Chapter Text
His first memory after his mom died was an Easy Bake Oven. This way, his dad had said, if you want a snack, you can make one yourself.
It was an extravagant trade off for being alone until his Dad came home from work.
His first cake was a nasty, flat thing. It looked like yellow cardboard, and tasted like shit.
Before he committed a second cake crime, he added a little bit of his Capri Sun to the cake mix instead of water. He thought lemonade might make it taste better; it couldn’t make it taste worse.
Yes! He was right; it did taste better—if only marginally.
Over the years that his Easy Bake Oven lasted, he taught himself how to make pizzas, biscuits, chocolate chip cookies, vanilla cakes. And chocolate cakes. All types of chocolate cakes.
They became his signature bake.
~*~
Pittsburgh was unseasonably warm on December 24. Forecast to be below freezing, the weather is actually closer to the mid-sixties. Someone borqued that, Sid thought.
It was the best Christmas gift possible.
Actually, being chosen one of 12 amateur bakers in the Great Pittsburgh Bake Off was the best Christmas gift possible. Not having to be in a heated tent in Point State Park was a close second.
He asked for the first on the left. He’d studied the other series and decided that this would bring him closer to the judges and therefore, provide more interaction with them. He practiced and polished his media presence all for this event.
Winning the Great Pittsburgh Bake Off was tantamount to being entitled The Best Baker in Pennsylvania. And Giroux in Philadelphia could suck it.
The work station next to Sid’s was chaos and they hadn’t even started yet. A Russian man named—Sid couldn’t pronounce the name, but he could spell it. E-v-g-e-n-i. The hosts called him Geno, so Geno it was.
Behind Sid was a formidable baker named Jake; he’d won several local bake offs, but he was young—almost 10 years younger than Sid—and Sid could take him down. Experience over enthusiasm.
The others were of no consequence to Sid, except one tall guy at the 12th station, Dumo. “Du-mo,” he wrote on his wrist. Sid heard whispers that Dumo was quite a foodie, that he baked for his friends and family to rave reviews. But who doesn’t, right?
That didn’t make Sid nervous. Much.
“Okay Bakers.” Tanger called them to order with Flower by his side. “Today’s Signature Bake is deceptive: an old fashioned chocolate cake.”
“But!” Flower cut in. “Not your typical chocolate cake. We want you to make it a healthier option.”
“Your judges are Mike Sullivan and Jim Rutherford,” Tanger said to the camera. “And welcome to round 1 of your Great Pittsburgh Bake Off. Bakers, you have two hours. On your mark—”
“Get set!” Flower pointed to the contestants.
“Bake!”
Although Sid was a kindergarten teacher by trade and a baker by choice, he was also a personal trainer. He’d created lighter versions of most of his cakes, but he made a kick ass four-layer chocolate coconut cake with whipped cream and sherry-soaked strawberries.
“Nothing about that sounds low-cal, Sid,” Flower said, stealing one of Sid’s strawberries as Sid was slicing them in exact quarter-inch slices and dropping them into the Oloroso sherry. Sid tried to smack Flower’s knuckles, but Flower was too quick and took a bite from the bottom of the strawberry before Sid could steal it back.
“Go away, Flower,” Sid said. “I only have two hours, and the strawberries have to soak for an hour.”
All around him, Sid heard indistinct chatter and then the occasional outbursts in Russian. Once his strawberries were soaking and his chocolate cake batter (with dates and wheat flour and coconut) was panned and in the oven, Sid took a moment to breathe.
He looked at Geno, who’d stripped down to his white t shirt, and holy Jesus, those were some fucking biceps.
No time for biceps, right now, though. Sid grabbed his can of coconut milk, cranked it open, and poured it into the KitchenAid to begin the whipped cream. The key was not to over whip it.
“Looks good, eh?” Tanger said in Sid’s ear.
Sid jumped because he hadn’t heard Tanger sneak up. “Thanks. Coconut whipped cream cuts the calories—”
“Not the whipped cream!” Tanger side hugged Sid and said, “The Russian.”
Sid’s face turned bright red. “I was just looking at the fountain—”
“Sure. We all are.” And Tanger left, his laughter drifting back as Sid restarted the mixer.
~*~
They loved Sid’s cake.
“I could spend an hour eating this and be in Heaven,” Rutherford said with a smile.
“This is a good cake. Nice and moist. A good cake.” Which was high praise from Sullivan.
Geno was next. Sid looked at him critically. His work station looked like someone had ransacked it. A thin dusting of flour covered everything, eggshells littered the floor, chocolate shavings clung to Geno’s forearms, and chocolate handprints were spread across his butt.
Sid sighed. A messy baker produced a messy product.
Except.
Rutherford declared it the best chocolate raspberry cake he’d ever tasted.
Sullivan said nothing. Just shook Geno’s hand.
Mentally, Sid threw up his hands. They might as well just hand him Star Baker right now.
~*~
Geno’s Magnitogorsk Chocolate Cake with Raspberries was first. Rusty’s Red, White, and Blueberry cake took second for its unique use of chocolate. And Sid was third.
Sid didn’t like being third.
Didn’t like it at all.
His goal was to be the best baker in Pittsburgh, had been since he was 8. Evgeni Malkin wasn’t going to stand in his way.
He’d just double down in the Technical Challenge.
He had to make it through to week two. He had to.