Bring this here... mxtx chopped au (it's the amateur competition)
Judges: Shen Qingqiu, Shi Qingxuan, Mu Qing
Contestants: Xie Lian (his bf convinced him his cooking is the best), Lan Zhan, Wei Ying, and Luo Binghe
Host: Yu Qingyuan
....
Wei Ying keeps flirting with Lan Zhan by asking if he could get him something from the pantry for him and Lan Zhan without even thinking gets it for him. He gets so mad after too bc he is supposed to be in a competition. Why is he helping this guy?
Luo Binghe obviously does the best out of everyone and he can't help but flirt with the judges so the other contestants glare at him for it. During the break he is going on about how hot Shen Qingqiu is and no one is listening. Meanwhile Wei Ying keeps playing footsie with Lan Zhan
Xie Lian is depressed huddled in the corner bc he knows he is leaving first. He is honestly kinda scared for what his bf will do to the judges after he finds out haha
The judges are having a really hard time trying to decide to send Xie Lian home first because it tasted and looked awful or if they should send Wei Ying home because it burnt off their tastebuds and they aren't even sure if they could taste Lan Zhan's cooking (or if it was just bland-sorry lz it would've tasted better if he had gone first bc he likes subtlety)
Shen Qingqiu is the one who wants to send Wei Ying home since he is the babiest when it comes to spice but they decide on Xie Lian in the end 😔 the awful smell still lingered and that's what made them decide in the end
Watching chopped again and getting fat mickey judge all tatted, suited and ringed up while the gallaghers try to cook with secret ingredients.
Lip mouthing off.
Ian nearly burning himself as mickey munches a palate cleanser snack between rounds.
🍊🍋
Yes to chub Chopped Judge Mickey!!!
I do love this idea and I looooove a crossover so much 🥰
Like I imagine celebrity chef Mickey on the food Network with a stylist in like his custom chef's jacket and apron, like this
Maybe with slightly shorter sleeves, and they cut a little into his soft arms. And on set he always stays in his kitchen uniform because he really believes in the contestants and he's known to step into the kitchens in between filming to show them how they could have improved their dishes with technique and more creative use of the box and pantry ingredients.
And like the Gallagher bros come in to compete for a loan to start their restaurant after they had a food truck. Mickey can see they have really good fundamentals and they're like almost there when it comes to creativity and ingenuity.
One of the box ingredients is salo, a Ukrainian/Slavic cured pork fat like fattier guanciale, and immediately they're stumped which just makes Mickey scoff and roll his eyes. He watches them make an appetizer that was decent but the salo was a complete afterthought. He can tell. He knows they must have heard that you can shave it thin and pair it with bread but that was the extent. And so in between takes he pulls them aside to be like "Ok listen, think outside your little purity centered little boxes. You have cured fatty pork, what comes to mind? Right? You had salo, what else did you have? Salo, venison and grains of paradise. I'm immediately thinking a play on carbonara, but with a game meat dumpling like pelmeni. Here."
And he takes over the kitchen showing them that like, yeah you're from Chicago, lean into it! You have this huge Slavic population, plus Italians, Irish, and so much more. Use it. Mix things people wouldn't think to mix, just make sure it tastes good. That's your only job, the only thing you have to guarantee.
I’ve had thoughts about Danny being on Chopped. It went along with the ideas and imagining “Really Supportive Cheerleader Boyfriend Steve”...but it’s not until right now that I’m just imagining Danny during the commentary parts.
I mean can you imagine Danny being like, “Making a dish in twenty minutes is hard but when you’re a single dad with a full-time job, you sort of get this instinct to be quick. But still, I was a bit surprised I made it to the second round. The first one I was inspired by my kids, this one I’m inspired by my husband. I make this for him every time he came home from deployment...so there’s a lot of heart. This one’s for you, Steve.” And he winks at the camera.
When the episode airs, Danny’s blushing but Steve needs a moment, okay?
But that was a sweeter version. There are snarkier things Danny would say. “I’m not surprised I made it through the first round. I’m not being cocky. I think the other competitors are great I just... when you’re used to being nearly blown up because your husband’s a crazed, adrenaline junky with a badge who drags you into dangerous situations, facing down Scott Conant with red onions is a walk in the park by comparison, ya know?”
ship of your choice. chopped au. they're in the dessert round, and one of them will be chopped. (alternatively any of the other rounds if it's an ot3/4 haha)
(CHOPPED AU. JAYSON. I DON’T EVEN. oh man… this is serious. I actually died while writing this and then came back to life to post this ridiculousness. You can tell that I have a lot of feelings about Chopped.)
