Bon Appetit (27 page)

“To make sure his icing hadn’t run,” she said, her face red.

That was unlikely, in the cooler.

By that time, Anne had joined us.

“Hi, Anne!” Désirée said too brightly. “Nice to see you”.

Anne nodded. “I found my keys,” she said. “I’ll meet you outside”.

“We should just check everyone’s,” I said to Désirée. I pulled open all the boxes, including hers, and couldn’t see any damage. I’d apparently caught her before she was able to wreak havoc.

“Ready to go?” I asked. I wasn’t leaving the room without her.

“Um, yes,” she said, wringing her hands.

“Would you like to have a glass of wine with us?” Anne asked her as we gathered outside and exchanged glances.

What was Anne doing? I didn’t need another glass of wine. I needed to go to sleep.

“Sure!” Désirée said.

We stopped at a closer café for a quick glass of wine, and after half an hour, Anne looked at her watch. “Better get to bed. We’ll see you tomorrow,
n’est-ce pas
?
”

“Oui,”
Désirée said, and turned to walk toward the luxury apartment complex where she was renting.

“I called Eric and asked him if, as a special favor to me, he’d come in and guard the walk-in for the rest of the night,” Anne said. “The other guy was clearly not paying attention”.

“Ah,” I said. “Hence keeping her distracted for half an hour”.

“Voilà, c’est ça,”
Anne agreed. We hugged and kissed cheeks and parted ways for the night. It’s not like we could turn her in. She hadn’t actually done anything. And I’m not sure we would have, anyway.

As I walked up my driveway, I realized I’d been so overwhelmed with preparing for the exhibition that I hadn’t picked up my mail in several days. I opened my mailbox and took out several letters, some Christmas cards, and one small box.

Oh! It had been mailed from Davis, Wilson, and Marks, Dan’s firm. I grinned and went inside to open it.

Dan was so thoughtful. I wondered what it could be. Though he’d kept his promise to let me figure things out by myself, I knew this would be something special. After all, it was our first real contact since Paris.

I slit the box open with a knife and unwrapped the bubble wrap. Inside was a letter opener and a form letter thanking me for my business that year.

I set the letter opener down, and looked at the knife I’d just used to open the box.

Well, I guess I can use one
, I thought, grumpily.

If I hadn’t already sent the Eiffel Tower suspenders, I might not have sent them at all.

W
e were all extremely nervous on Monday.

I had to have bread for my exhibition, so I made brioche and some tiny couronnes. The exhibition was scheduled after the traditional dinner time, as we would have a champagne reception and eat the food we had prepared.

At five o’clock in the evening, we began to lay out our displays. The twelve tables were arranged in a semicircle around the main teaching classroom. Mine stood just to the right of the center of the formation. I was across the room from Anne, but only two tables down from Désirée. I had no idea if she’d tried to access the school again the night before. Eric was gone by the time I arrived that morning. I slept well, though, knowing he’d been there.

I took the long lengths of velvet and silk I’d bought at the flea market and laid them over my table. Anne covered her table in sand for her Normandy theme. She had made thin
tuile
cookies and rolled them around a pin, then piped in “pearls” using the opalescent icing I’d loaned her. They looked like open oysters. She’d made seashell chocolates swirled with dark, white, and milk chocolate. My favorite were her caramels made with sea salt. Her breads looked beautiful, of course, as did her tartes.

“Well done,” I whispered to her as we set up. The room was hushed with expectancy and anxiety.

She smiled. “Thanks. Can I help you set up?”

I nodded. “Please!”

We went back to Box 7 and removed my pastries. In the center of my storage space, of course, sat the wedding cake, decorated with pearls and multitinted flowers. I’d found a technique to make the roses yellow with red-tipped ends by putting a bit of red icing in the edge of the tube. I brought out my little couronnes—they looked like wedding rings—and set them around the table. The petits fours, decorated to look like wedding gifts, went neatly to one side. I’d made my brioche in the shape of a large wedding braid with a breath-light veil modestly covering it. I scattered the wedding jewels from the flea market over the table, which I’d covered in deep brown velvet, smooth like a chocolate ganache.

“Ooh, look at this!” Anne said as she brought out my mille-feuille. It was a long rectangle of puff pastry with cream filling and a smooth icing on top. After the icing had set, I’d taken a very small tipped pipette and written it up to be a wedding invitation—for Tanya and Steve, of course.

The crème brûlée was smooth and creamy with a gold sprinkled filling. To the side of the cake were the beautiful tea cups I’d found. Into each one of them I’d baked a dark chocolate cake, and then frosted it with fluffy, swirled white frosting.

“Café express?” Jean-Yves asked, pointing at the little
tasses à thé
.

“Oui,”
I said. “Coffee with the wedding cake—and a nod to my employer”.

The
pièce de résistance
was the spun sugar carriage with macarons for wheels. “To leave the wedding, like Cinderella,” I explained. “And for Céline”.

“Très belle,”
Anne said. Even Désirée nodded.

“Whose wedding?” Anne whispered, winking.

I blushed and turned away. Would it ever be my turn, as she implied?

I looked at Désirée’s table. Her cakes looked pretty, and her breads were risen just right, baked crispy brown but not overdone. She had a Paris theme and had several different types of crêpes. She’d also constructed an Eiffel Tower out of chocolate twigs. The tower was quite clever, and I told her so.

