Page 250 of Scoring the Player
She laughs at my reaction.
Kim Vien, the award-winning pastry chef and owner of the most innovative and renowned bakeries in the world, specifically right here in Manhattan.
“Welcome! Please come in.”
I don’t move. Well, my legs don’t, but my eyes widen.
“Hi Kim, thanks for having us,” Blue says, offering his hand.
“It’s my pleasure,” she says, shaking it.
Her eyes are bright, like she’s genuinely excited to meet us.
The bun, the freckles, and the thick glasses are all a match to her picture in the back of her famous pastry book that I’ve been working my way through at home.
“I’m guessing from his reaction that you won date night,” she says to him while smiling at me.
Blue holds out his fist, and she bumps it.
“You needed help with the tart thing you’ve been stuck on,” Blue starts explaining, maybe to help me out of my stupor. “So, I grabbed Kim’s name from the cookbook and asked Cat to connect us. Her people called Kim’s people. Kim called me, and I explained that you’ve been up late every free night for the last two weeks, muttering around the kitchen, covered in flour and going mad.”
“Been there,” Kim jokes.
I scoff. “You called an acclaimed winner of not one but two James Beard Awards to help me with my monthly challenge?”
Not to mention the first Vietnamese-American woman ever to win twice.
“Yeah,” he says. “You needed help. I know how important it is for you to beat Eli. That’s his dad,” he says to Kim. “And it was my turn for date night.”
“I took you skating,” I blurt out.
“It was so fun,” he says to Kim. “I fell…well, we fell like, five times.”
He’s ridiculous!
He’s actually standing next to one of the most highly-regarded pastry chefs in the world, telling her about our skatingwipeouts. This must be what it’s like to be raised around famous people. He’s completely unfazed.
“We’re letting all of Kim’s heat out. Come on.”
“Sorry.” I jog up the steps.
“Pleasure to meet you, Salem.” Kim holds out her hand as I approach. “My husband and I are fans. No offense,” she says to Blue. “My husband’s from Brooklyn.”
“All good,” he says as I shake her hand.
“Arnaz told me you’ve been having trouble with the tarte Tartin and gelée recipe in my book,” she says, leading us inside.
“Y-yes,” I reply, copying Blue, who peels off his shoes.
“We’ll get you sorted. I’ve prepped some things to help us along. This way.”
Blue strings his arms around my waist and tugs me along.
We enter her kitchen, and answers to questions that I’ve wondered about filter in all at once.
“You have a Miele!” I exclaim, crossing the room to her oven. “I read that the steam injection is excellent for laminated dough.”
“That’s why it’s my favorite,” she says. “What do you have?”
