“We were talking about how Antoine must be swamped at the E.R. right about now,” Emi declares with a big grin. “While we’re here, polishing off cheese plates and waiting for dessert.”
“Right,” Solange sighs. “Bless him, he’s always been a hard worker. Taking a shift on Christmas Eve, why would one do that?!”
“I’m sure plenty of people need the services of an E.R. doctor on Christmas Eve,” Nicolas frowns. “It’s one of the deadliest days of the year, actually.”
“It is,” Emi nods. “Whenever people drink, people get hurt. And don’t get me started on the icy sidewalks breaking their share of ankles… I know something about those! Though mine was…”
She is interrupted by our waiter, who, much to our confusion, appears very tense, even a bit fidgety.
“I amsosorry,” he starts. “We are having some… issues in the kitchen, and it might take a little while for the dessert to come. We are looking into a solution, but I think our… uh… dessert buffet is compromised.”
“Compromised?” Nicolas frowns.
“The whole dessert buffet?” Solange exclaims. “We were looking forward to this!”
“Is everything alright?” I ask the poor waiter. “We don’t mind waiting a bit…”
He gives me a thankful glance, swallows, and leans over a bit discreetly.
“There’s been a bit of an incident, and, uh… we just found out the desserts’ cold room isn’t cold at all. Hasn’t been for a little while, apparently, so… I-I’m sorry to say,allour desserts are ruined.”
Oh, no…
Nicolas and I exchange a look. We know about cold room accidents—they have definitely happened in some of our factories before, and it was a major issue every time! Oh, that really cannot be good for all the desserts… Cream, butter, mascarpone, milk, eggs, custard, all of those good things donothandle hot temperatures well! Putting aside the whipped cream getting unwhipped and the ganache turning into gouache, if their fridge broke, everything must be spoiled, and possibly a health risk! They definitely won’t be able to serve any of it now…
“Oh, gosh,” I mumble.
“Unbelievable,” Solange scoffs.
“Don’t worry, accidents happen,” Emi smiles at him. “So, no desserts then?”
“I’m afraid so,” the waiter admits. “All of our usual substitutions are ruined too, and none of our providers will be able to help us tonight, as you can imagine. But we are lookinginto a solution. We’re very sorry. …May I offer complimentary drinks for your patience? More cheese, perhaps?”
“We’ll take more champagne,” Solange grumbles, emptying her drink.
“Actually, I’ll have some herbal tea,” Emi sighs. “And don’t worry about the dessert; it can’t be helped.”
“Thank you, madam. Lady, sir?”
Nicolas and I also order some herbal tea before the poor waiter moves on to the next table to relay the situation. Well, that’s another twist…
“Oh, well,” Emi sighs, slowly rising from the table. “I’m sorry, guys, but the kid’s parked on my bladder, and the mocktails aren’t helping. I’ll be right back.”
“Do you need me to accompany you?” I offer.
“Thanks, Ophie, but I’ll be back in a minute,” she smiles at me.
I nod and sit back down, watching her go with an elegance that defies gravity.
“Unbelievable,” Solange scoffs again. “I booked weeks ahead for this! For such a fine establishment, no dessert!”
“It’s not their fault,” I shrug. “Kitchen mishaps happen. My dad burned himself really badly once, we had no choice but to close the shop for two days—”
“This isn’t some small shop, this is a respectable establishment with a high standard they should be able to uphold!” Solange exclaims, loud enough for the tables nearby and the poor waiter to hear. “Really, for the prices we paid for this evening, I expected better!”
I sink into my seat and quietly try to borrow some of Emi’s fortitude. The situation is upsetting enough as it is; I’m not going to let Solange make it worse. Not that it’s a contest, but I wanted those desserts more than she did, and I’m not making a fuss!
So, I opt not to feed into her negativity and decide to quietly do a breathing exercise instead. Four-second deep breaths in, and four-second deep breaths out. It might not work every time, but at least, while I’m breathing, I’m not focused on Solange’s rant, even as she keeps going in French…
