Chapter Text
The Great Panem Christmas Bake-Off
Week One
Drip…drip…drip…
I shoot up from bed when the last drip hits my open mouth.
“Gross—” My eyes go to the leaky ceiling right above my twin bed. “—just what I need today.”
The best solution would be to move the bed. Unfortunately, my bedroom is the size of a matchbox with barely enough space to fit my bed and the second-hand dresser I own. And forget asking my landlord to patch the ceiling up. He’ll just hike up the rent after doing a shitty cover-up.
If there’s one thing I don’t want, it’s to spend more money than I have.
I’ll just have to improvise.
Taking my pillow, I switch it to the other side. Let my feet get wet instead.
My cell rings, and my sister Prim’s face flashes on the screen.
Picking up, I put it on speaker. “Hey, Little Duck!”
“How’s the best baker in all of Panem?”
“I don’t know,” I retort. “They’re probably doing freaking awesome. I, on the other hand, woke up because I drank ceiling water.”
“Katniss, why don’t you just speak to your landlord?” a deep voice cuts in. It’s Haymitch, our uncle, and late father’s older brother. “Or I can come down and fix it—"
“No, you do not have the time or the funds to come here,” I reply. “Plus, my rent is way below market price. If I complain, I’ll either get my rent raised or kicked out. I do not need that right now.”
“Alright,” he relents. “Just be safe.”
Haymitch has been taking care of us since my parents passed away. I was seven when the accident happened, and he didn’t hesitate to hop on his bike to come for us. I remember how intimidating he looked to my mom’s side of the family when he rolled up into our driveway. However, the moment he removed his helmet and I saw his eyes—my dad’s eyes—I knew we would be okay.
Prim and I didn’t make it easy on him. We were terrors and once we got settled, puberty rolled in. He had to learn the foibles of periods and training bras. Our birds-and-bees talk consisted of him telling me to keep my ‘garage’ closed until the right car came along.
“I promise I will,” I assure him. “I’ve been surviving for at least a year, haven’t I?”
“That doesn’t make me feel any less worried.”
“Dad!” Prim says. “Let’s focus on the good things, like Katniss being a contestant on The Great Panem Christmas Bake-Off! This is her big break…so what are you going to wear?”
“They want us to be festive.” My eyes go to the drawers holding my very pathetic wardrobe. “I think I might have to go to Goodwill and grab something—”
“You have that red plaid skirt and a black turtleneck,” Prim informs me. “Wear those with the black tights and Mom’s boots.” My little sister is a budding fashion designer and is planning for Parsons once she graduates high school. “Please don’t tell me that you threw them away.”
“I didn’t!” I just stuffed them in the farthest part of my drawers. “And of course, I wouldn’t get rid of Mom’s boots! They’re sacred.”
“Oh, and don’t forget to shower,” my sister adds.
“Bitch.”
Prim giggles. “We love you, too! And we can’t wait to see the first episode!”
“Love you.”
“Break a leg, Katniss,” Haymitch tells me. “I’m proud of you.”
My eyes mist at his words. He’s not the most affectionate of men, but he loves us something fierce.
“I’ll do my best.”
Hanging up, I reach into my drawers and grab the outfit created by Prim. All I need to do is shower, do my makeup, and I’m on my way to my first day of competition.
This is my moment.
Nothing can go wrong.
++++++
Except everything goes wrong.
My shower, for one, is only spewing out cold water. So, I take the shortest shower ever, barely being able to rinse my hair of shampoo before it stops working altogether. Then as I put on my outfit, I realize that it’s two sizes too small for me—thanks Top Ramen and cookie diet—and literally have to stuff myself into the skirt and turtleneck.
By the time I make my way downtown and to the high-rise where the filming is happening, I am sweaty with running makeup and frizzy hair. At least most of my hair is in a braid though my bangs are slightly greasy.
I’m running late but, as I drive towards the building, I see it.
A free space!
Right in front.
I gun my 1989 Toyota Celica and quickly stop next to the space to parallel park.
There’s a loud beep and I see a white Porsche right behind me, ready to take my spot.
Oh hell no.
