus, sprinkled with the yummy crunch of Chef\u2019s special \u201cbacon candy.\u201d A Gold-Certified, crisp, Italian white cut through the fatty decadence.<\/p>\n Back in a corner more to his liking, Humphrey harrumphed through his first volley of photos as @ElleMange gamely provided fill-light from her phone. With their jury-rigged gaffing, gripping and griping, the foodies\u2019 epic photo shoots once added a half-hour to every dinner, killing Satullo\u2019s ability to turn tables. The Bon APPetit<\/em> lighting had been a godsend.<\/p>\n Until now.<\/p>\n The pasta course was shared because @ElleMange did not do leftovers. She insisted on tasting each bite as Chef had prepared it: Luscious chanterelles and homemade sausage lay on potato-pillows of gnocchi beneath a satiny sheet of reduced marsala. A Gold-Certified Oregon Pinot Noir awakened the flavors from their buttery slumber.<\/p>\n The kitchen swelled as a symphony beneath Chef Nico\u2019s baton: The tympanic huff of bluefin thumped on the board, the clean swipe of a knife through its ruby flesh, the staccato percussion of minced garlic, diced onion, chopped celery, sliced fennel. Tickets spat from the Instagold 7000 like cards shuffled through the fingers of a Vegas dealer, as the front of house kept wine swirling, cocktails shaking and bellies aching for the next gastronomic movement.<\/p>\n Chef Nico took the floor for his star turn: An off-menu temptation, cooked especially for the Crytic.<\/p>\n \u201cAn Arizona farmer, whose family has worked this land for a century, brought us some blood oranges \u2014 hand-picked this morning, not ten miles from here \u2014 so I have a locally sourced pork shoulder with blood orange\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIs it Gold-Certified?\u201d Humphrey asked.<\/p>\n \u201cUh, no.\u201d The chef crossed burly arms over his fireplug chest. \u201cBut I\u2019ve worked with this family for years, and I try to support local farms. I spend my gold and order Gold-Certified where I can \u2014 the bluefin and duck, for example \u2014 but we have to ship that in from out of state, and\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe lady will have the bluefin, and I\u2019ll take the duck. Thanks.\u201d<\/p>\n Chef Nico turned on the wooden heel of his clog and stormed back to the kitchen. Rafi the bartender handed him a short glass of camomile grappa.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m good, thanks,\u201d Chef growled.<\/p>\n \u201cWe\u2019ll have it after service, then,\u201d the handsome Puerto Rican said as he polished a silver shaker. \u201cI think we\u2019re all gonna need it.\u201d<\/p>\n The only Gold-Certified dessert was Cherries Jubilee. The cherries hopped a FedEX cargo plane that morning from Mount Rainier, and the brandy came from a small-batch distiller, Latch & Brand<\/em>. They aged their cherry-based liqueur in cherry-wood barrels deep in the heart of Portland. For Valentine\u2019s Day, Nico was planning to recreate the original recipe Escoffier used to honor Queen Victoria\u2019s Jubilee: Tonight it would be a dessert fit for the Queen of Social Media.<\/p>\n Made with cream from Gold-Certified, grass-fed cows tended by hair-shirted monks in Madison, Wisconsin, Plein<\/em> Vanilla<\/em>TM<\/sup> was handcrafted with hand-scraped vanilla planiformia<\/em> beans, hand-pollinated and hand-harvested from wild orchids by Gold-Certified, indigenous Guatemalan peoples. At #7.2-IG ($35-USD) per gallon, Plein<\/em> Vanilla<\/em>TM<\/sup> was the most expensive ice cream in the world.<\/p>\n Some said @ElleMange used it as moisturizer.<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t get why a lady like that is with a douche like him,\u201d Chef Nico grumbled as the syrupy cherries gurgled on the burner.<\/p>\n \u201cMight be good in bed,\u201d Mara said, as she fetched the long-stemmed, Gold-Certified aspen-wood matches from Aspen, Colorado. \u201cMaybe he\u2019s hung like a donkey.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThanks for putting that image in my head.