The Secret French Recipes of Sophie Valroux

by Samantha Vérant

  My sigh of relief whooshed with the lilac-scented spring breeze, warming my soul. I’d done it. I could put all past stress behind me. I’d never been prouder of anything in my life. I was a chef again. I traced the brass fleur-de-lis and the words inscribed, LA SOCIÉTÉ DES CHTEAUX ET BELLES DEMEURES, with my fingertips, focusing on my name. Sophie Valroux de la Tour de Champvert, GRAND CHEF.

  Soft breaths whispered on my back. Jane and Phillipa peered over my shoulder. I turned, raising the plaque triumphantly. “We did it!”

  “No, you did it,” said Phillipa.

  “We’re a team,” I said.

  “I’ll take credit when it’s due,” said Jane.

  “I couldn’t have done this without either of you,” I said with a laugh, hugging both of them. “I have to go tell Grand-mère. Can you tell Rémi and Jean-Marc I’ll be right back?”

  “Jean-Marc? The mechanic from Sauqueuse?” asked Phillipa, squinting in their direction. “Why is he here?”

  I’d forgotten Phillipa and Jane’s parents lived in the next town over. Surely, Phillipa took her beat-up car to his garage.

  “Long story,” I said. “I’ll tell you all about him later.”

  I raced up to my grand-mère’s room, opened the door, and held out the plaque from La Société des Châteaux et Belles Demeures. “I wanted you to see this.”

  Her eyes glistened with proud tears. “Ma chérie, I knew you could do it. You must have Rémi take my plaque down and put yours up at the front gate.”

  “No, Grand-mère,” I said.

  “It’s your château now, and it’s your kitchen. You are the Grand Chef now and the master of this home,” she said. “If you want to keep my plaque in memory of me, hang it in your office.”

  “You mean your office,” I said.

  “Not anymore.”

  “Grand-mère—”

  “Darling, be like the woman O’Shea called you in his article. Be fearless.”

  “But I’m scared, Grand-mère,” I said, slumping. “I don’t want to lose you. Not now—not when I’m getting to really know you.”

  “I know. But I’ll always be here for you, even when I’m gone. We have to face what’s coming with strength.” She closed her eyes and squeezed my hand, her head lolling slightly to the side. “The ring you wear around your neck?”

  I sucked back my sobs, wanting to be strong for her. What was supposed to be a celebratory day had taken a turn. “It was yours, wasn’t it? My mother stole it?”

  “It was mine,” she said. “And she did. I’d like to hold it one last time. It’s quite beautiful.”

  I undid the clasp of my necklace, slipped off the ring, and tucked it into her hand. She looked longingly out the window. “I did grow to love your grandfather and my life here,” she said wistfully.

  “Grand-mère, there’s something I need to tell you,” I said.

  “Oui, ma chérie.”

  “I met Jean-Marc Bourret, my father,” I said. “He’s downstairs now with Rémi in the gardens.”

  “If you’re wondering if I told Rémi it was a good idea to invite him here, I said it was,” she said. “And what do you think of this man?”

  “He has kind eyes. He’s had a tough life, it seems,” I said, thinking that of course my grand-mère had been in on the plan. Nothing escaped her. “I’d like to get to know him. He’s, um, he’s my family.”

  “As you should,” she said, her eyes locking onto mine. “It was important for me to make amends with everything I’d done in the past before I move on to the other side. Please offer Monsieur Bourret my sincerest apologies.” She gripped my hand. “Je t’aime, ma chérie.”

  “Je sais, Grand-mère” (I know, Grand-mère), I said. “Je t’aime aussi.”

  One of the machines buzzed, jolting my heart along with it. Agnès scurried over, pushing by me, her smile feeble. “Sophie, I’ve got to get her stabilized. There’s nothing more you can do here. Please, go join the party.”

  I agreed, but it didn’t feel like a celebration anymore. My grandmother’s words felt like a final adieu. With the plaque in hand, I headed to my room. Instead of joining the others, there was something important I needed to do. I rolled out my mother’s suitcase, unzipped it, and unpacked her things, hanging her dresses in my closet and placing her jewelry box on my dresser.

  I was going to kiss any remnants of past pain goodbye before I had to deal with any more of it.

  32

  sad goodbyes and happy beginnings

  Grand-mère Odette’s funeral would take place three days later, right at the château. In between sniffs, sobs, and sudden breakdowns, Rémi, Clothilde, les dames, Gustave, Séb, Phillipa, Jane, and I were going to cook up a celebratory feast—exactly how Grand-mère would have wanted it. I didn’t wear her poppy-print apron, but tucked it away in the closet, wanting to guard her vanilla, cinnamon, and nutmeg scent, which was already fading. We stood in the kitchen.

  “We are cooking everything in her notebooks,” I’d said, and then quickly corrected myself. “Everything we have ingredients for. She’d kill us if we cooked out of season.”

  “How in the world are we going to prepare all of her recipes?” Clothilde asked.

  “I’ve called in reinforcements,” I said, nodding at Laetitia and Lola. I picked Lola up and placed her on a stool. “This was my favorite place in the kitchen when I was a young girl just like you,” I said. “I’d watch my grand-mère cook and sometimes she’d let me help. Tu peux m’aider, Lola?”

  “Oui, Tatie.”

  Grief came in waves, but I was in charge of my emotions now, aside from the occasional breakdown when I’d pick up something that reminded me of her, like an old wooden spoon with burn marks on the handle, or her favorite copper pot.

  People from all over France were due to arrive for the ceremony—from Gaillac to Toulouse, Paris to Bordeaux, and even New York. I ran down the front steps when Walter and Robert’s taxi arrived, tripping over my feet. Rémi shot out his hand, lifting me off the ground.

