Chocolate Macaroons and a Dead Groom (Poppy Peters Mysteries Book 2) (22 page)
Read Chocolate Macaroons and a Dead Groom (Poppy Peters Mysteries Book 2) Online
Authors: A. Gardner
"Well since today is my last day…" I look to Michel.
"Oui," he responds. "I've decided to toss that rule." He and Marta make eye contact. Chances are the rule was her idea in the first place. If it would have prevented her from having to work with a two-faced heartbreaker then I don't blame her for ensuring that it never happens again.
I don't think it will.
"We never cared about it anyway," Destin mutters, pouring more champagne into his dish. He winks at me, graciously filling Dandre's bowl to the brim just so he can watch him struggle not to spill it.
"I'll pretend I didn't hear that," Marta slyly replies. She nudges me. "You survived, Poppy." She runs her hand over her shiny locks and up to her smooth bun. Not a hair is out of place. "Pastry school will be a piece of cake now."
"At Calle Pastry Academy," I inform her, "we prefer the phrase 'a piece of
pie.
'"
Marta playfully rolls her eyes.
"Southern peach pie," I add.
He looks like he does on TV. Cinnamon hair trimmed and gelled to create the perfect fauxhawk on top of his head. Eyes that make your heart skip a beat and the muscles to match, though they're hidden underneath his chef's whites. Otto Chimenti is the most eligible celebrity
chef
bachelor in his early thirties, and he's teaching our class.
It's day one of our advanced-level courses, and Bree already seems to be studying for finals. She skims through our syllabus—eyes gleaming. Her strawberry blonde do is up in a tight ponytail, showing off rounded cheekbones.
"I told you we should've picked the front row," Bree mutters through her teeth.
"Why?" Cole responds. "So you can stare at the instructor instead of the demonstration? You can do that from back here too."
"Hey," I butt in. "A deal is a deal. We agreed to a compromise. No front row…" I glance at Bree. "…and no back row…" I look to Cole who is already leaning back, arms folded. "…that equals the middle, right?"
Our new rank at Calle Pastry Academy means a whole new set of instructors, new whites, a new kitchen on the other end of campus, and new rules. It also means we get to pick new stations, and during our basic courses Bree convinced me to join her in the front. This time she's meeting me halfway.
"Yes." Bree sighs, setting down her syllabus and pulling a compact mirror from her bag. She discreetly smiles, checking her teeth and minimal makeup. Too much will melt away from the heat of the ovens.
Our new classroom is nicer and bigger, with more room up front for demonstrations. Chef Otto pulls out a pot and candy thermometer in preparation for today's class. He checks the time and nods when the last student trickles in. Chatter erupts as he walks across the classroom to shut the door. All from female spectators.
I rub my forehead, surprised I'm not sweating yet. A southern heat wave rolled in just as soon as I pulled back into town. The whole state of Georgia feels like it's in one giant oven. Hopefully this means something sweet and tasty will come of it all.
I know what sweet tea is now, and I need one.
"Attention, everyone," our new instructor says. The entire room falls silent almost instantly. I glance over at the woman in front of me and observe as she slowly lowers her camera phone after snapping a few photos. "I am Chef Bartolo Chimenti, and President Dixon has kindly invited me to fill in while he searches for permanent instructors. As you know, recent events have opened up a couple of vacancies among the staff. I am here to ensure that Calle Pastry Academy retains its prestige while the dust settles." He scans the room, stopping when he finds the friendly face he's looking for. A woman sitting in the front row with dirty blonde locks held back with a diamond-studded clip. A very impractical fashion choice for day one, but she must have gotten the memo that Chef Otto would be here. "You there. What's your name?"
"Georgina, Chef
Bartolo
," the woman shyly replies.
"Please, call me Chef Otto." He grins the way he does on TV. Just enough for his pearly whites to make an appearance. He looks to the rest of his students.
Georgina giggles.
"Pass these out for me, will you Georgina?" He moves a box from the floor onto her counter and quickly pulls out a stack of new chef's jackets—ones complete with a neckerchief labeling us as the newest advanced-level bunch. The finish line is in sight.
