World’s Greatest Chef

World's Greatest Chef - A Flash Fiction by J.L. Holloway -- READ FREE!
Photo by Hisu lee on Unsplash


“It’s the hottest night of her cooking career, folks. And we are on the edge of our seats!” the enthusiastic host shouts and the crowd cheers.

“You’re absolutely right, Tony. She needs to tame the flames or she is going to get burned. Let’s take a look at her competition.”

“Alright, Karen, it looks like Michael is confident in the kitchen. He hasn’t wasted any time with his preparations.”

“And Katherine seems to be going for speed to beat the heat of her competitors. I can’t even tell what she’s doing!” Karen, the bubbly blonde host, laughs in disbelief.

This is it, this is your last chance to give the judges the best cake they have ever eaten, the chef tells herself.

The oven timer dings and all three chefs look up.

“That must be our champion’s cakes! They are always perfect in every way, Karen.” Tony leaned forward to get a better look as the chef took the pan out.

Oh no! No no no! They’re not done!

“It looks like you spoke too soon, Tony. Our chef’s cakes are still gooey in the center. She’s going to put them back in — wait — Katherine just stole the oven! Can you believe it?!”

“Oh my gosh, folks. I don’t know if I can handle this!” Tony cried and brought his hands to his face and peeked through his fingers.

“ONE MINUTE REMAINING,” a deep voice over the speaker announced to the chefs and the crowd gasped.

“Our champion is going to need a miracle if she wants to pull this off,” said Karen.

Okay, the middle isn’t done. What to do? What to do? the chef thought as she paced the kitchen. I got it!

“Don’t look now, Tony, but I think our chef has a plan. It looks as if she’s… scooping out the gooey cake batter!” Karen said, shocked.

Tony looked with a grin, “It’s like she’s cutting the crusts off and… keeping them?”


Fruit, fruit, I need fruit. And jam. Where’s the jam?

“Would you look at that, I think she is making a fruit filled cake!”

“Honestly, Karen, I don’t care what it is, I want to eat it!” Tony laughed.

The audience began counting down from ten, “NINE, EIGHT, SEVEN,”

Come on, come on! the chef stacked, stirred and poured as sweat beaded on her brow.


The buzzer sounded as the clock clicked to zero. The three chefs stood back to look at their finished products.

“Who will be our winner?” Karen turned to Tony. “Weeks of challenges have led us to this moment. The judges will now decide who will be the next World’s Greatest Chef!”

A woman in a sparkly red dress took plates of each dessert to the judges’ table. One judge was the guy that drove around and ate at different restaurants for a living. The lady was a singer. The last judge was just some old British guy that was really mean and didn’t like anything.

“The judges are sampling the desserts and writing in their answers. Who will be the World’s Greatest Chef?” Karen asked into the camera as Tony bit his nails.

The lady in the sparkly red dress took the judges answers to the hosts, Tony and Karen. “The votes are in people!” Tony screamed as he took the envelopes. “And the winner of this year’s title World’s Greatest Chef goes to–”

“Bonnie, it’s time to come in.”

“But Mom, they were going to say who won on The World’s Greatest Chef show,” Bonnie explained, sitting in the grass surrounded by mud pies.

“What if the world’s greatest chef washed up and helped me with dinner?”

“Really?” Bonnie jumped up and ran to the house.

“Whoa, miss chef, you need to clean up first.” Bonnie’s mother walked over to the water hose and let Bonnie spray the mud off of her toys, hands and feet.

“I’m going to be the greatest chef in the world!” Bonnie shouted and her mother picked her up and carried her inside.

“You most certainly are.”


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