Page 13 of Falling for Paris
He distracted himself by helping the Swedish couple arrange their station for the customary selfie. Since his tirade at Luc’s cheese shop, admonishing them for their social media obsession, Rafael tried to be more cooperative. After all, his own staff was recording the session. He was a grumpy bastard, but he was no hypocrite.
The kitchen was sweltering despite the air conditioning. Everyone cheered when he announced that they would move on to the chocolate cocktails. He showed them how to prepare chocolate bitters on their own, although today they were using his own stock.
“You’ll want to infuse cacao nibs with wild cherry bark, cardamom, vanilla beans, and cinnamon. We’ll be making a version of the Adonis cocktail made of sherry, vermouth, and bitters. But the depth of the chocolate will be quite unique, you’ll see.”
A party atmosphere descended on the kitchen lab as the cold drinks were shaken and served. The stations all had paired students, except for Victoria’s, but she made enough for two and offered the drink to Helena.
The guest teacher looked at Rafael for permission. He nodded his approval. It wasn’t customary for staff to imbibe but this class was as unconventional as could be. They were nowhere near the syllabus originally posted on the website. But with the enhanced menu, the world class chefs, and the experimental offerings including alcohol, no one was complaining.
“How about joining us for a drink, Chef Rafael?” the American man asked jovially.
Rafael refused the offer, not only because he already knew what it tasted like—he invented the drink after all—but because he never drank in front of anyone, not since his diagnosis. Alcohol would only diminish his control. When his dull, aching nerves turned to sharp points of torture, mental control was essential.
“Perhaps before another round, we might begin the ganache.” His voice rose over the chatter.
Rafael gave the cultural history of the simple French dessert, while providing an overview of the recipe. He could rattle instructions about this ganache tart while half asleep, having been one of the first desserts he regularly made for birthdays or special occasions. He had been making it since he was nine years old.
Helena demonstrated the basics of cream, sugar, butter, and chocolate. But for this recipe, he encouraged students to choose from a variety of options of chocolate and from any part of the kitchen’s offerings. Some planned to flavor it with berries, some with cognac. He was a little appalled by the couple that created a mint version but Rafael kept his shudder to himself.
Victoria, however, was nowhere close to deciding. She had used three small pots with minuscule versions of the ganache to test flavors. Every few minutes, she would dip her finger in chocolate before putting it in her mouth and sucking so hard, her cheeks hollowed.
She couldn’t possibly know how she reduced a man to a lust-deranged version of himself. He didn’t think about how that finger would taste, dipped in chocolate.No.Because he was too busy thinking abouthisfinger dipped in chocolate before he told her to lick it.
“What is the issue,” he said gruffly.
She shook her head and pursed her tempting lips. “I can’t decide. I love salted caramel but there’s something about the dark chocolate that’s different from what I buy in the US.”
“Of course. This is from one of the best chocolatiers in Paris.”
She sighed and looked at him askance. “You think I should do the dark chocolate, don’t you? Simple and classic.”
“You can do whatever you want,” he said. “But yes, sometimes simple and classic is best.”
“But what if…what if I made my tart crust with the salted caramel? That would work, right?” She looked flushed and happy, which made it impossible for him to disagree. She could have suggested adding soup bones and he might have conceded.
Without waiting for him, she rushed to the back pantry to begin her salted caramel crust. By the time she put it in the oven to bake, everyone’s tarts were cooled and ganache poured. Students took turns putting their dessert in the flash chiller to set. All of them were cleaning up and packing their prized tarts to enjoy over the weekend. Except for Victoria, who was still waiting for the crust in the oven as she made a batch of dark chocolate ganache from scratch.
“I’m sorry I can’t stay,” Helena said. “I have some errands before the weekend. Are you coming to Frederick’s party tomorrow?” she asked Rafael.
“No, I’ll be taking the last train and staying home till Monday.”
“But you should come over tomorrow! What is another weekend in Paris? C’mon, Rafael, you owe me. And Frederick! Didn’t he help with your pastry lesson?”
It was true. Their friend was turning forty and when news spread that Rafael was back, Frederick’s party was one of the invitations that stood out.
“We’ll see,” he mumbled absentmindedly.
Patrice exited the storage room and headed to Victoria’s station. Without thinking, Rafael stopped the assistant.
“I’ll help her clean up. Go home. I appreciate how very flexible you’ve been, Patrice. This has been a hard week for you.”
“Are you sure, Chef?” Patrice asked hopefully.
“Have I taught you nothing, Patrice? When things go in your favor, no need to question.”
With a smile and a quick goodbye to Victoria, the young man left the building.
Ears perked and her eyes askance, Tori didn’t miss Patrice’s quick goodbye and Rafael’s footsteps when he locked the front door. She expected him to come to the kitchen with a scowl, but he simply…disappeared.
