I stared at the chaos on my workstation, my mind buzzing with Chef Bernard's words. Think beyond the obvious. It sounded so simple when he said it, but it felt like the culinary equivalent of solving a puzzle in the dark.
The chicken was still invisible—assuming it hadn't crawled away somehow—and the glowing mushrooms seemed to pulse mockingly, their faint blue light flickering in time with my rising frustration.
The pink fruit, still ominously throbbing, looked like something you'd find in a spell gone wrong.
"How the heck am I supposed to make a dish with… this?" I muttered to myself.
Alicia, next to me, was calmly juggling streams of water, peeling vegetables with a grace I could only envy. She glanced at me and offered a small smile.
"You'll figure it out. You're the one who made that perfect Wellington this morning, right? If anyone can do this, it's you."