“I was an orphan,” Cassian tells the camera in the tone of a person who no longer seems to understand the severity of what he’s saying. “I lived in an orphanage. I raised myself, got a job in a restaurant when I was thirteen, put myself through school. I mean, it wasn’t legal, but it got my foot in the door. If I can handle all of that, I can win the desert round.”
*
Back in the Chopped kitchen, Cassian looked completely at ease standing at his table in front of his closed basket of mystery ingredients. The competition so far had been fierce and he’d had both ups and downs, much to his irritation, but this was what he was made for. He’d been in the restaurant business for years. It might not have been what he’d originally thought he would do, but after growing up in the service industry, it was all he knew.
If he couldn’t win a damn cooking competition on TV, then did he even have any business calling himself a chef?
Glancing to his left, he sized up the last of his competitors. Jyn Erso was not technically what one would call a chef. While neither one of them had gone to culinary school, she hadn’t even worked in a restaurant of years. Instead, she’d been operating out of a food truck, roaming around the country, known for rarely sticking to one city for long. Somehow, she’d managed to gain a cult following this way.
While he toiled away in a hot as hell kitchen for fourteen hours a day, sweating and bleeding for his job, she would park her truck near a beach or outside of a nightclub and have at it. When she’d walked into the room, his first instinct had been to roll his eyes, but he didn’t unlike Chef Krennic who had found out the hard way that Jyn did not play even remotely nice. He knew better than to underestimate her. After all, her late father was Michellen three star chef. She might have ignored the call to cooking until later on in her life, but she was absolutely brutal in the kitchen, especially one as competitive on Chopped.
It almost made Cassian smile just thinking about the way she’d forced Krennic to come up with a completely different strategy last minute for a mystery ingredient on the appetizer round by not giving him a chance to use the one fryer.
As if sensing him looking at her, Jyn turned her face towards him and grinned faintly. It was small, but cutting, as sharp as any chef’s knife.
*
“Cassian Andor,” Jyn drawls melodramatically, leaning back in her seat as the camera trains on her face. She shakes her head. “James Beard award nominee this year, Southwest’s top new chef winner? No, I’m not afraid of him. The man was voted to be in People magazine’s sexiest people alive. I’m not about to lose to a pretty boy.” She pauses, a little frown on her face. “Okay, he is talented – and he’s okay-looking, I guess. But I’m not going to let that distract me!”
*
Jyn’s smile stayed razor sharp as she nodded her head towards him. “Best of luck, chef. I hope you don’t want to use the ice cream machine.”
“I wouldn’t dream of doing something so typical,” Cassian responded coolly.
It actually made her laugh. To the side, she heard one of the judges, probably that Conant bastard, snicker and whisper, “Are they flirting?” and ignored them. Maybe she should try to flirt with him. It could possibly distract him. But she could barely get a read on him despite going through two rounds of cooking hell with him at her side. She wasn’t so certain that he had a passion other than food. Besides, if she was going to beat him, it would be at his own game.
No doubt he was already planning something magical and connected to his roots. He’d been spectacular with his seasoning and flavors in the first two rounds, blowing everyone out of the water. It had been frustrating. She was able to get the perfect cook on some absurd meat and then there was his burst of flavor, like he was Guy Fieri taking them to Flavortown or some bullshit.
When it was time to open their mystery baskets, both Jyn and Cassian focused ahead of them, blocking each other out, and looked inside. Naturally, it was a total shit show of ingredients. Whoever came up with them deserved to be shot. While she grumbled under her breath with each addition, Cassian was silent as ever, like it didn’t bother him one bit that their desert basket included raspberries, stale oreos, pumpkin pie, and jalapeno cheddar bratwurst. What the fuck was she supposed to do with that combination?
God, was she really considering making a raspberry sorbet? She had been joking about using that stupid ice cream machine.
*
Cassian takes a deep breath and sighs into the camera. “Honestly, I don’t care about the bratwurst, but I freaking hate pumpkin pie. What kind of consistency is that stuff? It’s like gloop. And the spices are somehow both overpowering and bland.”
