working: Cary was trying to figure out how she could get a doughnut. And she couldn’t. No doughnuts for you, Mae chanted in her head.
“Today’s went fast,” Mae said, feeling more confident now. In fact, they’d eaten most of the doughnuts themselves. “It’s pretty much the same with the chicken, and definitely with the pies, although of course those are on the menu,” she added. “We just serve what we serve, until we run out, just like Mimi used to. Legend has it that once, a customer who didn’t get any pulled out a six-shooter and offered to duel somebody for his box. And that means you ought to get here early, people.”
In New York, people clamored for anything that was limited. Mae was betting it would work here, too. Win or lose, she thought anyone close enough who saw this episode would want to come try the chicken worth dueling for.
Rideaux turned to Amanda next. “And what do you have for us?”
Mae listened to her sister go on. Frannie’s fried chicken, original recipe, coal miners, blah blah. But mostly she focused on Amanda’s haircut. It looked good. Mae’s hair would not look good like that: she was too short, her neck not long and elegant. But the short cut made Amanda’s blue eyes look huge and her cheekbones sharp. Mae noticed that Andy was staring at her sister too, the dope. Amanda, at least, hadn’t so much as looked his way.
Now they were tasting the chicken. Traditionally, the chef-judges refrained from commenting on the food in front of the contestants, and they didn’t today, either, although they did taste it—and looked at it, and compared it, nudging one another and murmuring among themselves as one held a piece of Mimi’s chicken up and broke off a crispy golden piece of skin and another bit loudly into a Frannie’s drumstick. It was hard to see whose chicken they were eating more of, though Mae subtly craned her neck to try.
Although they’d been told to remain at their posts, Barbara went and sat at a table off in the corner; when Mae looked again, her mother was gone, presumably back home to Patches, who was apparently “a little under the weather.” Mae and Andy stood awkwardly by, as did Nancy and Amanda. Sabrina, noticing, beckoned. “There’s a lot of chicken,” she said. “Try some. You probably never eat each other’s chicken.”
Amanda, of course, hung back—had she really managed to hide the fact that she didn’t eat chicken? Nancy took a leg from the Mimi’s plate and then stood, holding it and not eating, looking like someone who hates cake trying to be a good sport at a children’s birthday party.
Mae stepped toward the platter. Frannie’s chicken had long been forbidden fruit. She’d always wanted to try it. She nodded to Andy, and they both took a piece. She held hers over a napkin and took a bite.
It was pretty good, really. Maybe less crispy than Mimi’s. Not as flavorful, of course; this was chicken that came with a frozen biscuit and a side of “just slap it on the plate and get on with it,” but it was okay. She’d eat it. She watched as the judges huddled over the chicken, an assistant offering them paper and pencils. Sabrina gestured to a cameraperson to come in close over that scene, then stopped to confer with Rideaux and the assistant as the chefs waited, Cary Catlin turning over the chicken on the Mimi’s platter while her husband gazed, apparently bored, into the distance.
Andy took one bite of his wing, and then, his eyes growing large, another, before he dropped his piece into his napkin and grabbed Mae’s arm. “Wait,” he said, looking confused. “Wait. Do you taste that?”
Mae detached his greasy hand from her sleeve and hissed at him. “Don’t react to their chicken. They’re filming us.”
“But this is so weird,” Andy said. “Don’t you taste it?”
“We’ll talk about this outside,” Mae said, glancing at Sabrina, who was turning back toward them. “Just stop.”
Sabrina came back, the camera following, and gestured broadly. “We’ll ask the restaurateurs to go, so the chefs can start evaluating,” she said. “No listening at the door!”
Mae, with a firm glance at Andy, began to walk out, taking another bite of her chicken as she went. She didn’t taste anything weird at all.
Andy, though, could barely contain himself. Ignoring the cameras and Mae’s glare, he stepped forward, right in front of the judges, took two more pieces of