Peasants of the University try to challenge the master

Americans have always scared me, but the people of Louisiana are different from the average citizen. A colleague has told me that Louisiana chaps are some of the best cooks in the United States, but I beg to differ. My exquisite meals are anything but ordinary, so I have arrived here in Louisiana to meet my match.

My father does not know I exist, but I am determined to get him to notice me. With this visit to the University of Louisiana at Lafayette, I want to show my father that I am the best young chef. When I arrived at the University, a large group of students eager to learn welcomed me with open arms.

Little did the students know I had a proper advantage. I am Gordan Ramsay’s daughter; after all, I was BORN FOR THIS! These peasants are rubbish no matter what! 

I have always been told that I am exactly like my father, so I want to become the best chef in my age group. So, let’s stop faffing around and get to the grub. 

I arrived at the University on Friday, Mar. 21. Everyone was very welcoming. I was excited to see that I had three students participate in the cooking competition: Chris P. Bacon, Marybeth Beth Beth and Carmen Monoxide. These three individuals had no idea what they were in for. They can never beat me. 

A Cajun-style breakfast sandwich contains toast and a croissant in a salted, oiled pan. Cook seasoned ham, fry an egg in butter and Old Bay mixture while basting, mix a mayo-hot sauce spread with lemon, then assemble with lettuce, tomato, cheese, ham, and the fried egg for a flavorful sandwich. Carmen, Marybeth, Chris and I prepared our cooking stations for an intense standoff.

When the timer started, I began making the best dish out of them all. As Carmen struggled, she set her whole workstation on fire while cooking the ham. She was ELIMINATED! “HA” I laughed, knowing good and well I could win with ease.

With just three of us remaining, the tension in the kitchen was intense. As the clock ticked, I assembled my sandwich perfectly while the other two went bonkers over the stress. 

“And the winner is…” The judge stopped for dramatic effect. This was my moment to shine. I could picture my father smiling with pride. “Chris P. Bacon!” he shouted. WHAT?! I know this blithering idiot did not beat ME, the DAUGHTER OF GORDON RAMSAY! What kind of name is that for a chef? This bugger’s name is literally crispy bacon, for Christ’s sake. 

The judges claim that his dish was “more seasoned and better for the gut,” claiming that my dish made them want to vomit. THAT IS COMPLETE AND UTTER RUBBISH! 

As I began to calm down, Marybeth started quite literally to crash out. No one could get her to calm down. “This is the end of me,” she yelled. Out of desperation, I slightly influenced her to quit by making her believe she could not win. I feel so evil, mwahaha.

Marybeth shouted as we began our next and final dish, “I AM DONE.” I cannot say that I am surprised since she clearly could not handle the stress; gosh, what a weakling. 

Two contestants now remain. I looked at that bacon man with malice to tell him who the superior chef was. The last round was the judge’s fault; what do they know about cooking? I mean, after all, cooking is in my blood. I can’t say the same for them.

Our next dish was a dinner entree. Courgetti spaghetti and turkey meatballs is a dish that contains courgette spaghetti; mix and chill turkey meatballs, cook a rich tomato sauce, brown the meatballs and simmer them in the sauce, then sauté the courgette spaghetti and serve topped with meatballs and Parmesan.

I felt a wave of confidence upon me. I began to prepare the dish with excellence in honor of my father. When I win this, he will finally notice me. I have everything on the line. 

I looked over at the odd-named gentleman; he seemed to be struggling to sauté the spaghetti; what an idiot. This is perfect. This is my chance to shine. 

“And the winner of this competition is…” The judge paused for a moment to breathe. “CHRIS P. BACON!” the judge shouted. I could not believe it. They had to be joking. How can I lose to a mediocre man with a pea for a brain? I tried to maintain my composure, but it proved to be difficult when the bacon man started bragging to my face. 

The judges again claimed that my dishes were tasteless and lacked compassion. I clearly took that with a grain of salt since I am not listening to half-wits who know nothing of the culinary expertise as well as I.

The shock hit me as I left Louisiana without a win; this will haunt me for the rest of my life. But, at the end of the day, I know I am the best chef, despite what the judges may say. I prepared all my dishes with my special kick, a splash of British sweat and pride. I will succeed one day and prove that I am indeed the true culinary heir of Gordon Ramsay.