up the already-made sausages. They had many more to go, and she needed time to get them grilled, cooled, to finally be ready for dipping into the cornmeal mixture.
They worked side by side for another hour or so, until finally it was close to time for service. Angie glanced out the front window. People were milling around the area, drinks in hand, and as Ian had predicted, armbands showed if they were of legal drinking age. The man knew his stuff.
“We start serving in fifteen minutes. We need at least five minutes to get ten plates ready, then we’ll just repeat. Are we putting the sauce in cups or just to the side of the corn dog?”
The three of them tried a few different combinations, then decided on a plating plan. Then they started cooking the first set of dogs.
When a bell went off, Angie went to the front to start working with the customers. She couldn’t tell from her angle how the other booths were doing, but customers seemed to love their version of a corn dog. Matt brought out a tray with the last ten dogs. “Did the judges come by?”
“I think so. I mean, I talked to a few of them, but they didn’t come in a group.” Angie smiled as she handed a basket with the corn dog and sauces to a woman carrying a baby on one hip. “Basque-style sausage with a cream sauce and a mustard sauce. Enjoy.”
Matt shook his head. “I knew I should have written out your script. Do you mind if I handle that tomorrow? You don’t sell the food enough.”
Angie was too tired to argue. Besides, marketing had never been her strong suit. Felicia and Estebe always rewrote her menu descriptions before they sent them to the printer. “You can do it for as long as we’re in the competition. Are you scheduled to work all the nights?”
“Yep. And I appreciate the extra hours. I’m so close to having a down payment on one of Estebe’s rentals.” Matt grinned as he handed out one of the baskets, waxing eloquent about the subtle spicing in the sausage and the sweetness of the corn batter covering. “I don’t think he really thought I could come up with twenty percent, at least not for a while. But I’m determined to get this deal done before he gets a new renter in there and I have to wait for another opening.”
Estebe had invested his chef’s wages smartly. He owned several rentals, and Angie thought that if he didn’t want to cook anymore, the guy could probably retire. A bell went off just as Matt handed off the last basket. Hope had joined them.
“The kitchen is clean, and the dishes are done. We’ll be ready for tomorrow’s start just as soon as we get instructions on what we’re serving.” She leaned on the bar in the front of the booth, watching people gather near the judges’ station. The winner would be announced tonight, and only that team would have the advantage of knowing exactly the item they were supposed to make tomorrow. Angie had a suspicion it would be a milkshake type of drink.
But they had an hour before they’d find out who won. And the three losers would come back tomorrow, ready for battle, just to be sent home. Angie glanced at her watch. “I’ll buy dinner over at one of the booths if we can get food and be back before six.”
“Sold.” Matt headed back to the kitchen. “Let me lock this place up. Anyone need anything?”
Both Hope and Angie shook their heads. “Meet us just outside the Restaurant Wars entrance. Then find us somewhere we can sit and eat. My feet are killing me.”
As they walked by Bien Viveres, the man from last night called out to her. “How’d you do over there? Looked like you were struggling a bit to get customers.”
“Not at all.” Angie didn’t like this negative banter, so she decided not to fall to his level. “Good luck tonight.”
“Darling, I don’t need luck. I’m the best chef here,” Miquel called after them.
Hope waited until they were out of earshot. “That guy is certainly full of himself. Kind