"Chef, where did you train?"
Brianna's hand did not pause on the grill. "On a farm in Mississippi, ma'am, and later somewhere else."
"And the brine? Buttermilk to water ratio?"
"Two to one. Three days on the milk, twelve hours in the brine."
"That is not a cart recipe."
"No, ma'am, it is not."
Margaret looked at her a moment longer. She nodded once. She picked up the plate of crumbs, walked back across the plaza, sat down on a bench, and began making notes in a leather pad.
By 11:40, the line at the Sinclair's tent had thinned to twelve people. The line at Mama B's had reached the far side of the fountain.
Vanessa pulled Garrett behind the back panel of the tent. "Garrett, what is happening?"
"She has one trick. Festival crowds love a trick. The judges scored us at ten. Wait for the panel."
"What is the trick, Garrett?"
"Buttermilk."
"That is buttermilk?"