Haymitch knows his way around an automobile. He used to work at an auto shop, and we heard all sorts of story about idiots on the road. The driver behind me is a quintessential douche driver, the kind of person who probably doesn’t think they’ll get a ticket if they’re speeding on a highway. You know those types.
I’m not about to let whoever it is think that they’re God’s gift.
Haymitch also taught me how to be a savage on the road.
Quickly, I back up into the space just as the Porsche driver attempts to drive into it. I have no qualms with damaging my car—Haymitch will hook me up with dents—but I’m sure as hell that the other person cares about their precious Porsche.
“Yes!” Not today, Satan Porsche driver. “With five minutes to spare.”
I pat down my hair in my rearview mirror before stepping out of the car—
“Hey, you!” I turn to see a blond stepping out of the Porsche—which he double-parked in the middle of a busy street—stomping towards me. “That’s my space!”
“Funny, there’s no sign with your name on it.” I turn to leave, and he grabs my arm. “What’s your damage?” I rip my arm away from his grasp. “I didn’t give you permission to touch me!”
“I don’t know who you think you are, but I’m important down here,” he responds, his blue eyes staring at me in cold anger.
“Obviously, not important enough for me to know who you are. So, excuse me—”
“I’m not finished.” I put my hands on my hips, tapping my foot impatiently. “If you don’t move this piece of trash out of my space, I’ll have it towed.”
My anger rises at his words.
“That piece of trash is my late mother’s car.”
I step into his personal space, and he hesitates slightly before deciding to hold his stance.
Up close, this man is admittedly handsome with his brushed back waves, and electric blue eyes. He fits his charcoal suit perfectly and his shoes are definitely Italian leather. In fact, I’m sure that pair alone is worth more than Mom’s car. However, that doesn’t diminish its sentimental worth.
“And it may not mean shit to you, but besides the boots that I wear, they’re the only things I have left of hers,” I inform him tersely. “So, you can kiss my ass and be a whiny little bitch about me parking in a public space.”
Whipping away, I strut towards the sidewalk.
“Which part of your ass do you want me to kiss? There’s so much of it.”
I feel my cheeks spark with heat. I cannot believe this guy—
Looking over my shoulder, the man smirks. He knows he’s hit a sore spot.
I take a deep breath and give him my most winning smile.
“Right here.” I slide my hand to the cleft between my ass cheeks. “It really gets me going.”
I swear I hear him growl.
Then, I turn and head towards the building, away from the man with the annoying entrancing eyes.
++++++
When I reach the twelfth floor, I’m greeted quickly by Messalla, the producer of the bake-off, who quickly leads me to my station.
As he walks me over, I see the rest of the contestants. There are six of us in total. The first two stations are occupied by a handsome bronze-haired man, who’s flirting with the girl putting on his mic, and a petite woman with porcelain skin and perfectly straight jet-black hair. She raises her brows when she sees me and then sneers.
I guess we won’t be friends.
The second row is occupied by a tall, muscular blond wearing the tightest t-shirt imaginable. I’m waiting for him to exhale just to see if it rips apart like the Incredible Hulk’s. Next to him is a brunette with bobbed hair and red highlights. She examines me, but more with curiosity than altogether hate like the first woman.
“You’ll be here,” Messalla says as we stop at the third row. “We’re just getting everyone set up with mics, then we’ll begin filming. Expect to be here until the late evening. After the competition, we do interviews and pick-up footage if needed. Do you have any questions?”
“Is it true that Effie Trinket is one of the hosts?” I ask excitedly.
The man smiles kindly. “Yes, she is. Big fan?”
“Yes!” I reach into my bag and pull out one of Effie’s cookbooks. “When I was young, I did the cooking at my house because my uncle was just no good at it. She literally helped keep my family from starving.”
“That’s really sweet,” Messalla replies. “I’d love for you to talk about that during your interview.” He pats my shoulder. “Good luck.”
I take a deep breath, looking over my station. It has a deep red surface and there’s just about every piece of equipment I might need on it. All of it is from Caesar Flickerman’s baking line; the man is a legend and from what I heard, loves to let everyone know it.
“I really love Effie Trinket’s cookbooks, too.”
Looking to my left at the next station, I see a pretty girl with big brown eyes smiling shyly at me.
“Is she one of the reasons you applied?” I ask, smiling back.
