French Romance Cooking Class Page 2

  “Nice save,” David said, trying to clean off his shirt, but succeeding in making the stain larger. He glanced at Chef Louis. “Chicken stock. He’s adding a box of the chicken stock.”

  Frannie poured the chicken stock into the pan, and followed Chef Louis’ remaining instructions. Chef Louis finished his soup by using a hand-held blender to purée the contents of his pan into a green soup, ending with a dollop of sour cream on the top. He washed his hands in the sink and began walking around to tables, checking on everyone’s creations.

  At Marie and Ralph’s table, Chef Louis fawned over their pan. He fished a clean spoon out of a supply in his chef’s coat, and asked them for permission to try to the soup. “My dear,” Chef Louis said to Marie after taking a sip. “You are a wonder. This soup is heavenly. I can tell you have been cooking for a long time, and are quite proficient at it. You have a gift.”

  Chef Louis started towards Frannie and David’s table, but Frannie held up a hand. “We’re not quite done yet!” she exclaimed.

  Chef Louis’ brow furrowed, and he moved on to Donna and Dale’s table. “Look at this young couple,” he said. “Filled with new love, these newlyweds are. Your soup looks amazing.” He asked to sample their soup, and gave them a few suggestions on adding different spices.

  Frannie and David sat back in their chairs and looked at their pan as Chef Louis approached their table.

  “Why is your soup that ghastly color?” Chef Louis asked.

  “We…improvised a little,” David said.

  Chef Louis leaned over the pot, smelling the soup. “I think it would be best if you improvised less.” He looked at David’s shirt. “Hmmmm,” he said, and walked back up to the front of the room.

  “He didn’t try our soup,” Frannie said. Everyone else had poured their soup into small serving bowls and were eating. David grabbed a spoon and took a sip of their soup.

  His face was impassive as he put the spoon down on the table.

  “Well?” Frannie asked.

  “It’s kind of…crunchy,” David said. “And it tastes a little like buttered popcorn.”

  Frannie suppressed a giggle. “So we made movie theatre soup? I like it.” She dipped her spoon in, took a taste, and made a face. “Interesting.”

  David set the pan aside as Chef Louis described their next dish.

  “In a restaurant, I would make pommes dauphine with this dish,” he said. “It is a potato dish, but it is too difficult to deep-fry at individual tables. It’s also much too dangerous for those of us with personal space issues.” He glanced at David before continuing.

  “I have personal space issues?” David asked.

  “Don’t worry,” Frannie said. “You can invade my personal space any time.”

  “So we will be making pommes duchesse as a replacement,” Chef Louis said. “Because our time here is limited, I have already cooked and peeled the potatoes for you. They will not be totally authentic, but will give you a good idea of French cuisine.”

  “Pommes is potatoes in French, right?” David asked. “When I saw the menu, I thought we were going to make royal duchess potatoes. I think what Chef Louis is describing are just fancy mashed potatoes.”

  Chef Louis instructed them to heat butter and cream in a pan.

  “Oh, no,” Frannie said, rummaging through the remaining ingredients on their table. “We don’t have any butter left. We used all the butter in the soup. I don’t think we were supposed to use all the butter in the soup.”

  “That’s probably how we got the movie-theatre, butter-flavored soup,” David said. “Don’t panic. We’ll think of something.”

  David leaned over to Ralph. “Hey Ralph, do you have any butter to spare? We seem to be running a little low.”

  “Rudder?” Ralph said, cupping a hand behind his ear to hear. “I’m sorry, we’re not on a boat. We’re in a cooking class.”

  “Butter,” David said louder. “Can we use some of your butter?”

  “Are you having trouble?” Marie said, expertly whisking the butter and cream together. “Ralph never cooks at our house. He just samples. It’s one of our secrets to a happy marriage.”

  Ralph nodded. “I tried making pancakes for the kids when they were little. It was a disaster. We were scraping egg off the floor for weeks.”

  “You don’t mind doing all the cooking?” Frannie asked Marie.

  “Not at all,” Marie said. “I stayed at home and ran the house while Ralph wrote at the newspaper until they made him retire. It’s worked out quite well.” She looked up at Frannie. “You don’t stay home?”

  “We both work,” Frannie said. “David has his own painting business and I’m a paralegal. Our jobs are flexible, so we can spend family time and share responsibilities at home.”

  “Hmmmm,” Marie said. “I don’t think that would have ever worked for us. We’d have too many socks on the floor. And the only skills I have are cooking, knitting, and raising kids.”

  “Those are wonderful skills,” Frannie told her. “And I’m sure you have many more.”

  “I did work at the beer factory for a few months when times were really tough when we were young,” Marie said. “I suppose capping beer is a skill.”

  “I’ll give you five bucks for some of your butter.” David said to Ralph.

  “Sold,” Ralph said.

  Money was exchanged for two tablespoons of butter, and Frannie and David started working on their potatoes.

  Marie concentraed on her own potatoes, humming while she cooked. Ralph had seized the moment to close his eyes for a moment, and his chest rose and fell evenly as he napped.

  Donna and Dale whispered into each other’s ears, sitting close, laughing quietly. David commented to Frannie that personal space rules obviously did not apply to the newlyweds.

  Frannie had some difficultly squeezing the potatoes out of the pastry bag onto a baking sheet, but with David’s help, they lined up six blobs of potatoes. Thanks to the commercial-sized ovens, everyone’s potatoes were baking.