\u201d<\/p>\n @ElleMange beamed as Chef Nico presented the burbling cherries, glistening in their stainless pan. The server placed gilded saucers of Plein<\/em> Vanilla<\/em>TM<\/sup> deliciousness before each guest. Mara struck the match with the precision of color guard warrant officer and burned at attention beside Chef Nico, waiting for his command.<\/p>\n Humphrey climbed onto his chair \u2014 a crane of awkward arms and legs, angling to get the right shot.<\/p>\n \u201cCould you please sit down, sir?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t mind me, Chef. I just need one shot.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd I will re-enact this scene as many times as you need to get that shot, so long as you get down from the table.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe ice cream is melting,\u201d @ElleMange stage-whispered. \u201cHumphrey, please.\u201d<\/p>\n One foot firmly planted on the cane-bottomed seat, the other astride the table, Humphrey lunged forward with a pirate\u2019s swagger.<\/p>\n \u201cWE EAT\u2026 WITH OUR EYES\u2026 FIRST!\u201d He spat her trademarked hashtag back at the Crytic. \u201cI\u2019m going to get this shot, ElleMange. Now, light it up, Chef!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cForgive me, Ms. Green.\u201d<\/p>\n Chef Nico bowed and abandoned the pan on the table, then retreated to the kitchen amid a volley of gasps. Humphrey\u2019s foot punched through the chair. Her mouth agape, the flame smoldering toward her fingers, Mara staggered back as the Goldigger cartwheeled forward. His phone, in free-fall, knocked the match from her hand.<\/p>\n FOOMP!<\/p>\n Blue flashover! Airborne cherries! Hair-product inferno!<\/p>\n Mara scooped up the golden saucer and smashed it into the crispy remnants of Humphrey\u2019s blackened, Chia-Pet mustache.<\/p>\n @ElleMange swayed in a daze: Macerated cherries made Pollocks of Humphrey\u2019s bollocks. Dingleberries of charred beard and melted vanilla smeared his face. @ElleMange looked down at her silk shirt, now a culinary crime-scene, sprayed red with the sweet blood of the stone-fruit fusillade.<\/p>\n Rafi caught the Crytic as her legs gave way. Mara brought water and a kitchen-staff T-shirt. Chef Nico showed Humphrey Blbec the door.<\/p>\n \u201cThe market won\u2019t stand for this, Chef Nico! You\u2019ll pay!\u201d<\/p>\n ********************************************************<\/p>\n Satullo comped the meal (#85.4-IG \/ $410-USD), and the T-shirt (#2.1-IG \/ $10-USD), and the replacement for @ElleMange\u2019s blouse (#28.8-IG \/ $138-USD). With that, Chef Nico shut off the Instagold 7000. Though @ElleMange had posted no photographic record of the meal herself, #FlambeFlimFlam went viral. More than 30,790,000 views rolled in within a week\u2026 and so did the Goldiggers.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re money\u2019s no good here,\u201d Rafi warned, as a clot of aggrieved Instagold acolytes pulled out their phones. \u201cCash only.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe have a right to be here,\u201d the Goldiggers protested. They hunkered on their barstools and began to hum We Shall Overcome<\/em>.<\/p>\n \u201cThis ain\u2019t Woolworth\u2019s, cabr\u00f3n<\/em>. Pay up or get out.\u201d<\/p>\n The Goldiggers\u2019 Denial of Service attack worked: Cash customers had seen enough on YouTube and didn\u2019t want hirsute hipsters creating another unhappy meal.<\/p>\n Valentine\u2019s Day was two weeks away with no reservations on the books.<\/p>\n His Instagold reserves dwindling, Nico hoped he could wait out the Goldiggers, but his dishwasher had child support payments, and the sous chef needed dental work, and even if the Goldiggers left, would the cash-paying customers return?<\/p>\n \u201cMaybe I should start taking gold again? Extend the olive branch to Blbec and give him a Crytic chit?\u201d Nico wondered aloud as he wandered through an empty Wednesday night. As a James Beard winner, Nico could confer Crytic status on any Goldigger with a click of a button on the Instagold 7000.<\/p>\n \u201cI may have a solution, Chef.\u201d Mara replied. \u201cDon\u2019t judge.\u201d<\/p>\n ********************************************************<\/p>\n \u201cThey\u2019re here.\u201d<\/p>\n Mara\u2019s stern warning struck the kitchen like a thunderbolt. Heads dominoed down into their stations.