*
While Jyn was wearing the same aggravated look she gave every mystery basket – despite pulling out something stunning-looking in the end – Cassian kept his hands folded behind his back and looked upfront calmly. As long as he remained cool and detached, he’d be able to keep his head in the game. He was silently grateful that there had been no chocolate in any basket. He wasn’t about to make a freaking mole with Aaron Sanchez as one of the judges, especially since he’d grown up on the stuff and it was something sacred, although he knew that it was almost expected of him.
“You have thirty minutes on the clock!”
Just before the clock started, Cassian connected eyes with Jyn again. She rolled her eyes, not at him though, and for a brief second, he felt an odd camaraderie were her and smiled. Strange because she was absolutely nothing like him and they had two very distinct styles and were competing against one another. And yet, in a way, it was kind of nice to not be in this alone.
Because desert was hell and no one wanted to bake a cake in thirty minutes with only themselves as company.
*
“Oh, piss on it, he’s handsome,” Jyn groans, burying her face so that she can hide it from the camera, “and I’m going to make a bloody sorbet.”
Thanks to all the shenanigans last night with @strikersindanger, I started a new fic today. And by “started”, I mean I’m already on the third chapter, over 4,000 words in. *headdesk*
Anyway, since it was such a public display of hilarity, I’ma do something I don’t usually do: post a whole chapter before the story is done.
*cringe*
I’ll post snippets now and then, of course, but I hate posting actual chapters before I’m finished because... what if I never finish?? I hate to think of disappointing people! I don’t wanna be That Guy!
But whatever. This cracked me up over lunch, so I’ma share it. It introduces pretty much everything, though it’s pretty rough because I’ve barely even read over it.
Poor, poor Raleigh.
"You can do this, kid."
Raleigh Becket eyed the conference room door at the end of the hall with trepidation, but Yancy just squeezed his shoulder and repeated the mantra.
"You can to this." An elbow nudge. "Just don't get cocky."
Finally finding a hint of a grin, he shot his jerk of a brother a narrow look. "Who, me?"
Snickering, Yancy gave him a shove to get him going, and Raleigh walked the rest of the way under his own power. He could do this. He'd been subconsciously been training for this most of his life.
So he took a deep breath and walked through the door.
Several people stood or sat around a U-shaped conference table, and every damn one of them looked up with varying degrees of interest to judge the new arrival. Refusing to shrink under the sudden attention, Raleigh eyed them each in turn, trying to humanize them and make them less... intimidating.
It had been a long damn time. He'd been out of the game too long. He wasn't--
You can do this, kid.
He squared his shoulders and focused. Seated to his left was a young Chinese man in a unavoidably red shirt and an equally young, tiny -- but somehow not fragile -- Japanese woman. Both began murmuring quietly in English, though both would obviously rather use their own languages. As they conferred, they shot him measuring glances. Neither seemed too impressed, though both seemed curious.
At the tip of the U stood a hipster-looking schmuck who looked ready to vibrate out of his button-down shirt and an oddly dapper, vaguely ethnic guy with a tidy little bowtie and -- there was no other way to put it -- Elvis hair. A pompadour. But the Elvis hair guy smiled welcomingly enough, so Raleigh tentatively nodded back and moved on to the last occupant of the room.
This guy. Red-headed and freckled, built like a brick shithouse, and looking more like a mechanic than a contender in monochromatic grays and a scuffed leather coat, the guy to his right practically shouted "contentious asshole" without saying a word.
This would be the problem child. The thorn in his side. He could tell by the unimpressed and blatant appraisal, the cross-armed lean against the wall, the snort and immediate dismissal of the newcomer.
Definitely an asshole.
Whatever. He wasn't here to make friends.
Just to show he didn't care what the big ginger jerk thought of him, Raleigh casually strolled over to his right and sat down, deliberately giving the prick his back. He also deliberately pretended not to hear the snort from behind him.
To his surprise, he looked up to find the Japanese woman giving him a hint of a nod and smirk. Unthinking, he did the same back. He didn't think the gesture was respect just yet, but maybe... a willingness to reserve judgment. A reassessment of initial impressions.
He'd take it. He knew he looked rough.
"Looks like we're all here." That was Elvis, making a quick checkmark on his clipboard. "Dr. Geiszler, it's all yours. The sponsors will be up in--" He checked his watch. "--five minutes. Get 'em acquainted, okay? I gotta make a call."
"Right." The hipster dude clapped his hands together as Elvis left the room, then took a somehow “carnival huckster” stance at the very tip of the U. "Let's get started. I'm Dr. Geiszler, the host, but please, call me Newt."
