“Ready to assemble!” I said, admiring all the beautiful pieces of my dessert. I set up the large crystal platter and began carefully stacking my cream puffs. They needed to form an even, round pyramid. The cream puffs stacked nicely, and I set the final one on top and went to retrieve my truffles from the fridge.
I had just pulled them out when I heard a scream. Then Fiona shouted, “Oh no, Amber, what did you do?”
“Shit,” I cursed, running back to my station. I was too late.
“I’m so sorry,” Amber said, looking at me with what I was sure was feigned surprise. “I was trying to use this Platinum Provisions icing piper and the top just flew off. It was an accident, I swear!”
I looked around. The floor was covered in cream puffs.
“How could you?” I said, in shock.
“Oops,” she said, smiling meanly. “I guess you won’t really have time to finish your dessert. Too bad!”
My heart was pounding. I had an hour. An hour to bake cream puffs, make more custard, then fill them and assemble thecroquembouche.
“Fuck.”
I put the truffles at my station and asked Fiona to watch them. Then I ran to the fridge and grabbed the ingredients to make cream puffsagain.
“I'm so stressed,” I muttered, taking a swig of cognac to calm my nerves. Now I knew why the chefs I’d worked with were all so insane.
“This is a bake-off; it’s supposed to be fun, wholesome. This is ridiculous,” I groaned as I stirred the two pots on the stove, one for the custard filling and one for the cream puffs.
“Are you going to make it?” Anastasia asked, coming over.
“Maybe,” I said with a smile that was more of a grimace. If all the cameras hadn’t been watching, I would have just dumped all the batter on Amber, called it quits, and run away to the Caribbean to do catering on a cruise ship. But I had to try to finish, if for nothing else than to stick it to my stepsister.
The cream puff dough was done, and the custard burbled along. I piped out the cream puffs on the baking sheet, stirring the custard occasionally.
Cream puffs in the oven. Stir the custard. Look at the clock. Drink cognac while wondering why it took the cream puffs so damn long to bake.
The gossamer copper-colored spun sugar was a hallmark of the dish, and I couldn't present acroquembouchewithout it. While the cream puffs baked, I heated up the sugar, checking the candy thermometer to make sure it didn't burn and turn bitter. Though not traditional, I was going to form it into a ribbon that would cascade elegantly over thecroquembouche. It was a little more refined than throwing sugar around willy-nilly like a spider web. This was supposed to be Christmas, not Halloween.
Finally the cream puff shells were done. I molded the sugar into the gauzy ribbon while the pastries cooled.
“Twenty minutes!” Anastasia called out.
“Crap!” I took another long swig of cognac to steady my nerves then piped the custard into the cream puffs. They weren't quite cool, but this was what I had to work with. I prayed to the kitchen gods that the truffles wouldn’t melt.
“Ten minutes!” Anastasia called as I carefully stacked the cream puffs into a pyramid then began decorating the cream puff tree, taking swigs of cognac to try to calm down.
“I'm not going to make it,” I said, heart yammering as I carefully placed the sugar flowers and the sugar holly branches among the cream puffs, careful not to disturb them. The truffles went on last. The pastry was still slightly warm.
“Please don’t melt!” I begged. Finally, I draped the golden spun-sugar ribbon around the tree.
“Time!” Anastasia called as I adjusted a sugar flower.
“Fuck, I need a drink,” I said, slumping to the floor, taking the bottle with me.
38
Owen
The tension in the studio was palpable when I walked in a half hour before the timer buzzed.
Holly was running between her table, the stove, and the fridge. I watched her frantically assemble a pyramid of little pastries. She had to use a step stool to get the last of them on the top of the tower.
“That’s insane,” I said to Anu.