"Of course, Chef," she quickly agrees. She begins handing out our new uniforms one by one.
"A new term also means a new set of rules," he continues. "I don't know how it worked in basics, but it's time to step up your game like you've never thought possible. I'm talking sugar showpieces, modern plating techniques, sophisticated cakes, and long hours on your feet." He pauses to grin again. "Like I say on my new reality show
Bonbon Voyage
, don't fudge it up."
The front row laughs as if on cue.
"Let's hope first impressions really are deceiving," Cole whispers.
"I'll be conducting this class a little differently than you're used to," Chef Otto informs us. When Georgina gets to our row, she tosses us our new jackets. She smiles snidely as mine slides off the counter, accidentally hitting the floor. "Since most of you will be working as part of a culinary team in your future professions, I want to split you up into pairs."
Bree places her syllabus in between us as if our partnership is inevitable.
"Pairs of
my
choosing," he clarifies, eyeing the few of us who prematurely claimed our teammates. "You don't get to choose who you work with…well, in my case that isn't entirely true, but you get the picture."
More laughing on cue.
"I don't get it," Cole whispers again.
Chef Otto clasps his hands together, sizing us up as Georgina joins him up front like she's his self-proclaimed sous chef. I can't help but roll my eyes. Like most of my classmates, I won't deny that Otto is attractive. But, the way my love life tends to play out, if
I'm
into him then he must be bad news. Maybe he's a horrible gambler? Liar? Cheater? Habitual double-dipper? He has a flaw somewhere. Guys like him are just really good at hiding it.
"Let's start with you, Georgina," Chef Otto begins. His eyes immediately lock with mine.
No. No. And no.
Before he can even ask me my name, I shake my head. Georgina's flirty smile turns sour as she glares at me like I'm that expired casserole in the back of the fridge that no one has the guts to clean out because it's sure to be a moldy disaster.
I hate those
.
"You two," Chef Otto announces. He nods, pleased with his brilliant decision to pair together the least likely combo.
"Oh, I…" Georgina smoothes a crease on her beige button-down blouse, attempting to retain her teacher's pet status while throwing me under the bus. "…that's not such a good idea."
"I agree." I second her comment with a whole-hearted shout across the room.
"Nonsense." Chef Otto chuckles. "You two will be partners." He glances at Georgina, and she giggles as if under his spell. She quietly nods, agreeing to be my partner for the remainder of the class.
"Wait," I speak up. Half of the class turns to look at me. "Don't I get a say in this?"
"Poppy," Bree mutters. "What are you doing?"
"Poppy, is it?" he answers, his pseudo-television grin unwavering. "Do you have something more you want to say?"
I have plenty I want to say.
"Yes."
Bree buries her head in her hands.
"I don't agree with your pairing," I say. Otto tilts his head, waiting for me to say more on the subject. "…
Chef
." He raises his eyebrows. I'm sure he's not used to having people disagree with him. And when I say people, I mean women. I can't brush this off for the sake of a passionate eye-lock with a celebrity playboy. I want to graduate.
"What's done is done." He chuckles confidently. "Of course, you don't have to stay."
"I'm up for the challenge," Georgina chimes in, turning her head long enough to shoot me a devious smirk.
"Alright, Georgina," Chef Otto congratulates her. "That's what I like to see."
"Fine," I blurt out.
Chef Otto continues pairing the rest of the class. Cole with Jeff, who snuck in quietly and took his regular seat in the back row without much notice. And Bree with Karl, a student who usually keeps to himself.
"Okay, switch seats," Chef Otto instructs.
"See you on the other side," I mutter to Bree, getting up to join Georgina at our station up front. She repositions her baking tools so they are as far from mine as possible.
"Poppy," Georgina forces herself to say. She says it like she's biting into a chunk of bittersweet chocolate. There's no sense in doing it, even if you pour sugar on top.
"Nice to see you again, Georgina."
I can do this. I can be cordial.