"What are you a doctor of?" That was the Chinese guy in the very red shirt.
"Neuroscience."
The red-head at his back snorted. "Then why the fuck are you hosting a lame-ass reality cooking show?"
This. Fucking. Guy. Australian guy, at that. No mistaking that accent.
But the hipster huckster seemed unappalled. "I'm a foodie."
Four sets of eyes narrowed.
"What do you want from me? The economy sucks. I go where the money is." Flapping a hand as if to brush this away, the hyper little hipster moved on. "Look, you've all probably been on one cooking show or another. Wei Jin over there even has his own show." He gestured at the Chinese guy. "You know how this works. You get a handful of surprise off-the-wall ingredients and you have a set amount of time to cook harmonious ambrosia with them. Not difficult, right?"
The Japanese woman tilted her head. "So... this is Chopped?"
Another snort from the ginger Australian jerk. "More like a Chopped knock-off."
Call-Me-Newt eyed him with reproach. "This is not a Chopped knock-off." The pause seemed deliberate. "Okay, fine. It's sort of a Chopped knock-off. We're calling it The Cutting Board instead of Chopped, it's a burlap sack instead of a picnic basket, and you'll be cooking breakfast, lunch, and dinner instead of an appetizer, a dinner, and a dessert, okay? Someone gets eliminated with breakfast, someone gets eliminated with lunch, and should the dinner course end in a tie, there'll be a sudden death dessert course to determine a winner."
Good God, this yahoo talked fast. Raleigh was almost fascinated by all the gesticulations that went along with the manic word vomit.
What a way to get back into competition. If he didn't need the money so much, he'd probably walk away right now. He hated these stupid shows and everything that went with them.
Elvis peeked his head back into the room. "No fires yet? Great. The sponsors are up."
Stepping fully in, the dapper little guy pointed a remote at a large viewscreen at the open end of the U. Raleigh hadn't even seen it yet. He'd been too interested in the competition.
A collage of people in little squares popped up, the center square slightly larger. The suit in the bigger square was as corporate as a business card, his hair perfectly styled, his tie an elegant silk in a subdued but not boring color, the actual suit worth more than Raleigh's whole life.
He hated dealing with the inevitable suits. Maybe he could just sit back and make himself small. Ol' Red behind him would likely be more than willing to do all the talking.
"There you are." A phony corporate smile. "Welcome, contestants. Universal Nutrition welcomes you to our newest endeavor."
Red muttered, but didn't actually interrupt.
"Now, if you would each state your name, where you're from, and a little -- very little -- about your experience, we can get started assigning personalities."
Ugh. Apparently, that part of the business hadn't changed.
"What the hell do you mean, 'assigning personalities'?"
For once, Raleigh was actually grateful for the Australian guy's brusque nature. The jerk sounded incredulous.
"I see we have a contender for Angry Hothead. You are?"
Okay. That was a little funny. Elvis certainly chuckled under his breath about it.
Bristling, the jerk stepped forward and leaned down, propping his fists on the table uncomfortably close to Raleigh. "Chuck Hansen, Australia." As if it wasn't obvious from the accent. "I've won damn near every cooking competition show on air in the past five years. Who the fuck are you?"
"Definitely the hothead. We'll have to put you at the end of the counter line so everyone has to go past you to get to the ingredients."
Well, shit.
"Next?"
"Oi!"
The Chinese guy cut him off by raising a hand. "Wei Jin, sir. I'm from Hong Kong. My brothers run two franchise restaurants there, I do a weekly local cooking show, and I won Iron Chef three years ago."
"Nice to meet you, sir. I remember you from Iron Chef, I think." The suit tilted his head. "Do I remember something about... car racing?"
For the first time, Wei Jin looked uncomfortable. "We... used to drift race, sir, but we had to stop."
A pudgy bald guy in another square spoke up in an English accident. "I seem to remember one of you was arrested?"
"Wei Hu, sir. It was a misunderstanding--"
"Excellent. We have a Bad Boy. Next?"
Wei Jin looked like he wanted to protest, but the Japanese woman prudently interceded. "I am Mako Mori, sir. I was born in Japan but raised in England. I have not competed yet, but Sensei and I have a very successful restaurant in London. Coyote Tango?"
The Brit square popped up again. "I've heard of that place. Spectacular cuisine, by all accounts. Welcome, Miss Mori."
The original suit nodded slowly. "I guess that makes you the naive ingenue."
