“What if I burn the kitchen down?” There had been an incident in my childhood.
But how hard could it be? Mix, beat something something, put in oven, slap on frosting, and eat. I could manage that without embarrassing myself.
“Let’s hope the resort has adequate insurance.” He took out his phone and signed us up. “But you should read more carefully. It’s a decorating class. The cookies are already baked.”
“Okay.” I could do that, no problem. I pulled up my sweater sleeves. “When do we start? Do I get a chef’s hat and an apron?”
My mate giggled and tapped the notice that said the class was this afternoon.
“Hmmm, so we have a few hours. What can we do, I wonder, to fill the time?” I picked him up, and he shrieked as I carried him out the door and toward our cabin.
Merrick led the way into the kitchen. We weren’t in the main one where the resort meals were prepared, thank gods. I could see the guests rioting after a bunch of amateurs had messed up their dinner plans.
My mate was chatting to another couple who were taking the class while I gazed around at the gleaming steel everything that included benches and tools and an intimidating array of equipment. And every part of the kitchen gleamed. I imagined a bunch of Santa’s elves scurrying around each night, cleaning and polishing.
A few other couples strolled in, with one guy talking about piping and marzipan and royal icing and another saying we wouldn’t be using marzipan today. I was pleased about that because I had no clue what it was, though a quick check on my phone gave me the answer.
“Welcome, everyone. I’m Chef Jerry.” A guy wearing a magnificent chef’s hat strode in. Damn, I wanted one of those on my head. “Don’t worry if you’ve never done this before. Today is about having fun.”
There were comments from many of the participants that they were proficient at cookie decorating. Was I the only novice? I could hide behind Merrick and try to look busy while he decorated.
Merrick claimed a station near the window and organized the supplies. He was so efficient I almost saluted. He put the frosting colors in the order they appeared in a rainbow, testing what he called the piping bags, and studied the example cookies Chef Jerry had displayed.
“You’ve done this before.”
“Mmmm. My brother and I used to decorate cookies every Christmas. It’s nice doing this with you. Brings back memories.”
“We’re creating new traditions, and you can teach me.” I picked up a piping bag and squeezed, squirting frosting onto my sweater.
My mate kissed my cheek and dabbed at the frosting-covered wool before turning his attention to Chef Jerry.
The chef walked us through the basics of how to hold a piping bag, the amount of pressure to use, and the different effects we could make. I was impressed with his swirls. That didn’t look too hard.
I picked up a star-shaped cookie and chose a piping bag of red frosting.
Merrick ran his finger around the edge of the cookie. “Start with an outline and follow the edge.”
I squeezed gently as the chef had instructed, but a huge blob squirted out, covering the cookie, me, and the counter. It reminded me of a crime scene.
“Oops.”
That’s interesting. Did the star explode, or was it a red planet and not a star?
How do you know about red planets? No, wait, don’t tell me.
Merrick tried and failed to hold in a snicker. “Maybe a little less pressure next time.” He handed me a Christmas tree cookie.
I could do this. My hand shook as I traced the outline, but it was uneven, and one side was thicker than the other. When I filled in the middle with green frosting, it resembled a lumpy, bumpy mess.
Glancing at my mate’s efforts and back at mine, I was tempted to toss mine in the trash, but Merrick told me they’d taste fine. His were so professional, and if he ever considered a change in profession, cake and cookie decorating would be the obvious choice.
“That’s so cute. You have little ornaments on your cookie tree.” I went to touch it, and he shoved my hand away and glared at me. “Sorry.” This was serious business.
A little kid who’d accompanied his parents leaned over the counter and made a face at my cookies. His dad yanked him back before he could comment.
Merrick patted my arm. “Don’t worry. Yours have character.”
My bear snorted.Your tree looks as though it barely survived a forest fire.
