Johanna had to work with this jerk. The job clearly wasn’t very important to him, and it was obvious he would have preferred to stay in bed. The biology student chattered like he was in a fast-talking contest. He was—how to say it politely?—an idiot . There wasn’t a less insulting word for him.
Everyone got a chef’s jacket and then had to disinfect their hands. The pairs were given ninety minutes to concoct the tastiest dish of their lives, one that wouldn’t immediately attract the attention of the European Food Safety Authority. Johanna wanted to hide behind the dishwasher. Jörg, however, picked up an egg and regaled his cooking partner with ten negative facts about factory-farmed eggs and the impact that these unfortunate hens had on the human psyche, explaining that vegans are much better off but, of course, he couldn’t be a vegan because he loved his fat aunt’s Wiener schnitzel more than anything else in the world, and if he could, he wouldn’t eat anything at all so that he could save countless animals from suffering and save money. Jörg also said that there were people who lived on sunshine alone; he saw a report on it on the local television station’s evening news, but of course, this was yet to be proven scientifically. As a student, he was as poor as a church mouse. He capped his long-winded remarks by setting the egg down on the kitchen counter top again.
Johanna didn’t know what to do with him. She would have liked to grab that egg and stuff it in his big fat mouth, but she was too timid—plus, she was supposed to be conjuring up a brilliant culinary creation. She waited for enlightenment; her subconscious couldn’t cough up even one decent idea. It seemed her creativity was taking a little afternoon nap today. The chef and her assistant circled the teams, making notes. As Jörg continued to philosophize about humanity being on the brink of extinction and his longing for the end of the cold, corrupt world, Johanna began to throw together some ingredients. She had no precise plan but knew she needed to do something.
“You, uh, what’s your name again?” Jörg wanted to know.
“Johanna,” she said as she grabbed the baking dish.
“Johanna, what we’re doing here has nothing to do with us; we should dedicate ourselves to our ideologies,” said the biology student as he popped a peanut into his mouth.
She looked at him irritably. The ingredients she had grabbed didn’t fit together at all, but the colorful combination looked nice in the baking dish.
“Um, nobody’s going to be able to eat that mess,” Jörg said as he scrunched up his face. “Well, at least you came up with something!”
The casserole might not have tasted very good, but when Johanna took it out of the oven after twenty minutes, the dish looked colorful and the ingredients appeared to blend in with each other beautifully.
“Time’s up,” the assistant yelled. She and her boss began to assess the creations. They filled out an evaluation form, which none of the candidates were shown. They didn’t even deign to taste Johanna’s strange casserole, a sure sign that she and the pseudosavior of the world had lost.
“Well, we thank you all for coming. We’re going to consult with each other, and we’ll return shortly to advise you of the results,” the chef, Ms. Geyer, said as she disappeared into a back office.
The selection process reminded Johanna of Germany’s Next Top Model , where Heidi Klum was the judge. However, where Heidi Klum had a slender figure with smooth curves in all the right places, Chef Geyer’s curves were large and lumpy, like a potato sack with a string tied around the middle. They both had the same shade of blonde hair, though.
I wonder if Chef Geyer has ever seen how they pick people on those shows , wondered Johanna as she watched the freaky biology student standing next to her—“I won’t wear leather because that would be so irresponsible”—continue to chatter as he
Everyone got a chef’s jacket and then had to disinfect their hands. The pairs were given ninety minutes to concoct the tastiest dish of their lives, one that wouldn’t immediately attract the attention of the European Food Safety Authority. Johanna wanted to hide behind the dishwasher. Jörg, however, picked up an egg and regaled his cooking partner with ten negative facts about factory-farmed eggs and the impact that these unfortunate hens had on the human psyche, explaining that vegans are much better off but, of course, he couldn’t be a vegan because he loved his fat aunt’s Wiener schnitzel more than anything else in the world, and if he could, he wouldn’t eat anything at all so that he could save countless animals from suffering and save money. Jörg also said that there were people who lived on sunshine alone; he saw a report on it on the local television station’s evening news, but of course, this was yet to be proven scientifically. As a student, he was as poor as a church mouse. He capped his long-winded remarks by setting the egg down on the kitchen counter top again.
Johanna didn’t know what to do with him. She would have liked to grab that egg and stuff it in his big fat mouth, but she was too timid—plus, she was supposed to be conjuring up a brilliant culinary creation. She waited for enlightenment; her subconscious couldn’t cough up even one decent idea. It seemed her creativity was taking a little afternoon nap today. The chef and her assistant circled the teams, making notes. As Jörg continued to philosophize about humanity being on the brink of extinction and his longing for the end of the cold, corrupt world, Johanna began to throw together some ingredients. She had no precise plan but knew she needed to do something.
“You, uh, what’s your name again?” Jörg wanted to know.
“Johanna,” she said as she grabbed the baking dish.
“Johanna, what we’re doing here has nothing to do with us; we should dedicate ourselves to our ideologies,” said the biology student as he popped a peanut into his mouth.
She looked at him irritably. The ingredients she had grabbed didn’t fit together at all, but the colorful combination looked nice in the baking dish.
“Um, nobody’s going to be able to eat that mess,” Jörg said as he scrunched up his face. “Well, at least you came up with something!”
The casserole might not have tasted very good, but when Johanna took it out of the oven after twenty minutes, the dish looked colorful and the ingredients appeared to blend in with each other beautifully.
“Time’s up,” the assistant yelled. She and her boss began to assess the creations. They filled out an evaluation form, which none of the candidates were shown. They didn’t even deign to taste Johanna’s strange casserole, a sure sign that she and the pseudosavior of the world had lost.
“Well, we thank you all for coming. We’re going to consult with each other, and we’ll return shortly to advise you of the results,” the chef, Ms. Geyer, said as she disappeared into a back office.
The selection process reminded Johanna of Germany’s Next Top Model , where Heidi Klum was the judge. However, where Heidi Klum had a slender figure with smooth curves in all the right places, Chef Geyer’s curves were large and lumpy, like a potato sack with a string tied around the middle. They both had the same shade of blonde hair, though.
I wonder if Chef Geyer has ever seen how they pick people on those shows , wondered Johanna as she watched the freaky biology student standing next to her—“I won’t wear leather because that would be so irresponsible”—continue to chatter as he
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