The Chocolatier

Ascencion Pequignot walked along the cobblestone street on her way to her kitchens. It was raining again and the wind was slightly more than a breeze. Fall had come to Paris once again. Soon it would be too cold to walk and she would be forced to submit to public transport, something she detested having to do. She passed numerous shopkeepers in the process of opening their shops and each one in their own polite way would stop and wave or tip their hat and bid her a "Bonjour Mademoiselle." That's another facet of French life I detested. Why should women be forced to reveal their marital status to others in the form of a greeting? Men were not required to do so. Regardless of whether a man is married or not, they were all greeted with the standard, "Monsieur." Women on the other hand were forced to reveal if they were available or not by selecting the appropriate "Mademoiselle" if they were single, or "Madame" if they were married or engaged.

At this point, I suppose it didn't matter, I thought to myself as I arrived at my own shop, unlocked the front door, and slipped inside before locking the door behind me again. Another two weeks and my internship here would be complete and I can return home or travel. The choice will be mine. I will have graduated from the most intense school of cooking in all of France, if not Europe, and will have earned the title of, Chocolatier Chef. All that remained was for me to complete the master instructor's challenge of baking him a simple chocolate cake. Of course, this cake would need to be worthy of kings and queens, since it was entirely probable the finished cake would be made available at next weekend's royal gala for England's Queen Elizabeth II.

I believed I had a foolproof plan. I had studied several of the more famous and popular recipes and settled on the Parisian White Chocolate Buttercream recipe. This particular cake is popular because of its look. The cake itself is a moist chocolate crumb cake filled with dark chocolate crème. The icing is made from white chocolate chips, fresh milk, crème, and unsalted butter. I took my time and meticulously measured each ingredient before mixing them by hand. I even handcrafted the unsalted butter, a laborious task on my efficient days. I ensured the proper temperatures were maintained throughout the entire process and for plating, I used only the best of the best white dessert china available. Yet, each time, I was embarrassed by the Master Chocolatier.

He would hold the dessert at eye level and inspect the cake from all sides. Then he would wave his hand over the top of the cake to waft the odor into his long, well-manicured nostrils. With each preliminary step, which seemed to me to be a rehearsed culinary dance, he would occasionally make eye contact with me in a questioning manner. I never once fell for his trickery for I had seen what he did to students who volunteered inquiry based only on his glances. He would casually toss the dessert to the floor and demand they begin again.

Finally, he would take his seat at the table and motion with a flippant wave of his hand to slice the cake and deliver to him the perfect dessert. I did as instructed, following all of the steps of required etiquette, before placing the lonely slice of cake in front of him. I would take two steps away from the table and one step to my left to place myself at roughly a 45° angle to his left. This position allowed him to comfortably make eye contact with me while criticizing my recipe.

The final test was always the taste. Did any single ingredient overpower another or did all ingredients work together to lift the chocolate to the palate where it would engulf the senses with that feeling of ecstasy described by the ancient Olmec who claimed chocolate was a gift from their gods? Only the Master Chocolatier would determine that. He lifted a small bite of my cake on a three-pronged silver fork used only for the most delicate of desserts and began his culinary dance again.

I watched with admiration or was it repudiation? After so many years of watching him, it was difficult to tell if his dance was truly to critique the chocolate or was it more sinister? Maybe he did what he did to prolong our agony and despair. Only he knew for sure. Finally, he placed the weathered bite into his mouth and let it sit in solitude for what seemed like an eternity. His face made no outward sign as to his pleasure or God forbid his displeasure. He did not chew nor did he swallow. It appeared he would simply allow the bite to dissolve slowly in his mouth without the assistance of his teeth.

He had almost lulled me into a deep sleep when all of a sudden, he spat the most horrid-looking blackish spittle out of his mouth and onto the table and me. He began shouting he needed a drink, water, milk, wine, anything to wash that terrible taste from his palate. I was in shock. I ran from the room looking for anyplace that would grant me solitude. I soon found such a place in the butler's pantry. I sat there in the dark and fumed with anger, confusion, and humiliation. I heard him calling my name. If I made him wait too long, I would be dismissed. I wiped the anger from my eyes and stepped out of the pantry and into the kitchen to confront him.

We stood there quietly staring at each other for what seemed an eternity before he spoke. Mademoiselle Pequignot your chocolate cake was the best cake I have ever tasted. It was splendid in every way. You have truly mastered our methods and it is with great pleasure that I proclaim you a Master Chocolatier of the Valrhona School of Chocolate. You are entitled to all of the rights and privileges. Twice in one day, he had managed to shock me. I continued to stand there in surprising silence. It was at this point that Master Chocolatier Francina de la Carrasco gave me the last but most important lesson of becoming a master chocolatier.

He told me to have no doubt that no matter where I travel, no matter what kitchen I end up in, no matter what royalty I decide to bless with my chocolate sweets, that I am the expert. That I and I alone determine what is good chocolate and what is not. He looked me in my eyes and proceeded that I will encounter people who call themselves chocolate connoisseurs. They are not. They are merely consumers of what you allow them to taste. Nothing more. From this point forward, never flee a room, when someone denigrates your dessert. Instead, don't dignify them with a response. Simply remove the offending dessert and refuse to serve them anything further. You will find there exists people who pleasure themselves by pissing on what others have strived a lifetime to create. That is fine. Let them live their lives without ever having the pleasure of tasting your chocolate again. Trust me on this. You are now a Master Chocolatier of the Valrhona Method. There is none better so act like it.

I write for fun and to entertain. I'm an old disabled dude living out my life in NE Texas. If you found my story entertaining, please leave me a like. If you really liked it, a tip goes a long way towards keeping me stocked in coffee and cake. I can always be reached on Instagram DM @realjoeylowe and I recently the Vocal Facebook Groups using my real name, Joey Lowe. Before I forget, I just started my own blog at www.loweco.com where I'm journaling my daily adventure through writing my first novella. Stop by and leave a comment there too, if you like.