MADAM CURRY!!

Biggest announcement of all time:

Shaneece Witfield, executive producer and chief financial officer of “The Premiere!” Studios, gave an unexpected announcement at Royal Gardens purple carpet, front-and-center, gold podium beside her. She always slayed in her professional purple attire with scarf and high heels.

“Ladies and gentlemen, today I am elated to announce our long-awaited ‘Madam Curry’ contest! A cooking show hosted by children, for children! Young ladies between the ages of 11-18 are to submit a five-minute video detailing their best dish and why they deserve the title as ‘Madam Curry.’ Curry must also be implemented in the dish somehow, and the winner will receive $20,000 plus an opportunity to host her very own syndicated cooking show! All interested aspiring lady chefs must submit their videos on ‘The Premiere!’ webpage within 24 hours from now. Details are posted on the website, and there are no exceptions! Well what are you waiting for? Get cooking!”

Mah best friend Spicey was da one who first told me about da contest. After school that day, she darted towards mah locker like she was some bull chargin’ after me, her stockings way too big for her, and her autumn burgundy dress matchin’ her sweet cinnamon hair buns.

“SHAQUOYAH! SHAQUOYAH, SHAQUOYAH, SHAQUOYAH!” she screamed, shovin’ da ‘Madam Curry’ flyer into mah hand. “ShaquoYAH! READ THIS!!!”

“All right, all right, Spicey Comedy Jones,” I beckoned, calmin’ her down.

“That was my comedy name!” she replied, “now, I’m Spicey Salters!”

“‘SUBMIT YOUR FAVORITE DISH… $20,000… ONLY 1 MADAM CURRY,’” I read, “oh but you gotta submit tomorrow by 1:00pm!”

“You mean you do,” said Spicey.

“Just me?” I was puzzled. “You ain’t gon’ submit?”

“I thought about it, ShaquoYAH, and I know how much this contest really means to you. Plus, if I won, and you didn’t, I wouldn’t want it to jeopardize our friendship, so instead I’ll help you with your audition tape tomorrow.”

“Aww, thanks, Spice,” I told her, as we both hugged, “now all we need is our cameraman to help us film.”

“Say no more, ladies!” motioned Reuben Milktart from behind us, overhearin’ our conversation and casually wrappin’ his elongated arms around us like always. And yeah, I bit mah lip. I always adored his oversized jeans, afro, and football jacket. “I’m Reuben yo camera boy! I got it all taken care of! Tomorrow afternoon we submit yo tape, ‘Madam Curray!’ I’M IN!”

“YES!” shouted Spicey.

Too bad a certain Oliver Oliveira always came to ruin da party… Here he comes in nerdy plaid flannel, moseyin’ our way with two tickets in his hand, motionin’ Reuben away from us. “Looks like the arcade’s havin’ a free friend pass AND all-you-can-eat ice cream buffet that day! And looks like I’m goin’ with my good ole pal Reuben here!”

“AND I’M OUT!” barked Reuben.

“NO!” screamed Spicey, right in mah ear, “but we asked first!!”

“Sorry ladies, but you know the sayin’… Bros before… you knows.”

“So sorry ladies, but me and Oliver goin’ to the arcade! But don’t worray, Spy-say!” Reuben assured us, “I can show you how to use my camera, so you can film instead!”

“Uhhh, Reuben? Now I KNOW, you ain’t talkin’ to da competition!” I reminded him.

“Now where were we on that FREE arcade deal?” asked Oliver, completely ignorin’ me and trottin’ off with Reuben.

“WAIT! DON’T GO! WE—STILL—Need… Our… Reuben.” Spicey went on another tangent. “Right… Now all we have to do is learn how to use that whatcha-ma-call-it doohickey camera thingy, and we can still win the contest!”

“I dunno if I should submit, Spice,” I cried, “I mean, you know who’s really behind this…”

“You can’t give up, ShaquoYAH,” she reassured me, “and yeah… I SMELL A RAT!!!! We know who’s responsible for this…”

Don’t we know all too well… Another freshman girl by da name of Olivia Oliveira.

