Free Devour Me (Master Chefs Series #1) by Kailin Gow Page A

it’ll take off.  Before long everyone will be making
Errol King’s goo with its crispy but not crunchy exterior.”
    “You
mock me, my dear assistant.” 
    Though
he remained stiff and unsmiling, she knew he was toying with her.  She’d come
to know the little known comic side he hid from the world.  Heaven forbid the
world should discover that Chef King had a bonafide sense of humor.
    “Not
at all,” she said with a haughty air.  “I think goo suits the purpose
perfectly.”
    They’d
tried several variations of the recipe Errol wanted to add to his cookbook, but
could still not get the consistency he sought.  More salt.  Less baking powder.
More sodium bicarbonate.  Less sugar.  Hotter oven.  Shorter time.  Cool before
putting into oven.  Cool immediately out of the oven.
    Finally,
Taryn said, “What if we were to brush a little sweetened melted butter over it
before popping it into the oven?”
    Errol
grimaced.
    “What?”
she said incredulously.  “I think that’s a perfectly good suggestion.”
    “Sweetened
with what?”
    She
thought for a moment.  She knew he would balk at plain white sugar, and brown sugar
wouldn’t be much better. No, it would have to be a liquid sweetener.  “How
‘bout honey?”
    “Too
common.”
    “Molasses?”
    He
grimaced.  “Too vulgar.”
    “Maple
syrup?”
    “Too
hard to come by.”
    “Isn’t
that the whole idea?” She opened the pantry door and peered inside. Among the
various bottles of fancy oils and vinegars, the many jars of rare ingredients,
spices and herbs and the few more common every day items, she found a bottle of
molasses. “I just found something rather vulgar in your pantry, Errol.”
    He
cocked a brow as he looked at her.  A boyish grin made a quick appearance on
his face before dashing off to leave room for a smirk.  “Just because I enjoy a
little molasses on my buckwheat pancakes every once in a while doesn’t mean
it’s a good idea for this recipe.”
    “Buckwheat
pancakes?  You?”
    “Just
because I’m a culinary genius doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy a little comfort food
once in a while.”
    Taryn
grabbed the bottle of molasses and brought it to their working space.  “I think
this will work.  Are you ready to give it a shot?”
    He
looked at the bottle then at her.  “I honestly don’t think the flavor is going
to harmonize well with the…”
    “Goo?”
she finished for him.
    “Right,”
he said with a chuckle.
    Ignoring
his doubt and skepticism, Taryn placed a small saucepan on the stovetop, threw
in a generous pat of butter and gently melted it.  When it was reduced to a
golden liquid, she opened the bottle of molasses.  “Just a soupcon,” she said
as she poured a small dollop in.
    “Why
do I have a feeling you're about to ruin the last batch?”
    “Because
you're a cynical old man hiding in the body of…”  She caught herself and looked
sheepishly at him.
    “The
body of…?” he said as he rolled his hand in the air, urging her to continue.
    With
a nonchalant shrug she dipped her pastry brush into the now black butter.  “The
body of a young guy.  That’s all.”
    “Hmm.”
He watched the workings of her brush.  “I’m not really sure that’s the look I
was going for.”
    “Once
it’s cooked, it won’t look that bad.”
    “We’ll
see.”
    With
a very Parisian ‘voila,’ Taryn opened the oven, popped in the cookie sheet and
shut the door.  “In eight minutes you’ll have your crispy goo.”
    Facing
one another, they leaned against the counter, waiting.
    “You
know, if this doesn’t work out, I have half a mind to shower you with the
remainder of that molasses.”
    “In…”
In dramatic fashion, Taryn raised her wrist to her face and looked at her
watch. “Four minutes, mon cher Errol , I’ll make you eat your words.”
    “Of
course you will.  I’ll have nothing else to eat because you’ll have ruined my
last batch.”  Grinning, he drummed his fingers on the