The Karahi King
"Zainab's food truck serves the best karahi in London. When MasterChef winner Hamza comes to challenge her crown, their competition heats up in unexpected ways."
The Karahi King
"Your karahi is good. Not great."
Zainab looked at the man who'd just insulted her food. Handsome, smug, wearing a MasterChef winner's confidence.
"Says who?"
"Says Hamza Khan." He extended his hand. "And my two Michelin stars."
"I don't care about stars. I care about flavor."
"Then prove it. Cook-off. Next Saturday. Let the people decide."
The cook-off drew crowds—two Pakistani chefs battling for karahi supremacy.
Hamza's was refined, elegant, deconstructed. Zainab's was traditional, fiery, straight from her grandmother's recipe.
The tie was unprecedented.
"Rematch?" Hamza suggested.
"You're just looking for excuses to see me again."
"Obviously." He didn't deny it. "Is it working?"
The rematch happened. Then another. Then dinner at his restaurant after hours.
"You're extraordinary," Hamza said, watching her taste his new recipe.
"You're not terrible." She smiled. "For a fancy chef."
"Marry me."
She nearly dropped her fork. "What?"
"I've been trying to impress you for two months. It's not working. So I'm being direct." He took her hand. "Marry me, Zainab. Build something together."
"This is insane," she said as he kissed her.
"This is right." He lifted her onto the counter. "Tell me you don't feel it."
"I feel it."
He made love to her in his Michelin-star kitchen—ironic, she thought, given where they'd started.
"Meri jaan," Hamza breathed. "You're my secret ingredient."
"Cheesy."
"Accurate."
"We're competitors," Zainab said afterward.
"We're partners. In food. In life." He pulled her close. "Open a restaurant together. Combine our styles."
"That's either genius or disaster."
"Let's find out." He kissed her forehead. "Together."
The restaurant—Khan & Khan—became London's hottest Pakistani spot.
The karahi was a blend of both their recipes.
Best collaboration either of them ever cooked.