the count of three."
"One," I count. "Two." I take a deep breath. "Three."
Time to spill.
"I kissed Cole," I admit.
"I kissed Jeff," Bree spits out at the same time.
My stomach leaps. It's the heat. It's got to be the heat.
"What do you mean you kissed Jeff?" I ask, shocked.
"What do you mean you kissed Cole?" Bree responds.
I stare up at the ceiling. This semester keeps getting weirder and weirder.
"I think I'll take one of those pralines now."
CHAPTER NINE
Chef Otto stands in front of our class like he does every morning—bright-eyed with a practiced camera smile. His cinnamon brown hair is parted to the side, and he has an afternoon shadow on his neck. I lean away from Georgina as she smiles and raises her hand, volunteering to cover a wedding cake with fondant. Life in the front row hasn't given me the opportunity to sit back and observe. Georgina volunteers us for just about everything.
"Thank you, Georgina," Chef Otto responds. He steps aside, passing the reigns on to her. Georgina has no problem rolling her fondant thin enough to shape yet thick enough to avoid tearing. She lifts the dough onto a round dummy cake made of Styrofoam. She uses her fondant smoother to make the edges flawless, leaving crisp corners around the top. "Perfect and in record time."
Georgina nods, her dark blonde bun shining in the light, and proudly returns to her seat. Chef Otto moves on to his main demonstration for the day—a more advanced piping technique called Australian stringwork. The basics of frosting crumb coats, piping borders, and florals from marzipan and gum paste are all behind us.
"Once you've got your royal icing at the correct consistency, you add the pins." Chef Otto places evenly spaced pins at an upward angle along a quarter of the cake. "Remember, this is all about creating a three-dimensional piece. I want this cake to look like she's wearing a garter."
Laughter on cue.
Otto proceeds to pipe bridges in between each pin. The idea is to pipe, polish, and embellish so that the cake looks like it has been wrapped in an actual piece of ruffled fabric or even sheer lace. Chef Otto pipes his strings and leaves them to dry on the pins. When he removes them, the design should stay in place, giving the cake a three-dimensional design.
"There are many different styles of stringwork, but all the concepts are the same." He finishes with ease and holds up his hands as if he's competing in a cake competition. "Not bad, huh? All it needs are some sugar berries and greenery, and you've got yourself a product with a hefty price tag."
"You make it look so easy." Georgina compliments him. I glance at her, knowing that no amount of dirty looks will prevent her from being such a suck-up.
"Years of practice," he replies. "Now it's your turn. Complete a cake with your partner, and once you've finished you can begin discussing the theme for your final buffets."
"Wait a second." I raise my hand but speak up anyway. "I thought our final buffets were going to be an individual assignment?" A grand buffet is our final culinary project before graduation. Each of us will be given a certain amount of time to design and create our own tablescape of desserts to be graded and eaten by invited guests. I've been thinking a lot about mine. I want my display cake to be a representation of my past meeting my present—a midnight dance. Plus, I think I'm the only one daring enough to present an all-black final cake. Traditional white wedding cakes are gorgeous. Why can't an all-black be just as breathtaking?
"There's no way one student could make all the required confections in the time allotted," he answers. "No, the final buffet will be done in pairs. The pairs I assigned at the beginning of the term. I think I've given you all plenty of time to learn to work together."
Fudge.
I turn to Georgina, who also has a sour look on her face. So far, we've agreed that we don't like working with each other. That's about it. I prepare
"One," I count. "Two." I take a deep breath. "Three."
Time to spill.
"I kissed Cole," I admit.
"I kissed Jeff," Bree spits out at the same time.
My stomach leaps. It's the heat. It's got to be the heat.
"What do you mean you kissed Jeff?" I ask, shocked.
"What do you mean you kissed Cole?" Bree responds.
I stare up at the ceiling. This semester keeps getting weirder and weirder.
"I think I'll take one of those pralines now."
CHAPTER NINE
Chef Otto stands in front of our class like he does every morning—bright-eyed with a practiced camera smile. His cinnamon brown hair is parted to the side, and he has an afternoon shadow on his neck. I lean away from Georgina as she smiles and raises her hand, volunteering to cover a wedding cake with fondant. Life in the front row hasn't given me the opportunity to sit back and observe. Georgina volunteers us for just about everything.
"Thank you, Georgina," Chef Otto responds. He steps aside, passing the reigns on to her. Georgina has no problem rolling her fondant thin enough to shape yet thick enough to avoid tearing. She lifts the dough onto a round dummy cake made of Styrofoam. She uses her fondant smoother to make the edges flawless, leaving crisp corners around the top. "Perfect and in record time."
Georgina nods, her dark blonde bun shining in the light, and proudly returns to her seat. Chef Otto moves on to his main demonstration for the day—a more advanced piping technique called Australian stringwork. The basics of frosting crumb coats, piping borders, and florals from marzipan and gum paste are all behind us.
"Once you've got your royal icing at the correct consistency, you add the pins." Chef Otto places evenly spaced pins at an upward angle along a quarter of the cake. "Remember, this is all about creating a three-dimensional piece. I want this cake to look like she's wearing a garter."
Laughter on cue.
Otto proceeds to pipe bridges in between each pin. The idea is to pipe, polish, and embellish so that the cake looks like it has been wrapped in an actual piece of ruffled fabric or even sheer lace. Chef Otto pipes his strings and leaves them to dry on the pins. When he removes them, the design should stay in place, giving the cake a three-dimensional design.
"There are many different styles of stringwork, but all the concepts are the same." He finishes with ease and holds up his hands as if he's competing in a cake competition. "Not bad, huh? All it needs are some sugar berries and greenery, and you've got yourself a product with a hefty price tag."
"You make it look so easy." Georgina compliments him. I glance at her, knowing that no amount of dirty looks will prevent her from being such a suck-up.
"Years of practice," he replies. "Now it's your turn. Complete a cake with your partner, and once you've finished you can begin discussing the theme for your final buffets."
"Wait a second." I raise my hand but speak up anyway. "I thought our final buffets were going to be an individual assignment?" A grand buffet is our final culinary project before graduation. Each of us will be given a certain amount of time to design and create our own tablescape of desserts to be graded and eaten by invited guests. I've been thinking a lot about mine. I want my display cake to be a representation of my past meeting my present—a midnight dance. Plus, I think I'm the only one daring enough to present an all-black final cake. Traditional white wedding cakes are gorgeous. Why can't an all-black be just as breathtaking?
"There's no way one student could make all the required confections in the time allotted," he answers. "No, the final buffet will be done in pairs. The pairs I assigned at the beginning of the term. I think I've given you all plenty of time to learn to work together."
Fudge.
I turn to Georgina, who also has a sour look on her face. So far, we've agreed that we don't like working with each other. That's about it. I prepare
Similar Books