“Yup—and the fifty-thousand dollars,” she replies. We chuckle at her words. “I’m Rue McAllister.”
“Katniss Everdeen.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” Rue looks to be the youngest of all of us, and I like her immediately. She reminds me a lot of Prim. “I’m so nervous.”
“So am I,” I admit. “Not to mention I got in a fight with this corporate prick over a parking space just as I got here. I hope I don’t get any bad juju from him.”
Rue giggles. “Bad juju?”
“You know—like vibes or luck—but let’s just hope that everything goes much smoother.”
Soon we’re all set up and the director, Cressida Jones, lead Effie Trinket and Caesar Flickerman to their spots. Effie gives us all a bright smile while Caesar waves like a royal to his subjects. Then Messalla stands in front of our group to introduce the judges.
“First,” he begins. “I’d like to introduce Beetee Latier, famed in molecular gastronomy baking.” A tall man with horn-rimmed glasses steps into the room and gives us a quick wave as we applaud. “Next is Alma Coin, famed pastry chef, and writer for Panem Baker Magazine.” A woman with shoulder-length silver hair walks in, wearing all black except for her pearls, and gives us a nod before taking her place. “Last, and definitely not least, Peeta Mellark, CEO of the famed Mellark Bakery.”
I feel my face draining of all its blood as the blond douche steps into the room.
His eyes sweep around, and Peeta suddenly spots me.
He smirks.
I am so fucked.
++++++
“Welcome to the Great Panem Christmas Bake-Off—that’s a load to say!” Effie chuckles before looking to the camera again. “I am your host, Effie Trinket, and with me is this esteemed gentlemen, Caesar Flickerman!”
“Thank you, Effie. By the way, you look quite lovely,” he begins. “We are joined by six of Panem’s best bakers to see which one of them will be crowned this year’s winner. The winner will be given a featured spread in Panem Baker Magazine, and of course, fifty-thousand dollars!” He turns to us. “What do you say to that?”
We all hoot and holler as instructed by Cressida prior to filming.
“Each week, our contestants are given a special Christmas-themed dessert to create and bake for our judges. The weakest baker will be eliminated until our last episode where our final three will compete to win The Great Panem Christmas Bake-Off! Woo!”
Caesar pumps his fist in the air, and I stifle a laugh.
“Are you ready for your first challenge, bakers?” Effie asks and we all nod in anticipation. “Every Christmas Eve, it is tradition to leave cookies for Santa to help aid his night-long journey around the world. For today’s challenge, we would like you to create cookies that are Santa-worthy for our judges to taste. Making sure they go well with a cup of milk is required.”
“You have two hours,” Caesar instructs. “So…let the Bake-Off begin!”
Quickly, I throw my apron on.
I know immediately what I want to make—Hot Chocolate Cookies.
However, that means that I’ll need freeze-dried marshmallows. Grabbing my largest mixing bowl, I go to the stock cupboard in the back of the room and start grabbing my dry ingredients—flour, brown and white sugar, salt, baking soda, and baking powder. Then, I head to the sub-zero fridge to grab eggs and butter.
Going back to my station, I place my ingredients down before heading to the flavor station in the far corner. Hurriedly, I grab chocolate chips, vanilla, hot chocolate mix, and of course mini marshmallows.
When I get back to my station, I see that everyone is hard at work while the judges meander through each row. The cameras follow the judges as they stop and talk to each contestant. I see Alma Coin speaking to Finnick—we were all introduced at the beginning of filming by Effie—who is giving her a coy smile. Beetee is talking to Johanna, the bobbed-hair woman, while Peeta—ugh—is speaking with Clove, the Row One bitch, who is obviously flirting with him.
I hope they hook up and she gives him the clap.
I begin making my dough which is an easy and soothing motion for me. During my younger years, I had a lot of bad days and whenever I had a bad day, I would make cookies. I work at the bakery section of a small grocery store, but it doesn’t give me much freedom to do the baking I want. However, I do get discounts so I can occasionally, create a batch of dough for a rainy day.
It seems like I’ll be bringing my emergency batch out today.