“Merci,”
she said, nervously looking at the door. People were starting to file in.

Chef had some of the cooking students acting as roving waiters, bringing glasses of champagne to the guests. Anne’s mother and former employer arrived, and she introduced me to them. Her mom looked like Anne, but tired and beaten down. I hoped Anne would be able to find a job here and not have to return to Normandy.

Then came three women I kind of recognized but didn’t know from where.

“Oh!” said Anne. “Welcome!” It caught my attention because she spoke in English. “It’s my English practice group from the church,” she said, beaming.

Patricia arrived, Maman, Kamil, and Luc behind her.

“Alexandra!” Luc said, holding out his arms. He gave me a big bear hug and then three kisses on the cheek. “Here you are, a regular French woman, ready to conquer the world of pastry, eh?”

I grinned. “Hardly. I can’t believe this is my last day at school. But it is. And,” I said, “I owe it all to you”.

“We’ll talk later about what you owe me!” he teased. “Marianne says she is terribly sorry she can’t be here. She’s at her Maman’s house, but will be back after the New Year. She sends her best”.

I was puzzled. Apparently their marriage was okay, though I had assumed it wasn’t and thought that’s why Marianne had come home.

Luc waved as Céline and Philippe came into the room. One of the waiters handed Philippe a glass of champagne and a glass of fizzy apple juice to Céline. She carried it, very ladylike, over to my display table.

“Ooh, Lexi, is this yours?” she asked.

“Oui,”
I said. “Can you guess my theme?”

“Cinderella?” she asked.

I laughed. “Almost. Weddings!”

Patricia grinned broadly, which made me a bit nervous.

I introduced Luc to Anne, and then we all stood back as Chef Desfreres began to speak.

“This, of course, is the culmination of our course work. Each student will have the opportunity to explain what he or she chose to present, and then the students can ask questions of one another, as can those who have come to visit. Please, let us start with Monsieur”.

He indicated the snotty man who was his favorite. I looked at Anne under my eyelashes and saw her grin.

A few students later, Monsieur Desfreres arrived at Désirée. I looked around. Her father was definitely not there, nor did there seem to be any member of her large, pastry-loving family.

I remembered the pencil she’d given me the first day of school and spoke up. “How do you get your pound cakes to remain so moist?”

She looked at me with thanks and answered. “Do not overmix. Combine only until the ingredients are blended, but whipping any further introduces air, which dries the cake out much more quickly”.

Just as it was my turn, I noticed Monsieur Delacroix slip into the room. A few students asked me questions, only one of which I tripped up on. Then Monsieur Delacroix asked me a question.

“Can you tell me how one would mix and then proof brioche overnight in order to make sure the dough is appropriate the next morning?”

I grinned. That was an early mistake I’d made in his bakery, but Philippe had helped me. “Because the dough has so much butter, it’s best handled when it’s cool, and then given enough time to proof, which would be overnight in a cooler. Then it should be worked carefully so as not to toughen the dough”.

After I answered, he smiled. I’d hit it head on.

Looking around the room, I’d say we all made a good showing. The relief and fatigue were visible on all of our faces. Céline and Philippe went to taste something from Anne’s table. Jean-Yves was at Désirée’s table with his girlfriend. I noticed his girlfriend sample something, and was glad she was kind.

That left me and Monsieur Delacroix at my table.

“This is quite … unusual,” he said. “The cake, of course, traditionally French. But the other items are a twist on what’s expected. Especially something as fantastic as Cinderella’s carriage, which I find clever and unusual. Creative. For Céline?”

“Mais oui,”
I answered. But which of us didn’t dream of being Cinderella for a day? “These are for you,” I said, pointing out the espresso cakes with foamy frosting tops.

“Ah,
bon”.
He picked up a tiny spoon, began to eat one, and cracked a real smile.

I knew then that everything was going to be okay. I was so relieved I had made it, that I’d have my place, and that the bakers liked me and felt me to be one of them, that I went home that night and cried tears of joy and fatigue.

I’d made it.

The next day I had off, and I slept in. I called my mom and dad, and they were so excited for me. I uploaded some pictures for them, and for Tanya and my sister-in-law, Leah. Everyone called back with congratulations. Tanya made me promise I’d make her wedding cake.

Wednesday I got up early, whistling, and dressed warmly. I took the train into Rambouillet to work for the day. I’d be working there through the Christmas season.

When I walked in, Simone greeted me with a big grin. “So, Chef has arrived,” she said, and I hugged her.

“Thank you, Simone,” I said. “I feel really good”.

I went to pick up my chef’s jacket and to see what Patricia had set aside for me to work on that day, but I couldn’t find it. I couldn’t find either of my jackets.

“Ah,
bonjour
, Lexi,” Philippe said. I’d forgotten he’d be there that morning. I was so used to working afternoons. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no,” I said, looking through the various jackets and aprons hanging on the pegs. “I can’t find my jacket or apron”.

“You should ask Patricia,” he said. He followed me to the back where Patricia worked. “Your employee has lost her jacket,” he announced.

Okay, what was up?

Patricia came forward and handed me one. “Perhaps this will work instead,” she said.

I took it from her and slipped it over my T-shirt. It fit perfectly.

“Oh!” I exclaimed as I buttoned it up. My name, Lexi, was embroidered neatly over the left breast, just like every other employee of the Boulangerie Delacroix.