Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 124836 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 624(@200wpm)___ 499(@250wpm)___ 416(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124836 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 624(@200wpm)___ 499(@250wpm)___ 416(@300wpm)
The crowd laughed, but I caught the shift in Banks’ tone, the weight of what was coming next.
Banks looked down at the stage for a moment. “Tiny. . .well, Tiny died that day.”
A couple people gasped.
Moni gave no response telling me she not only knew the story, but had probably grew up with Tiny too.
“Tiny went to fight, but those guys didn’t have hammers. They had guns.” Banks shook his head. “And I’ve always wondered. . .what if I’d told Tiny to come with me and Marcelo to Big Mama’s instead. Would he be alive too?”
I glanced over at Marcelo, whose face had hardened. Even with the smoke rising in front of him, his eyes looked glassy like he was holding back tears.
Banks took a deep breath. “Anyway, I’m dedicating these dishes to my Big Mama. She taught me everything I know, from snap peas to black-eyed peas.”
Aunt Betty yelled, “Talk that shit!”
“She taught me how to make mac and cheese so good it melts in your soul, how to make the toughest meat fall off the bone, and how to put together a plate of food that’ll make you forget you’re at a wake, grieving for someone you lost.”
“That’s right, baby!” Aunt Betty yelled some more.
One by one, the staff placed Banks’s plates in front of us.
Immediately, I could tell Banks’ approach was different from Chef Foo’s. Where Foo’s dishes had been meticulously arranged, almost like art, Banks’ food looked like it came straight from a mom-and-pop joint—hearty, messy, and undeniably inviting.
Wow.
The aroma hit me hard, making my stomach growl to the point that it hurt.
I rubbed it.
Banks gestured to the first dish. “This here is called my ‘Kick-You-in-the-Stomach-and-Make-You-Call-Off-Work Bourbon’ Chicken, served with sides of collard greens and mac and cheese because you can’t have a cookout without those sides.”
Hmmm.
I cut into the chicken, tried some, and the flavor practically exploded in my mouth. The bourbon glaze was sweet and smoky, with just the right amount of spice.
The collard greens were perfectly seasoned, and the mac and cheese was so rich and creamy, it felt like it could melt right down to my bones.
Oh shit. Banks can really cook.
I glanced at Dima who was watching me with the same disbelief.
Who fucking knew?
I shrugged.
Dima put his fork down, pulled out a notebook, and jotted something down.
“Dear God!” Chen ate it up. “I have no idea who will win! This is giving me anxiety!”
Fen pushed the glass of water in front of him. “Try some more of this, Chen.”
“Dear God! He cooked water too! Genius!” Chen picked it up and began gulping the water down. “Delicious!!”
Oh God. Maybe we will take him to the hospital.
I glanced further down the Judges’ table.
Chloe bobbed her head. “I might have to give this one to my cousin, although I loved Chef Foo’s dishes.”
Smiling, Banks pointed to the ribs. “These are my ‘Slap-My-Mama Ribs,’ slow-cooked for hours until the meat falls right off the bone. Served with baked beans and cornbread. If you pick those up and meat doesn’t fall off and land in your plate, then you can personally go over there and slap my mama.”
“Say what now, baby?” Aunt Betty widened her eyes.
A few people snickered.
But just like Banks had said, as soon as I picked a rib up, the meat fell off.
Mmmm.
I had to fork it up, but once I put it in my mouth I almost sang.
Well damn.
The ribs were tender, juicy, and packed with flavor. The smoky barbecue sauce clung to each bite. The baked beans had a hint of sweetness and the cornbread was so fluffy it practically crumbled in my hands.
Wow. This is insane. I really thought Banks had no chance.
Banks looked around. “Anybody need to smack my mama?”
“Boy, you better stop playing!” Aunt Betty mumbled between bites of chicken.
That being said, no one got up or even laughed.
Everyone was too busy eating ribs.
Chen didn’t even use a fork he was just grabbing portions with his fingers like a starved man.
And sure enough I gazed around in the crowd to catch Duck filming him.
I would have stopped him, if I weren’t so absorbed with getting more ribs into my own mouth.
In fact, I didn’t even feed any to Moni. They were that good.
Banks smiled proudly as the staff brought over the final dish. “And I don’t know if you all fuck with oxtails in the East, but in the South, baby, we don’t play about our oxtails.”
Several of Rowe Street Mob hooted.
“Big Mama used to say, ‘The reason Black folks love oxtails is because, back during slavery times, the masters would eat the whole ox and leave the tail for us. And you know how we do.’” He spread his hands out and grinned. “You can’t let Black folks step through the door with anything. We’ll take it over and make it better! Make you wish you hid the thing from us in the first place!”