Black Widow in the Kitchen

Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the mansion, Natasha Romanoff discovered that Diana was not the only heroine having a difficult afternoon.

The doors to the mansion’s enormous professional kitchen swung shut behind her.

Natasha stared at the stainless-steel benches, six ovens, two grills, refrigerators and rows of ingredients laid out in front of her.

A screen above the preparation area flashed to life.

BLACK WIDOW'S KITCHEN CHALLENGE

TIME LIMIT: 30 MINUTES

Natasha looked at the clock.

“Thirty minutes. Fine.”

Then the rest of the order appeared.

12 DESSERTS

15 MAIN DISHES

15 ENTRÉES

Natasha’s expression changed slightly.

“That’s forty-two dishes.”

Charles appeared on the screen.

“Correct.”

“Within thirty minutes?”

“Correct again.”

Natasha picked up the order sheet.

Then she noticed the dietary notes.

Ten guests had gluten intolerance.

Six were vegetarian.

Two customers had ordered steak, with one requesting medium and the other well-done.

Several dishes also had to be served at specific temperatures.

Natasha looked towards the camera.

“You realise I've infiltrated military compounds with less complicated instructions than this?”

Charles laughed.

“And naturally, this wouldn't be the Playboy Mansion without one additional rule.”

A red light appeared above the kitchen entrance.

SPECIAL RULE: ICONIC POSE

Natasha sighed.

Charles continued.

“Any time a member of the kitchen staff calls out the word ‘POSE!’, you must immediately stop what you're doing and perform one of your recognised Black Widow poses for five seconds.”

Natasha stared blankly at the screen.

“You're joking.”

“I am not.”

A collection of photographs appeared beside her workstation: the classic crouched landing pose, crossed arms, hands at the hips and several dramatic spy stances.

“If you refuse,” Charles explained, “the charity chain is broken.”

Natasha picked up a chef's knife.

“And if somebody says it while I'm chopping vegetables?”

“You put the knife down first.”

“Good rule.”

The timer changed.

30:00

A bell rang.

Natasha immediately moved.

She began separating the gluten-free meals from the standard orders, placing the vegetarian dishes on another workstation so there would be no accidental mixing.

“Ten gluten-free. Six vegetarian. Two steaks.”

She pointed towards one of the chefs.

“You. Desserts. Start the chocolate mousse but keep anything containing flour away from the gluten-free station.”

The chef blinked.

“You're supposed to cook them yourself.”

Natasha stopped.

“Of course I am.”

She grabbed two pans.

Within minutes, the kitchen became absolute chaos.

Vegetables were roasting.

Sauces were reducing.

Pasta water was boiling.

Two steaks hit the grill.

Natasha checked the temperature of the first.

“Medium.”

Then the second.

“Well-done.”

A kitchen assistant suddenly grinned.

“POSE!”

Natasha froze.

She slowly put down the tongs.

“You picked an excellent moment.”

She stepped away from the grill, dropped into her famous crouched Black Widow landing pose and looked directly towards the assistant.

“One… two… three… four… five.”

She stood again.

The assistant applauded.

Natasha immediately returned to the steaks.

“If that one burns, you're explaining it to the customer.”

The timer above her continued counting.

22:16

Natasha looked across the kitchen.

Five entrées finished.

Four mains complete.

Three desserts ready.

Thirty dishes still remained.

Then somebody near the refrigerator shouted:

“POSE!”

Natasha closed her eyes.

“This may actually be worse than fighting aliens.”