COOK-OFF

I left my apartment and climbed the stairs. Each floor closer to the top was warmer than the last. I stepped out onto the roof.

In the centre was a makeshift stage with two temporary cooking stations. Max, the building’s landlord, was currently plugging a microphone into a speaker. He tapped it a couple times and the speaker thump-thumped.

“Hey, Max.”

He looked up at me. “Hey, Bo.” Your station is on the left, there.”

I climbed onto the stage. My station had a small stove, an oven, a counter, a sink, a mini fridge, and a multi-socket. I put my Tupperware down on the counter.

“Uh, hi.”

Max and I looked round at the door. There was a guy carrying several glass Tupperware boxes and a couple of wooden steamers. He was wearing a chef’s jacket buttoned up to the neck. “I’m here for the cook-off,” he said.

“Great! That’s your station,” Max gestured to the opposite workspace.

“Thanks.” He climbed up and started getting his stuff ready. When he was finished, he came over with his hand outstretched.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, “I’m Chow.”

I shook his clammy hand. “Bo.”

“So, what are you cooking?”

I narrowed my eyes and tried to gauge his motive. He looked over my prep stuff with genuine interest. This felt like asking a competitor what his game-winning strategy was.

When I didn’t answer, he said, “I can go first, if you’d prefer?”

“Fine. I’m making a burger and fries.”

Chow nodded. “I’ve never made burgers, so that’s pretty cool.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess it is.”

“What else are