<\/p>\n \u201cGuys, I don\u2019t know what to do here, so let\u2019s just get to work,\u201d Chef Nico said as he stalked the line, taking phones from every cook and kitchen-hand. \u201cAct like we\u2019ve been there before.\u201d<\/p>\n The Scottsdale Leather and Bondage Society (SLABS) booked two entire Valentine\u2019s Day seatings for a pair of three-hour, six-course marathons. Two tuxedoed linebackers with open-carry holsters posted up beside the CLOSED sign outside.<\/p>\n In a black latex catsuit and thigh-high boots, Mara directed guests to their seats. There would be no \u201cExcuse me, Miss\u201d tonight, only \u201cMay I beg your mercy, Mistress Mara.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThey\u2019re not gonna be naked, are they?\u201d Nico asked. \u201cLast thing I need is a health-code violation.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo nudity\u2026 but maybe blindfolds,\u201d she said. \u201cIt\u2019s a sensory experience\u2026 taste, smell, texture\u2026 and if anyone gets outta hand, I\u2019ll take care of it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCopy that, Mistress Mara.\u201d<\/p>\n Nico recognized a Republican state representative, hands bound to his chair, slurping up his bucatini, noodle-by-noodle. A local news anchor spoon-fed his blindfolded meteorologist gnocchi only after she begged for seconds. The president of the school board smacked the Hall of Fame wide receiver with a wooden ruler when he reached for the fresh-baked focaccia.<\/p>\n The kitchen hummed with the zingers, retorts and easy laughs of the days before the Instagold 7000. Beyond the first few head-snapping yelps and whip-cracking admonishments, the kitchen didn\u2019t pay much attention to the customers. These SLABS really<\/em> seemed to enjoy their meals \u2014 every sizzle, sniff and sip.<\/p>\n Then came the pi\u00e8ce de r\u00e9sistance<\/em>: Cherries Jubilee \u2014 an exacting reenactment with a titan of industry playing the role of Humphrey Blbec, and Mistress Mara reprising hers by smashing Plein<\/em> Vanilla<\/em>TM<\/sup> in his face.<\/p>\n \u201cYOU EAT\u2026 WITH YOUR EYES\u2026 FIRST! How\u2019s that taste, Mr. Bill-BETZ?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSo good, so good, so good,\u201d he murmured as he licked spilled cherries from her boots.<\/p>\n ********************************************************<\/p>\n A month later during an afternoon crush of Spring Training tourists, a familiar face in a kitchen-staff T-shirt took a seat at Rafi\u2019s bar.<\/p>\n \u201cSorry, ma\u2019am. We don\u2019t take gold anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s good because I don\u2019t spend it anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n Madelaine Green slid two crisp Benjamins (#15,389,780.8-IG) across the counter.<\/p>\n As Rafi poured her vodka and rhubarb cocktail, topped with Champagne foam and freckles of cracked black pepper, Chef Nico pulled up a barstool.<\/p>\n \u201cThanks for coming back\u2026 Sorry about your boyfriend.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNot my boyfriend. He won a contest my agent set up: Have dinner with @ElleMange. That was the day I decided to divest.\u201d<\/p>\n Emboldened by Nico\u2019s stand, other celebrity chefs abandoned the market, turning Instacash into Instacrash. Well-heeled (and high-heeled, latex-clad) patrons whispered sweet relief that they no longer had to dine with those people <\/em>in the new no-phone zones.<\/p>\n \u201cSo what were you thinking for dinner?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cPork shoulder with blood oranges?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s not Gold-Certified.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI eat with my mouth, not with my eyes.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" After I washed out in the semifinals of the Flash Fiction contest, I entered the NYC Midnight Short Story Contest. The format was just a shade different: Each round had different story lengths and deadlines, but the same types of wacky prompts. I finished in fourth place in my heat for this round to advance … Continue reading Instagold – NYC Midnight Short Story Contest, 2018 (Feb 2018)<\/span>