She didn't look pleased by this, but she didn't protest, either. Interesting.
"Who else?"
Clearing his throat, Raleigh tried not to sound like an idiot. "Raleigh Becket, sir. From--"
"Raleigh Becket?" Uh-oh. The suit sat forward, the cool reserve gone for the moment. "Didn't you win Iron Chef four seasons in a row several years back?"
The ginger jerk shot him a wide-eyed look and stood away from the table. Raleigh tried not to notice.
"I did, sir."
"Jesus, son, I didn't even recognize you. What the hell happened?"
His jaw clenched. He should've known it wouldn't be so easy to step back into the ocean after paddling around in a pond. He should've known people would remember.
He also should've shaved. He was used to the stubble, but even Yancy admitted it made him look like a homeless person. He just... forgot.
Fortunately, the hipster guy interrupted the awkward silence. "No offense, dude, but... that was kinda rude."
Great. Now he couldn't even fight his own battles.
But the suit sat up straight and touched his tie as if to straighten it. "Of course. Apologies." He didn't sound at all apologetic. "I suppose that makes you the returning hero shaking off an early retirement. We can work with that. And if you still have even half your talent, Mr. Becket, this should be one hell of a show."
Out of nowhere, the Australian guy snorted. "Says you. An ex car thief, a rookie, and a has-been? This'll be the most boring win I've ever clocked."
The suit eyed him, unperturbed. "You don't already have to be in character, son."
"Don't call me 'son', sir."
God, that accent was like a cat clawing at raw nerves. "Jesus, kid, can you just stop? We're gonna be here all day."
"Oi, I dunno where the fuck you've been the last five years, has-been, but I'm used to actual competition."
"Alaska." His eyes narrowed. "As I was trying to say earlier."
He determinedly did not say what he'd been doing. That was none of this crowd's business. Yet.
The jerk's eyes rolled. "Alaska? Just fucking great. Do you know how to cook anything besides fish? Oi, don't put this wanker anywhere near me. I can't stand the smell."
"Jesus." That was the hipster again. Newt. "You two fight like an old married couple. Do you know each other or what?"
The protest was out before Raleigh even thought about it. Of course, the jerk was also protesting, more loudly and with far more Australian lingo than was surely warranted.
"Enough!"
Everyone fell silent. The suit again touched his tie, as if it had been loosened by his shout.
"Save it for the show, you two. Now--"
"That's not a bad idea, actually." That was the Brit again, stroking his jowls.
Annoyed at yet another interruption, the main suit sighed. "What?"
"Get them to play a couple."
He opened his mouth even as the jerk bristled even further beside him.
"No, better yet -- exes. Really bitter exes. Think of the drama!"
"Oi, I'm not--"
"Hey, that's not what I--"
But the suit talked right over them. "Oh, my God, you're right. It's... brilliant, actually. The hothead and the retired champion, former lovers, now rivals. Watch the sparks fly as the pressure mounts." Ignoring the continued protests, the corporate bastard actually rubbed his hands together. "The gay thing makes it even better. It'll look like we're branching out and being accepting."
Good God, he wanted to disappear into the floor. Nobody but Yancy knew he was even tempted in that direction, and now, he was about to be fake-outed on national goddamn television, and all for fake drama.
"That is the stupidest goddamn thing I've ever heard." Thankfully, his would-be ex hadn't lost a single step. "I've never even met this wanker before. I thought this was supposed to be reality TV, asshole!"
The Brit harumphed. "It's a perfectly viable suggestion, young man. And it will be ratings gold."
"I'm not pretending to have fucked this has-been for you wankers."
Sweet. Jumping. Christ.
"You will if you want to stay on the show."
Silence.
Crawling with misery and wishing like hell he'd just stayed in Alaska where he belonged and damn the potential prize money, Raleigh reluctantly glanced up from the spot on the table he'd been staring at.
"These are the personalities you've been assigned." The suit's tone brooked no argument. "Perform as directed, or you're off the show. There are hundreds of up-and-coming chefs who would cook babies to be where you four are right now."
He winced... but he didn't get up and leave. He couldn't.
Yancy was counting on him.
Unfortunately, the giant Australian jerk didn't leave, either. Neither did Wei Jin or Miss Mori. Apparently, every single one of them had too much to lose.
After a long, uncomfortable silence, the hipster douchebag clapped his hands together again. "Well. That's all set then. Gonna be a great show, everyone."
