The crushing sensation that I was a complete impostor and likely to humiliate myself sat on my chest like an elephant.
“Why are you panicking?” Lucas asked, pulling my eyes to him. “Did something happen? How can I help?”
I made wide, wild eyes at him. “I think the real question is why you aren’t freaking out,” I said. “This is a professional culinary arts classin France. This is huge, and I don’t know anything about cooking. I’m a baker.”
He waved unworried hands. “We aren’t cooking,” he promised. “Only learning how we can make foods on plates look better.”
“Okay, well, what if I can’t do that? What if we both fail?”
His brows rose. “I’m not going to—”
I grabbed his arm. “What if I fall down?” Memories of wiping out in my kitchen, at the restaurant, and in my backyard flashed into mind. “I do that a lot more than I should.”
“At our age, probably any amount of falling is too much,” he agreed. “So we won’t do that. Yes?”
“Yes.” I bobbed my head.Obviously.“No falling.”
“None.”
I released a labored sigh. “You’re right. We can do this. It’s not hard. It’s art.” Creativity was my strong suit. Plus I’d researched foodplating extensively leading up to the trip. I knew the technical terms and techniques, more than enough to prevent me from embarrassing myself.
“I forgot to ask you this morning,” he said, interest furrowing his brow. “Were you able to reach the marina?”
My thoughts jumped to our morning together. We’d ordered real French press coffee from a café near the beach and shared a sliced baguette spread with butter and jam. I’d told him about the boat at the yacht club.
“I spoke with the woman I met at the yacht club last month, and she’s looking into it and calling me back.”
A tall, broad-shouldered man in a black ensemble, including a chef’s coat and hat, entered the room, and the class went silent. He raised his arms above his head and spoke in French. Thankfully, he switched to English a split second later. “Welcome, students,” he declared. “Call me Chef. Raise your hand if you’re in crisis. Otherwise, we’re covering a lot of material in a short amount of time, so let’s save questions for the end of the day.”
I kneaded my fingers in anticipation. I had dozens of questions already, and we hadn’t even started.
“First we will plate scallops,” Chef said. He lifted a plump circle of white flesh into the air for us to see. Then, without warning, he chucked it into the classroom.
I gasped.
Chef chuckled as someone at the table in front of me thrust up a hand and caught it.
The student examined the disk. “Plastic,” he called.
Chef crossed his arms and nodded. “All the foods we’ll use for the next few days, while we learn and practice techniques, are replicas. That means you can plate, rinse, and repeat the processes until you get the effect you’re attempting. You can get your supplies out now. They’re stored beneath the tabletops.”
Lucas and I arranged the contents on our workstation. Sauces in plastic squeeze bottles. Small pots with jams and butters. Oils, purees, reductions, and emulsions. We lined up shakers of spices and seasoningsbeside bundles of fresh herbs and edible flowers. And finally, a plastic toy box of fake foods.
“Let’s dig in!” Chef called, rubbing his palms together as he walked the aisles. “Often, when we plate, we use odd numbers. Let’s start there.”
I placed three plastic scallops on my plate. Lucas plated five.
“This is a popular technique that draws the eye around the surface, causing our brains to take in more details,” Chef said. “Now, we use the sauces and liquids like edible paint. Plating food is art, and we are the artists.”
I slid my eyes in Lucas’s direction, expecting to share a commiserating grin. Instead, I found him too absorbed to notice me. All around the room, everyone else busily arranged scallops on their plates.
I eyeballed the other ingredients.
“If you aren’t sure where to begin,” Chef announced, drawing my eyes to him. “Try overturning a teacup on the plate before you add the food. Shake a seasoning, like pepper or paprika, over the cup. Now, remove the cup, and voilà, a perfect circle of color for your base.”
A few students made soft sounds ofoohandahh.
Chef returned to his place on the platform and worked methodically through countless ways to dress up a handful of scallops. Then a steak. Some chicken. And soup.
