Page 42 of From Paris, with Butter
Laurent arranged himself next to me. “My mother’s parents managed abrasserie for decades, until they retired. My mother and her siblings worked there when she was young. They all made sure I caught the cooking bug.”
I smiled. “That’s lovely. I was always envious of people with close families.”
“You say that, but you’ve never experienced Christmas dinner with my family. It’s absolute mayhem,” Laurent said, but he was grinning. “Now, tell me what you’re thinking of for your gala menu, and I’ll tell you how brilliant it is.”
I looked at Laurent sprawled out on the blanket, long strands of grass caught up in his hair. We’d been sharing a bottle of Pinot Noir, and the wine had turned his lips a dark red, so that they looked even more sensual than usual. He must have gotten some sun recently as well, because his nose was slightly burnt.
Yasmine’s warning was in the back of my mind, but I barely paid it attention. Whenever I spent time with this grouchy, cat-loving, neatness-obsessed chef I always came away happier. We barely knew each other, but I already could feel myself on the brink of falling for him.
I grinned, and Laurent pulled me in for a kiss. (That was one of the many wonderful things about Paris. No one cared if you were affectionate in public. Hell, chances are they’re probably making out themselves.)
As Laurent cupped my face and our breaths intermingled, I felt such a surge of happiness and confidence that I was certain I could conquer any problem set before me.
I should learn how to bottle that feeling. I knew I’d be needing it again, sooner or later.
Chapter 16
The next day, I heard a soft knock as I was drinking my morning tea. When I opened the door, I found a familiar-looking package resting on the ground.
Attempt 3was all the attached note said.
I hurriedly brought it inside and unwrapped the paper to reveal a slice of perfectly golden quiche. It had caramelized onions and—I sniffed—maybe Gruyère? Whatever it was, it smelled beautiful. I flipped it over. The crust was nicely browned, but Laurent’s always were. The proof would be in the tasting.
The first bite I didn’t get enough crust, so it got lost in the flavor of the quiche (which was superb). For the next bite, I cut away some of the crust to taste it on its own. I chewed it slowly.
Oh. Damn.
Instead of the shoe-leather-inspired crusts of Laurent’s first two quiches, this was shockingly close to perfection. It was crisp. It was buttery. It was flaky. It was flavorful.
Laurent had added thyme to the dough, which I’d always thought too fussy a step, but here it worked, adding another layer of flavor to the quiche, something green and fresh to cut through the heaviness of the eggs and cheese and onions.
I savored every last buttery crumb before getting my phone.
You’ve finally listened to my advice,I texted, adding a winking face.Don’t let work drag you down.
Laurent wasn’t the only one working long hours lately. Le Jules Verne had been especially harried this week. The Prime Minister of Spain and her boyfriend would be dining at Le Jules Verne tomorrow. Not only that, her boyfriend was planning to propose at dinner.
We weren’t unused to VIPs at work, but they normally didn’t require somuch security and preparation. As the server with the best Spanish skills, I’d be waiting on them. I’d served famous people before, and it didn’t particularly faze me. But I certainly wanted to do a good job with Prime Minister Abascal and her soon-to-be fiancé.
When I got into work that afternoon, Chef La Croix was near the point of apoplexy.
“WHAT IS IT THIS TIME?” he roared, sending everyone in the kitchen scrambling. “These people ask for changes to the menu as though I am a lowly restaurant that serves fast food. Even at McDonald’s they would be offended by this.”
“What’s the matter?” I whispered to Yasmine.
“The Prime Minister’s boyfriend has a somewhat…limited diet,” she said in a low tone, looking out to make sure Chef La Croix wasn’t barreling our way.
“He’s asking for all sorts of modifications to the menu, and he wants the final course changed entirely. Said he and the Prime Minister had wine and cheese on their first date, so that’s what he wants to end the meal with. Chef refused, but the owners told them he had to make the changes.”
“A complete change to the final course?” I repeated, watching Chef La Croix rage around the kitchen. “He’s taking it better than I expected.”
“I know,” Yasmine agreed. “He only swore in two languages during the phone call, when you know he usually swears in three when he’s really angry. Luc mentioned meditation classes to him last month.”
Yasmine paused as Chef La Croix bellowed for a new cutting board. Three were immediately thrust at him.
“I thought Chef was going to skewer Luc at the time, but maybe he took the suggestion to heart.”
Le Jules Verne could make changes for dietary reasons if given enough lead time, but to change an entire course based just on habit was an affront to Le Jules Verne and to Chef La Croix.
