2008 Woodie Awards
Cooking, Kind of
WTH Con Iron Chef
Max George
Issue date: 2/16/08 Section: Features
I got to work microwaving a packet of ramen and surveying the numerous sauces on the table. Ketchup? Too risky. Salad dressing? Too flavor-specific. I needed something more dynamic, something less intense. I reached for a dark brown substance that my opponents seemed to ignore. This was it. Maple syrup. It was unconventional, it was dangerous, it didn't make sense. But I was going to need something sensational to impress these tough judges.
I added a generous amount to my noodles and tested the water. It tasted a lot like pancakes to me. I could pull this off. Next I decided to focus on the broccoli. The others were already cutting and cooking theirs. I threw some in the microwave and turned my attention to the presentation of my dish, an aspect I thought could set me apart in the judging. I grabbed a light blue plate to match the bowl in which my syrup ramen sat fermenting. Drizzling syrup and honey in a star pattern around the edges of the plate I channeled my inner Martha Stewart. I arranged the bowl in the center of the plate with the broccoli stems coming out from the center. It was looking great, but I needed more. I added peanut butter to the rim of the bowl, just for effect. Then I had a thought. I dabbed blogs of peanut butter onto the broccoli heads. I didn't taste this time. This interesting combo was going to set off fireworks for the palates of those daring judges, or it was going to send my entry down in a fiery tailspin. Time expired. The competition was out of my hands now. Stick in a spork in me, I'm done.
My opponents both created more conventional, or at least more approachable, dishes. The tall guy artfully combined ramen and cheese with the broccoli and some Pringles for texture. The girl used the chicken flavoring from the ramen on her broccoli, a well-received move. The judges liked the attractive display and unusual flavor combinations my meal showcased, but the strength of the syrup in the ramen was a noticeable weakness. After a serious, and seriously comical tasting by each judge, they went into the hall to delegate. There was no clear favorite.
They returned and the room fell silent. "The winner," our host exclaimed, "is Max." The room erupted in chatter. I had done it. And that, dear reader, is a happy ending. Say hello to Guilford's 2008 What The Hell Con Iron Chef.
*unofficial title intended to heighten self-esteem and possibly attract a mate.
I added a generous amount to my noodles and tested the water. It tasted a lot like pancakes to me. I could pull this off. Next I decided to focus on the broccoli. The others were already cutting and cooking theirs. I threw some in the microwave and turned my attention to the presentation of my dish, an aspect I thought could set me apart in the judging. I grabbed a light blue plate to match the bowl in which my syrup ramen sat fermenting. Drizzling syrup and honey in a star pattern around the edges of the plate I channeled my inner Martha Stewart. I arranged the bowl in the center of the plate with the broccoli stems coming out from the center. It was looking great, but I needed more. I added peanut butter to the rim of the bowl, just for effect. Then I had a thought. I dabbed blogs of peanut butter onto the broccoli heads. I didn't taste this time. This interesting combo was going to set off fireworks for the palates of those daring judges, or it was going to send my entry down in a fiery tailspin. Time expired. The competition was out of my hands now. Stick in a spork in me, I'm done.
My opponents both created more conventional, or at least more approachable, dishes. The tall guy artfully combined ramen and cheese with the broccoli and some Pringles for texture. The girl used the chicken flavoring from the ramen on her broccoli, a well-received move. The judges liked the attractive display and unusual flavor combinations my meal showcased, but the strength of the syrup in the ramen was a noticeable weakness. After a serious, and seriously comical tasting by each judge, they went into the hall to delegate. There was no clear favorite.
They returned and the room fell silent. "The winner," our host exclaimed, "is Max." The room erupted in chatter. I had done it. And that, dear reader, is a happy ending. Say hello to Guilford's 2008 What The Hell Con Iron Chef.
*unofficial title intended to heighten self-esteem and possibly attract a mate.
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