"How was Paris?" she responds. "I see that you lasted the entire length of the internship."
"Yes," I reply. "And it turns out that
croquembouche
towers are rather easy to make." I half-smile, remembering Georgina's dessert entry that almost landed her the Paris trip instead of me—a massive
croquembouche
tower decorated with spun sugar.
"I'm glad you learned
something
."
"Oh, I almost forgot," our instructor announces. He grabs another box of supplies and begins unpacking it. "A gift from the school for getting this far." He holds up a light rectangular package like it's a chunk of solid diamond. In the culinary world, they practically are.
"Nice," Jeff says from the back of the classroom.
"They've all been engraved with the school's name as well as each of your initials so there aren't any mix ups." Chef Otto begins lining the packages along his counter—a glimpse of the smooth handles poking out.
"I'll help you pass them out, Chef," Georgina volunteers. Her eyes skip to one in particular. She grabs the package and places it in front of me. I carefully open it, staring at my brand new eight-inch chef's knife with my initials on the handle. "I trust you know how to sharpen it?" She says it within earshot of our new celebrity instructor. I try not to blush, but my cheeks start to feel warm anyway. The upkeep of our kitchen equipment was day-one type material. Right there with hand washing and setting the timer on the oven.
"Yes," I say through my teeth.
"Just checking." She giggles, keeping Chef Otto's attention. "You never know with you."
I clench the handle of my knife tighter than I intended to.
I hope I don't have to use this for anything
other
than cooking.
Simple Pistachio French Macarons
Not-So-Lucky Little Lemon Tarts
Mère's
Old-Fashioned Madeleines
Hot Chocolate—
Jean Pierre Style
For the dough:
4 cups flour
1 cup milk
¼ cup sugar
2 tbsp unsalted butter, softened
1 tbsp yeast
1 tsp salt
For the butter plate:
1 cup unsalted butter (2 sticks) for butter layer
1 egg for egg wash
Day One:
Prepare the dough by combining flour, salt, sugar, yeast, and softened butter with milk. Knead dough, shape it into a round disk, and place in a pie pan that has been dusted with flour. Dust the top of the dough with flour, cover with plastic wrap, and place in the fridge overnight (the dough will not rise much, and that's okay).
Day Two:
Prepare the square butter layer by slicing two sticks of butter into thin pieces. Lay the butter pieces on a piece of parchment paper in the shape of a 6–7" square. It is okay to lay butter pieces on top of each other to fill open spaces. Place a second piece of parchment paper on top of the butter layer, and flatten with a rolling pin. Roll over the butter several times until the butter forms one solid plate. Peel away the top piece of parchment paper, and cut edges to form a 6–7" butter square. Cover again, and place in the fridge for about thirty minutes.
Remove the dough from the fridge, and start rolling into an 11–12" square on a floured surface. Place the butter plate in the center so that the corners line up with the dough's straight edges. Fold the corners of the dough over the butter plate (the dough should resemble an envelope). Roll the packet of dough containing the butter plate inside into a long (about 8x24") rectangle. Fold into thirds, cover with plastic wrap, and let it rest in the fridge for thirty minutes. Repeat this process at least two more times, and let the dough rest in the fridge overnight.
Note: Refrigerating the dough will ensure that the butter does not soften and make the dough sticky. Also, folding and rolling the dough creates butter streaks throughout. This is what creates the croissant's flaky, buttery layers.
Day Three:
Remove the dough from the fridge and cut into two pieces. One at a time, roll each piece into an 8x24" rectangle. Cut the rectangle horizontally into four equal sections (three for larger croissants). Cut each section from corner to corner diagonally to form two triangles (you should have 6–8 triangles).
To shape each croissant, lay the triangle so that the longest corner is pointing at you (like an arrow). Pinch the two shorter corners (the ones farthest from you), and roll them forward. Shape each croissant into a crescent. Place on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper, and brush the tops with egg wash.
Bake at 400 degrees Fahrenheit for 18–22 minutes or until golden brown on top. For best results, bake on the top rack only.