bit. I’d have to lay off the baguettes. Tanya had asked how I planned to keep my weight down in France. My mother bought me
The Bible Times Diet
.
“Mom!” I’d said. “Really. What’s in here? The John the Baptist diet—you only eat insects and wild grapes?”
“Or the Elijah diet,” Tanya had chimed in. “You only eat what birds deliver in their beaks”.
The three of us had laughed. I missed them, and looked out at the helpful, but not friendly, Patricia. I know why French women don’t get fat. They smoke.
She came back into the kitchen and motioned to me. “Make ten chocolate leaves for this wedding cake. I will finish icing it, and then we will arrange the leaves on top with some acorns made out of chocolate ganache. It’s to be a three-tiered, autumn wedding cake”.
She showed me how to temper white chocolate and streak it through the leaves as they dried. I used three small brushes. The leaves turned out great, and I stepped back with a sense of accomplishment—a thrill, really. I helped make a cake for someone’s wedding day! A cake that would be in pictures for years to come.
Céline burst into the kitchen. I was surprised to see her.
“Bonjour, jeune fille,”
I said.
“I am
not
a little girl,” she told me. “I am a rather big girl. With another loose tooth. Have you talked with the tooth fairy?”
Patricia shot me a strange look.
“Lexi says Americans don’t have a mouse to come and get their teeth, they have a fairy, which I think sounds much prettier than a mouse”.
“Ah,
bon,”
Patricia said, smiling in my direction for the first time. I had found the key to Patricia’s heart—Céline.
They walked toward Philippe’s darkened office and turned on the light.
“Will you get me a
goûter
?” Céline asked me.
“Of course!” I went to the front of the bakery and picked out two cookies and a chouquette drizzled with chocolate, then brought them back to the office, where Patricia was getting Céline settled.
Céline sighed. “I wish my papa was here, but he had to go to Provence today to bake while Papi came up here. So I am staying at
Tante
Patricia’s”.
“My father is looking at a site for a new bakery in Versailles,” Patricia explained. “It would be the largest, most expensive bakery we have. The flagship, as I think you say in English”.
“Versailles is where my church is,” Céline announced through a bite of cookie. She looked at me. “But you know that. It’s your church too”.
Patricia turned on her heel. “You went to the Anglican church in Versailles?”
I nodded. “Yes. I saw a flier at school. It’s the only English-speaking church around here, right?”
“Right”. Patricia nodded. “So you saw Céline and Philippe there?”
“Yes”.
“Ah yes, I remember. You are a Protestant, like them,” Patricia said.
“Bon
. Please prep some apple slices for
tarte tatin
before you leave today. I have a special order for five for tomorrow, and I will have to make them as soon as Céline gets to school. Philippe will not be back until Friday”.
She left, and I was alone with Céline.
“She’s mad because she had to leave her boyfriend in Provence,” Céline announced, licking chocolate off her fingers. “She saw him at
Oncle
Luc’s wedding, and Papa said she’s been as lovable as dried bread crust ever since”.
The reluctance to make wedding cakes made a little more sense.
“I don’t know why you want to be a baker,” Céline said. “I think food is boring”.
“I heard that. But you don’t look bored,” I pointed out, watching her lick her fingers.
“Eating
food isn’t boring.
Making
food is”.
“I’ll bet I can change your mind,” I said. “Come with me to slice the apples, and I’ll show you”.
We walked past the bread-baking room, where the others rolled dough in preparation for the dinner bread rush. Once in the prep room, I pulled out a large sack of fresh apples.
“Nothing is as good as an apple in
The Bible Times Diet
.
“Mom!” I’d said. “Really. What’s in here? The John the Baptist diet—you only eat insects and wild grapes?”
“Or the Elijah diet,” Tanya had chimed in. “You only eat what birds deliver in their beaks”.
The three of us had laughed. I missed them, and looked out at the helpful, but not friendly, Patricia. I know why French women don’t get fat. They smoke.
She came back into the kitchen and motioned to me. “Make ten chocolate leaves for this wedding cake. I will finish icing it, and then we will arrange the leaves on top with some acorns made out of chocolate ganache. It’s to be a three-tiered, autumn wedding cake”.
She showed me how to temper white chocolate and streak it through the leaves as they dried. I used three small brushes. The leaves turned out great, and I stepped back with a sense of accomplishment—a thrill, really. I helped make a cake for someone’s wedding day! A cake that would be in pictures for years to come.
Céline burst into the kitchen. I was surprised to see her.
“Bonjour, jeune fille,”
I said.
“I am
not
a little girl,” she told me. “I am a rather big girl. With another loose tooth. Have you talked with the tooth fairy?”
Patricia shot me a strange look.
“Lexi says Americans don’t have a mouse to come and get their teeth, they have a fairy, which I think sounds much prettier than a mouse”.
“Ah,
bon,”
Patricia said, smiling in my direction for the first time. I had found the key to Patricia’s heart—Céline.
They walked toward Philippe’s darkened office and turned on the light.
“Will you get me a
goûter
?” Céline asked me.
“Of course!” I went to the front of the bakery and picked out two cookies and a chouquette drizzled with chocolate, then brought them back to the office, where Patricia was getting Céline settled.
Céline sighed. “I wish my papa was here, but he had to go to Provence today to bake while Papi came up here. So I am staying at
Tante
Patricia’s”.
“My father is looking at a site for a new bakery in Versailles,” Patricia explained. “It would be the largest, most expensive bakery we have. The flagship, as I think you say in English”.
“Versailles is where my church is,” Céline announced through a bite of cookie. She looked at me. “But you know that. It’s your church too”.
Patricia turned on her heel. “You went to the Anglican church in Versailles?”
I nodded. “Yes. I saw a flier at school. It’s the only English-speaking church around here, right?”
“Right”. Patricia nodded. “So you saw Céline and Philippe there?”
“Yes”.
“Ah yes, I remember. You are a Protestant, like them,” Patricia said.
“Bon
. Please prep some apple slices for
tarte tatin
before you leave today. I have a special order for five for tomorrow, and I will have to make them as soon as Céline gets to school. Philippe will not be back until Friday”.
She left, and I was alone with Céline.
“She’s mad because she had to leave her boyfriend in Provence,” Céline announced, licking chocolate off her fingers. “She saw him at
Oncle
Luc’s wedding, and Papa said she’s been as lovable as dried bread crust ever since”.
The reluctance to make wedding cakes made a little more sense.
“I don’t know why you want to be a baker,” Céline said. “I think food is boring”.
“I heard that. But you don’t look bored,” I pointed out, watching her lick her fingers.
“Eating
food isn’t boring.
Making
food is”.
“I’ll bet I can change your mind,” I said. “Come with me to slice the apples, and I’ll show you”.
We walked past the bread-baking room, where the others rolled dough in preparation for the dinner bread rush. Once in the prep room, I pulled out a large sack of fresh apples.
“Nothing is as good as an apple in
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