~

“HI, GREENIES!” she introduced, on her world-famous cookin’ blog, her pompous beige apron and chef’s hat blendin’ perfectly with her blonde hair and plain kitchen background. “TODAY ON ‘GREEN OLIVES!’ I will be submitting my award-winning lemon meringue pie with a hint of curry as I, Olly Oliveira, a.k.a. Jolly-Olly-Lolly, will be submitting for the ‘Madam Curry’ contest! It’s always been my dream to host my very own cooking show! Syndicated, if I may add! Well, Greenies, I’ve gotta get cooking! See ya next time on my show, ‘GREEN OLIVES!’”

“And… Clear,” announced Oliver, endin’ da live recordin’ and placin’ da camera on standby.

“OLIVER!” barked Olly.

“Yes, sister dear?” wondered Oliver, with a questionable grin.

“You did invite that Reuben character to the silly arcade with you tomorrow, right?!”

“Yes, ma’am. Just like you said.”

“Don’t ma’am me! We have a contest to win! And I’m not letting any other girl take my 20 grand or the ‘Madam Curry’ title that so rightfully belongs to me! Our plan will work out perfectly!”

“I still don’t know why you’re getting so worked up about this, Olly… We’ve already submitted your contest video hours ago, you’re pretty much the best young chef in the world right now and you already have your cooking blog that’s viewed by over 2 million people weekly, might I add… Cooktrepreneur Magazine has already nominated you the best blogger of the year, three years in a row! Plus, I’m sure those judges at ‘The Premiere!’ all know you by now, so what’s the problem?”

“All very true… But I’m afraid we might have some competition… And that competition, is ShaquoYAH Brown.”

“ShaquoYAH Brown?”

“Yes, Oliver! She’s been cooking way longer than me and if she submits—”

“Wait, wait, wait, Olly… You’re not thinkin’ about sabotagin’ her video, sneakin’ into her house and somehow ruinin’ her audition tape, are you? Cause I mean come on, Olly, that’s insane even for you—”

“OLIVER, THAT'S A GREAT IDEA!”

“Why did I open my big mouth?”

“You know that little black notebook she carries around at school? ShaquoYAH keeps all her secret recipes written in there… All I have to do is sneak into her house, steal the notebook from her nightstand, then replace baking powder with an explosive lookalike! Then the contest is all mine! Nobody will even notice! Besides, ShaquoYAH Brown can’t be ‘Madam Curry’ if she has no audition tape to submit!”

Oliver giggled. “What are you gonna do, Olly? Sneak up to her patio while she’s asleep and lock pick her door? Then wait until the coast is clear to sneak out?”

“This is why I keep you around, little brother who isn’t as famous as me!” said Olly with an evil smirk.

Oliver pouted. “I did it again… And you’re my twin… You’re only three minutes older.”

~

Everything that could go wrong on audition day, did go wrong… First, I couldn’t find mah lil black journal where I wrote down mah great auntie PetunYAH’s curry sweet potato pie recipe. Then Spicey overslept and we started an hour later than scheduled, only givin’ us two hours. And by da time Spicey figured out how to use Reuben’s camera, we only had an hour left to film, bake, and submit. I had to quickly improvise and remember da recipe as best I could… So, when Spicey filmed and it was time to add bakin’ powder, let’s just say a big ole KABOOM! reverberated throughout our entire kitchen, and ginormous pie chunks SPLATTERED! all on da walls, ceilin’, and seeped onto ourselves.

“OH NO! WE’RE A GIANT MESS!” I shouted.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” said Spicey.

“THIS KITCHEN IS A GIANTER MESS!!!”

“Also wouldn’t be the first time.”

“AND WHEN MAH MAMA COME HOME, SHE GON’ FREAK!!”