  “Now we will work on our ducks,” Chef Louis said, satisfied that everyone’s potatoes were baking. “Ducks are not overtly romantic, but we will do our best. And remember, everything French has a certain romance about it.”

  “I hope we don’t need butter for the duck,” Frannie said, glancing at their dwindling supplies. “Marie only has a little left, not enough to share.” She glanced at Donna and Dale. Dale had an arm around Donna’s back and was rubbing her shoulders in small circles.

  “I don’t know how the French can bring romance into our marriage,” Marie asked, prodding Ralph awake. “We’ve been married fifty-one years. We’ve done pretty well without the French. Besides, we’re both German.”

  “We go out on dates together twice a month,” Frannie told her.

  “Dates?” Marie said. “Aren’t you two married?”

  “We’ve been married over twenty years,” David said.

  Marie and Ralph looked blankly at them. Marie cleared her throat and Ralph scratched his head. “Why on earth would you go out on a date when you’re already married? Isn’t that the point of dating? To try people on for size and then get married. Then you don’t have to date anymore.”

  “A few years ago we were finding it difficult to spend time with each other,” Frannie said. We’re busy with our jobs and the kids. We felt like we didn’t know one another.”

  “So you go to dinner together?” Ralph asked. “Then maybe a movie?”

  “We do all sorts of things,” David said. “Last summer I even took her fishing.”

  “Well, you young people certainly have some ideas about things,” Marie said. “I say you go with whatever works for you. Ralph and I here like to spend some quality time away from one another. Otherwise we drive each other crazy.”

  “I play poker with the guys every Thursday night,” Ralph said. “Although we can only make it until eight o’clock or so before we start to nod off. And we have to break every ten minutes so guys can go
to the bathroom. Aging prostates, you know.”

  “I play bingo at church each Tuesday,” Marie said. “Ralph used to go with me, but he couldn’t hear the numbers so he’d miss half his winnings.”

  “We go to church and doctor’s appointments together,” Ralph said. “And we go to funerals since so many of our friends are dropping like flies. Do those count as dates? I’d say funerals count as dates. You even get a meal thrown in for good measure.”

  David looked up and saw that Chef Louis was already starting his duck dish.

  “Crap,” David said. “We’re going to fail duck too.”

  Marie had been cooking while they were talking. Frannie grabbed a clean saucepan and turned on the heat.

  “We have sugar, water, vinegar, duck breasts, spices, wine, eggs, chocolate, and whipping cream,” she listed off. She peered at the wine bottle. “Well, we don’t have any more wine, actually. I think under the soup stress we polished it off.”

  David and Frannie looked at Marie’s pan and up at Chef Louis’ demonstration table.

  “Let’s look at this logically,” David said. “We have two dishes left. Duck and chocolate mousse. We used up all the onion and garlic in the soup,” David said. “Looks like everybody’s got liquid in their pans. Let’s put in some water and vinegar. Why don’t we add some spices, too?”

  “Maybe we should ask someone for direction?” Frannie asked.

  “Bah,” David said. “Who needs directions? We don’t even need a map. We can wing it. You know our philosophy. We’re never lost, we’re taking the scenic route.”

  “Hmmmm,” Frannie said. “I don’t know if that applies specifically to duck.”

  “Let’s be adventurous and try,” David said. David and Frannie huddled together, adding ingredients to their pan until they caught up with the rest of the class.

  A heavenly aroma floated from Marie’s pan, a rich wine scent with a hint of garlic and chicken broth. Donna and Dale had finished their dish, and were back to snuggling.

  “Maybe we should put some chocolate in,” Frannie said, looking down at their own pan. “Chocolate’s good in everything, right?”

  Their duck was shrunken in the pan, the smell of vinegar wafting up.

  Chef Louis brought everyone’s potatoes to each table, encouraging people to eat their main course. He stopped at Frannie and David’s table last, sliding their potato blobs onto a serving dish.

  “You have an interesting dish here,” Chef Louis commented as he regarded the duck. “At home, do you cook?”

  “We kind of wing it,” David told him. “We do the best we can with what we’ve got.”

  “I see,” Chef Louis said. “May I help you?”

  “Yes!” Frannie said with relief. “We would love that.”

  Chef Louis returned to his work station, and brought an armload of ingredients back to Frannie and David’s table. He showed them how to add ingredients to balance flavors and save their duck dish. In five minutes, an appetizing wine aroma floated up from their pan.

  “Voilà,” Chef Louis said. “Now you can eat. I think practicing would be good for you. Perhaps you could cook at home together? You could make it a romantic endeavor.”

  “I don’t know if we have it in us to be great cooks,” Frannie admitted.

  “Pah!” Chef Louis said. “We all cook in our own way, just as we are different in love. Celebrate your own way of doing things.”

  He patted Frannie on the shoulder, and went off to another table.

  “What do you think?” she asked David. “Should we celebrate our uniqueness?”

  “We are good at improvising,” David said. “It really is one of our strengths as a couple.”

  “We’re also resilient,” Frannie said. “We’re good at picking ourselves up after mistakes.”

  David looked at her for a long moment. “Did I ever tell you that I love you?” he asked.

  Frannie blushed, the heat rising to her face. “I love you too,” she said.

  They finished off two pieces of duck, declaring everything else inedible.

  David fished out his phone and typed in a text message.

  “You’re having Brittany order pizza, aren’t you?” Frannie asked.

  “Two,” David said. “One cheese and sausage and one with the works.”

  “My hero,” Frannie said.