Page 54 of The Little Board Game Café

She soaped her arms, mulling over her brainwave. She’d always wanted to go to Paris, to wander along the narrow streets and secret alleyways of Montmartre and sample the delights of all those lovely little cafés. The best cafés in the world, Mum used to say. It was where her parents had spent their honeymoon.

She would bring Paris to Essendale. She’d give the café a new name – she hadn’t come up with it yet, but she would. She’d swap her Lancashire pictures for pictures of Le Tour Eiffel and La Seine. She’d put croque monsieur and croissants on the menu, and she’d learn the art of patisserie. How hard could it be?

*

The following day, Emily could think of nothing but patisserie. In the gaps between customers – and let’s face it, there were a lot of gaps – she watched YouTube videos on how to create the most delectable mille-feuilles, make picture-perfect macarons and bake the lightest madeleines. The board games group arrived that evening, but she didn’t join in with the games, opting instead to try her hand at a raspberry and vanilla Charlotte russe. Okay, so she did want to practise her patisserie skills, but her main reason for staying in the kitchen was to avoid any awkwardness with Ludek. They both avoided making eye contact when she took the tea through at half-time and she didn’t dare ask why he hadn’t replied to her texts.

Despite using shop-bought sponge fingers, her Charlotte russe didn’t turn out that well. How did the contestants on The Great British Bake Off get things to look so neat? Perhaps they weren’t distracted by the presence of a man they fancied just metres away. Or did they have coaching? Perhaps she could have coaching.

A quick Google and she found the solution: a patisserie course the following weekend. The website said there was one place left. There was just one snag: it was in London.

*

A week later, Emily arrived at the bakery school just off the high street in Chiswick a little bleary-eyed having caught the earliest London-bound train from Halifax. She probably should have travelled down the night before, but she’d had to open the café for the board games group – the atmosphere between her and Ludek had been decidedly frosty again. Plus the course had cost an arm and a leg and she couldn’t afford a hotel on top. Not at London prices anyway.

Bleary-eyed and also late as she hadn’t realised that the Piccadilly Line didn’t always stop at Turnham Green, which was the nearest station to the school.

The class had already started when she walked in. She noticed the stainless-steel worktops, sparkling white walls and wooden floors, and immediately knew that the Lancashire Hotpot’s kitchen would feel even smaller and even shabbier after this. She also noticed how smartly dressed the other participants were. She wouldn’t fit in here.

The tutor, a tall, bald man with a curly moustache, was mid-sentence, outlining the plan for the day. He barely glanced in Emily’s direction, but gestured to the one empty workstation at the back of the room where a stool and a pristine white apron embroidered with the cookery school’s logo awaited her.

Emily wondered if she’d get to keep the apron.

‘Through the desserts you create today,’ the tutor said, ‘you’ll learn a range of skills that you can apply to make other things. We’re beginning this morning with salted caramel profiteroles. You’ll master the art of making a good choux pastry, learn how to create the perfect cream filling and top the whole thing off with a delicious salted caramel sauce.’

Great. Emily could already make choux pastry, she knew how to whip cream and a caramel sauce wasn’t too difficult, salted or otherwise. She hoped this course wasn’t going to be too basic.

‘And then we’ll break for lunch. You’re welcome to eat your creations – assuming they’re edible…’

A titter of nervous laughter ran round the class.

‘This afternoon, we’ll be tackling sugar dome fruit tarts. We’ll begin by perfecting the art of shortcrust pastry – and, believe me, creating a good shortcrust pastry is much tricker than it sounds – and then we’ll learn how to make a vanilla crème diplomat for the filling and we’ll top the whole thing off with glazed fruit and a sugar dome.’

Emily was sure the website had mentioned making rough puff pastry and macarons too. All this way to learn to make two desserts? And desserts she could probably have made a fairly decent stab at anyway. Well, except for the sugar dome bit, but she could have taught herself that from YouTube.

The tutor began his demonstration. Emily joined the other participants, gathering around his workstation and watching as he gently heated butter, sugar and water in a saucepan until the butter had melted, then brought it to the boil. He then took the pan off the heat, added the flour and beat the mixture until it was stiff and glossy.

‘Any questions?’ he said, looking at the group.

Nobody said a word. The tutor looked a little disheartened.

Emily didn’t like to disappoint him, so said the first thing that came into her head. ‘Will all that beating get rid of my bingo wings?’

He looked aghast. ‘I have no idea,’ he said snootily.

‘What if the dough isn’t glossy?’ asked a tall woman with blonde hair scraped back in a neat bun.

‘Your pastry will be dense and dry,’ he said.

‘And why might that happen?’ the blond woman said.

‘Probably because you’ve got the eggs to flour ratio wrong,’ said Emily before she could stop herself.

The tutor frowned. ‘Too much flour or too little egg,’ he added.

At eleven o’clock, the door opened and a girl appeared, wheeling a trolley.

‘Ah, perfect timing,’ said the tutor. ‘Coffee break.’