I start with bringing the butter and sugars to my standing mixer—we all have one—and place them into a mixing bowl. Turning it on, I wait until the mix is fluffy before adding the eggs and vanilla. While that’s mixing, I combine the dry ingredients to add to the mix.
As I carefully add my dry ingredients to the mixer, Beetee approaches me.
“What do we have here?” he asks in a quiet voice.
I give him a smile. “I’m making hot chocolate cookies.”
“Sounds great,” Beetee replies. “Do you foresee any challenges?”
“Well, there’s supposed to be marshmallows that you can visibly see in the finished cookie. My issue is that the cocoa mix provided doesn’t have marshmallows in it. So, I’ll have to find a way to make these mini marshmallows work since freeze-dried ones aren’t available.”
“Well, I might have a solution.” He steps closer to me. “Think molecular gastronomy. There are a lot of famous elements to it.” Beetee gives me an enigmatic smile. “Good luck. I’m looking forward to the finished product.”
Well, there are foams…and gels…and all kinds of special ingredients like algin…
Then it hits me—liquid nitrogen.
I signal Messalla over. “Is there liquid nitrogen available?”
He nods, pointing to a station next to the flavor section.
“I’ll send someone to assist you. Liquid nitrogen can be dangerous if not handled correctly.”
Since my dough is perfect, I turn off the mixer before gathering the marshmallows into a small bowl.
“Here goes.”
++++++
I’m down to my last five minutes when Peeta deigns to come to my station.
Thankfully, the liquid nitrogen worked perfectly. I had to break the mini marshmallows into smaller pieces with a mallet, but the finished product looks exactly like I want it. Perfect tiny marshmallows are interspersed throughout cocoa brown cookies, and it smells exactly like hot chocolate.
The cookies are on a cooling rack when he approaches.
“I had to park a block further because of you,” he informs me.
“Well, walking is good for the heart,” I retort, my eyes on each piece.
He moves in, so close that I can smell his sugar-and-spice scent. I try to ignore it, but I can feel the buzz in my body at the nearness of him.
“You’re going to pay for what you did.” I suck in a breath as his lip brushes against the tip of my ear. “Watch your ass, Katniss Everdeen, because I’m gunning for you.”
I see one of the cameramen, Pollux, approach and turn to Peeta.
“I will,” I tell him with a mockingly cheerful smile. “Because I know you’ll be watching it, too.”
I reach for my serving dish and start to speak to the camera to tell them about the process that I used to create the cookies.
When it’s time for judging, I present each of the judges with a cookie along with a glass of milk. The rest of the cookies are being filmed for presentation.
Alma declares that they remind her of her childhood in Connecticut and watching It’s A Wonderful Life.
Beetee calls them innovative but still classically Christmas.
Peeta takes one bite, chews annoying slow and then gives me his feedback:
“Pedestrian.”
I really want to hit him.
Looks like I’ll be cooking my whole batch of cookie dough and bringing out my emergency vodka tonight.
End of Part One
For a long time, I’ve been wanting to write a Great British Bake-Off Everlark and now it’s happening! The show, along with Hallmark Movies and Christmas romance books, have inspired this story.
This will be four parts as the bake-off takes place during the four weeks that lead to Christmas.
Some things to note:
Katniss and Prim are 6 years apart. Katniss is twenty-four thus making Prim about eighteen. Prim would be about one when their parents passed away, so she has grown up calling Haymitch her dad. Katniss, on the opposite end, refers to him as her uncle though they’re close.
Haymitch prefers to be called by his name sans the uncle moniker.
Liquid nitrogen is used for freezing but because it can’t be ingested, it needs sufficient time for the gas to be eliminated from the food product plus enough heating time for it not to cause damage during consumption. A lot of the time for Katniss is waiting for the marshmallows to cool before adding to the mix and making sure that the cooking time is appropriate to make her cookies edible.
So, I’d be pissed if someone called my cookies pedestrian after all that work.
The hot chocolate cookies are a real recipe and can be found here.
Let me know if you try making them, I’d love to hear about the finished product.
I’m feeling this chemistry between Katniss and Peeta. Hope you are, too!
Feedback is good for the soul and for the tummy!
Next: Week Two from Peeta’s POV. We’ll be featuring a special Christmas beverage. Any guesses?
Until then,
JLaLa