“Well, since you already want fruit tarts, I think it’d be smarter to do something more classic and plain: vanilla pastry cream and chocolate drizzles. But if you want something fruity in it, we couldmaybeadd a raspberry coulis drizzle on top instead of chocolate,” I replied, trying to envision the delicate layers of puff pastry between cream already. “It wouldn’t be too overpowering that way.”
Eden nodded softly. “Yeah, sounds good. We’ll do that.”
12
EDEN
Iwas going to lose my mind and all my fingers.
When Alana said making Mille-feuille was probably not my best idea, I should’ve believed her.
I couldn’t bake to save my life; simple cookies took me out earlier. Yet here I was, covered in flour with layers of pastry stuck together by a lumpy, uneven custard. I think it was a custard.
Alana was laughing as she watched me struggle, her apron dusted with powdered sugar from her own successful decorating, or baking, or all of it.
I was certain the bits of flour in her dark hair were my fault, but I knew better than to mention it. Instead, I forced a smile and tried to salvage what was left of my poor attempt at a dessert.
With shaky hands, I carefully added another layer of pastry, hoping it would somehow hold everything together.
Focusing on the awful-looking something in front of me on the counter instead of Alana’s laughter, I took a deep breath and decided to go all in. I reached for the raspberry coulis and poured it over the very lopsided Mille-feuille. But instead of thecoulis flowing gracefully over the pastry, it came out in a sudden gush, pooling in the center, creating something that looked more like a murder scene than anything edible.
I was good in the kitchen, at least I thought so. Dad taught me everything I needed to know to cook the perfect meal. Part of me was sure I couldn’t have possibly beenthisbad at baking, but the thing in front of me certainly proved me wrong.
Alana’s laughter echoed through the kitchen, louder than before. I shot her a quick glare before turning my attention back to my disastrous creation.
Well, maybe I could persuade Brooke to give her baby shower an interesting twist by giving it a theme, like murder or something horrible like that. At least then my sad excuse for a Mille-feuille would make sense.
No, that would’ve been a horrible theme for a baby shower. Damnit.
I gave up trying to salvage my lopsided Mille-feuille and turned to Alana. “I hope you’re enjoying the show,” I said, sarcasm lacing each word.
“Oh, trust me, this is better than any comedy I’ve seen in a long time,” she replied as she grabbed her piping bag and walked over to me.
She studied my failed dessert, humming to herself. I already braced myself for the worst possible comments she was going to throw at me, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought.
“The good news is, it’s edible,” she said as she smiled up at me. “And I think we can salvage this.”
I blinked in disbelief, unsure if she was serious or just wanting to give me false hope.
“I’m not so sure about that.” I stepped back, watching as Alana reached for a knife and started to spread my excessive amount of coulis over the top of my lopsided pastry like it was some sort of jam.
“Look, it doesn’t have to be perfect,” she told me, holding her piping bag with both hands, and began to add a couple of drops of cream on top of the raspberry coulis. “It’s your first time trying to do this anyway. You’ll get better with time.”
A sigh drew from my lungs as I tried to fight back the frustration that was lingering inside me. While Alana’s words were meant to build up my confidence, the disappointment that overwhelmed me was too much to leave space for hope.
I watched Alana in awe as she reached for some fresh raspberries and gently placed them on top of the cream, turning my disaster into something that alsolookededible.
“This isn’t what we said we’d do, but it’s one way to fix a mishap like yours,” she said as she stepped back to admire her rescue mission. “Not so bad anymore, right?”
How was this possible? How could she turn something I was sure belonged in the trash into something presentable? It wasn’t pretty by any means, and one could tell it was a rescue, but it was definitely better than before.
Bet if she cooked a bad dinner, I could’ve made it look just as good as she did my failed attempt.
“Will you teach me how to fix mistakes?” I asked, feeling as the weight of my failure slowly began to lift off my shoulders.
Alana was right, this was my first time trying something like this. Of course I was going to fuck up. Guess I had to learn how to walk before I could run after all.
“Sure, it’s really necessary anyway.” She shrugged lightly, then carefully grabbed the Mille-feuille and placed it onto a separate plate with all the others that she’d made while I was working on this one. “Everyone starts somewhere, and the best part of making mistakes is learning from them. Baking is a science and an art. It takes practice and patience to get it right.”