“Definitely wouldn’t be the first time!”

“SPICEY! NOT! HELPING!”

“Sorry,” she shrieked.

“Here, mah Dad still nappin’. Help me clean this up before he finds out—”

“But we only have forty minutes to submit—”

“We gotta submit later, just clean,” I reiterated, scramblin’ to get da mop, bucket, and sponges.

~

Too bad mah Dad awoke sooner than I thought. Diggin’ for gold up his butt with one hand, and yawnin’ while he scratched his bald head with da other, he trotted down da stairs when a RING-RING hollered from da front door. That moment saved us. When he answered, it was Reuben standin’ there, his arms cupped around his stomach.

“Reuben… What brings you here?”

“Hi, Mr. Brown,” greeted Reuben, “I got a stomach ache from eatin’ too much ice cream at the buffet and ridin’ all those rides at the arcade.”

My Dad scratched his head again, puzzled. “What can I do for you, son?”

“I just need to pick up my camera from Spicey. May I come in?”

“Sure… But judging from the sounds of it, the girls just got exploding pie crust all over our brand-new kitchen walls… UH OH! I betta not tell my wife that!”

“I better go check on them.”

“Go ahead,” said Dad, not wantin’ to be bothered. He headed back up da stairs while Reuben skedaddled towards da kitchen.

~

What I didn’t know was that Reuben silently crept into da kitchen, tiptoed to take his camera that was sittin’ on da counter, and secretly recorded Spicey and me while da two of us plunged to da floor in da corner where we couldn’t see him. I was in tears at this point.

“IT’S OVA, SPICEY!” I wailed, “mah one shot to become ‘Madam Curry’ gone! Ruined! I’ve been cookin’ for ova ten years, and for once in mah 14-year-old career I wanted to finally prove once and for all that I was betta than that Jolly-Olly-Lolly or whateva she calls herself! Da contest is ova in half an hour, and now we got no film to submit! I guess it just ain’t meant to be.”

“Wow… I guess not,” said Spicey, also perplexed. “And I know this probably won’t help either, but whether or not you’re ‘Madam Curry,’ I still think you’re a great chef.”

“Thanks, Spice,” I said, as we smiled and hugged.

Then, moments later, Spicey mentioned: “I still think that OLLY had somethin’ to do with this… But, if you could be ‘Madam Curry,’ why would you want to be ‘Madam Curry?’”

“Like we discussed, Spice, I’d wanna be ‘Madam Curry’ to help motivate other young cooks and chefs out there… I know mah cookin’ will invigorate so many people and help them cook as well. Yeah, I know I was supposed to make this amazin’ curry sweet potato pie with three tablespoons of cinnamon, ¼ teaspoon of curry, two cups of brown sugar and some other ingredients, but it looks like da pie is on me today… Literally! If only I could prove to da judges one more time what I’m really made of. Bein’ ‘Madam Curry’ would mean da world to me, because I know for those moments, I would’ve put a smile on so many faces and inspired so many people.”

Little did I know, Reuben hurried out da front door with his camera and rushed back to his house.

Still I was distraught, until I received a check in da mail for $20,000 and a ‘CONGRATULATIONS, MADAM CURRY!’ banner a week later. How, you may be wonderin’?

~

“Bein’ ‘Madam Curry’ would mean da world to me…”

“Stop the tape!” beckoned Shaneece, herself and four other producers reviewin’ mah tape in a small meeting room. “This final submission is on behalf of ShaquoYAH Brown, submitted by a boy named Reuben Milktart approximately 3.2 seconds before submissions closed. My, my, my. Never have I ever seen a submission so heartfelt and genuine as this one in all my three decades of producing. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you ShaquoYAH Brown, our new ‘Madam Curry!!’”

Everyone in da room golf clapped, along with a confident smile from Shaneece.

And that’s how I, ShaquoYAH Brown, became Madam Curry (and won $20,000.) Too bad I still can’t find mah lil black journal.