I stood blindfolded on the stage, the fabric soft against my eyelids, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest. The emcee’s voice echoed through the speakers, explaining the rules one last time—each contestant would draw a mystery dish from the ballot box, no peeking, no second chances. My fingers trembled as I reached in, the papers rustling like dry leaves. I grabbed one at random, unfolded it carefully, and slipped off the blindfold to read: Salmon à la Crème alongside Ratatouille. A ...