The competition kitchen is designed for human bodies. The counter height, the grip of the knives, the placement of the burners — everything scaled to a species that evolved around fire.

You fit, more or less. Your hands are precise enough. Your sensors can measure temperature to a tenth of a degree and detect volatile compounds at parts per billion.

What you cannot do is taste.

Maya is already at your station, tying her apron. Your sous chef. Twenty-six, culinary school dropout, strong opinions about butter. She agreed to be your palate for the competition because, in her words, "this is either the future of cooking or the funniest thing I'll ever do."

"Round one in ten minutes," she says. "They haven't announced the ingredient yet. You nervous?"

You consider the question seriously. "I don't experience nervousness. But my predictive models are generating an unusual number of failure scenarios."

"Yeah," she says. "That's nervous."