  “I think I need to buy you a helmet,” he said.

  “Very funny,” I said. I left Rémi in my dust as I ran up to hug my best friend. Walter spun me around, lifting me off my feet.

  Rémi joined us.

  “Which one of you was my girlfriend’s fake gay fiancé?” said Rémi, pretending to be serious or mad, which worked for about five seconds. Robert pointed at Walter. Rémi crossed his arms and his chest started heaving up and down with laughter. “It was the most bizarre thing I’ve heard come out of Sophie’s mouth.”

  “He had me going there for a minute,” said Robert, fanning his face dramatically. “He’s drop-dead gorgeous and has a sense of humor. Wait, I thought this was the—”

  I cut Robert off before he could continue. Rémi didn’t need to know I’d called him a what, not a who, or worse, an asshole. With a wild laugh that I couldn’t believe came from me, I made the introductions. Once they finished slapping one another on the backs like frat boys or long-lost friends, Walter pouted and said, “We’re never getting her back to New York.”

  “Not a chance,” agreed Robert.

  This was true. New York was a distant memory and the farthest thing from my mind.

  “Life in France has apparently done wonders for you,” said Walter. “I know we aren’t here under the best of circumstances, but all things considered, I’m thinking our Sophie is back and she’s stronger than ever.”

  “You know what?” I said. “I am. On that, sorry to skip out on you, but I’ve got to get changed before everybody arrives and check in on the kitchen,” I said. “Rémi will show you to your room, okay? We’re giving you the best one in the house. And remember, we are celebrating my grand-mère’s life—no black.”

  * * *

  Car after car rumbled down the driveway, filling all the parking spots and lining the long driv
eway. For mid-April, the weather was more than agreeable, not too hot or too cold. I wore a navy-blue silk sheath and one of my grandmother’s scarves, cream with her signature poppy pattern, around my shoulders. Rémi stood beside me and we greeted the guests. Murmurs of condolences accompanied gracious words about my grand-mère.

  “She helped us through a tough time in our lives.”

  “She was such an inspiration.”

  “An incredible woman, so full of life.”

  Even Jean-Marc Bourret showed up to pay his respects, looking rather respectable himself—all clean-shaven and wearing a suit. “Did you mean it when you said you’d like to get to know me?” he asked.

  “I did.”

  “Merci, Sophie.” His eyes glistened. “I know right now isn’t the right time, but I’m looking forward to that day.”

  “Me, too,” I said, gripping his hand.

  There were many times I choked back my tears, but I held myself together, hiding the ones that slipped out behind Grand-mère’s black Chanel sunglasses. Soon, it was time for the procession to the small chapel. Rémi, Lola, and I led, followed by Clothilde, Bernard, and Laetitia, the rest of Grand-mère’s closest “family” behind them. Once gathered in front of the doors, Father Toussaint, a kind man with graying hair and unruly eyebrows, began the service. As he spoke, I surveyed the guests. Some dabbed their eyes with handkerchiefs, wiping away their tears. Some cried, like Clothilde and Jane, gulping back ragged sobs. I loved my grandmother and it was nice to see how much others loved her, too.

  Behind the chapel, there was a field ablaze with coquelicots (wild poppies), the flowers blowing in the breeze, butterflies soaring over a sea of red. I could feel Grand-mère with me, telling me not to be sad, but to focus on the beauty.

  When Father Toussaint finished delivering his sermon, Rémi and I walked up to Grand-mère’s gilded casket, polished wood with carvings of flowers, to say our final goodbyes. Her face was still and peaceful, beautiful even though ravaged by the effects of time.

  “I’m going to miss you fiercely,” I said, stroking her hand. “I wish we’d spent more time together, but I’m thankful for the time we had.”

  Rémi put his arm around me. “Don’t worry, Grand-mère Odette, I’ll look after Sophie and take care of her for the rest of my life.”

  I nudged him softly and whispered, “Who says I need to be taken care of?”

  “You are definitely your grand-mère’s petite-fille,” he said. “And she made me promise her that.”

  We each grabbed a single red rose from a basket and tossed it into her casket, me thinking about the lessons Grand-mère taught and would keep teaching me. When I opened my eyes, a flash of blue caught my attention: a dragonfly the size of my palm, flittering his wings just over her casket. He landed on my arm, but flew away so quickly, I’d thought I’d imagined it. Rémi latched his arm onto mine and we walked across the grounds to the château.

  “Did you see that?” I asked Rémi. “The dragonfly?”

  “I did,” he said. “I read somewhere once that if a dragonfly lands on you, a good change is coming.”

  “I’d like to believe that,” I said.

  He blew out the air between his lips and winked. “Then believe it.”

  * * *

  IN FRANCE—AND it didn’t matter if there were ten guests or two hundred—as a matter of la politesse, people milled about waiting for all the guests to arrive, eyeing drinks and food ravenously. I nodded to the servers carrying trays of coupe de champagne glasses filled with the château’s sparkling wine—la méthode ancestrale—and they distributed them. I tapped my glass with a spoon.

  Once I had everybody’s attention, I spoke. “Thank you all so much for joining us on what is supposed to be a sad day. But if any of you knew Grand-mère Odette, I’m sure you’d agree she’d be extremely angry if we moped about and cried. My grand-mère, my fierce and strong grandmother, would want us to celebrate her life.”

  “Hear, hear!”

  “Grand-mère loved to entertain, and it was through food that she expressed her love. From the time I was very young, she instilled this love of cooking into me. And I’m eternally grateful for her lessons. She was a Grand Chef, the grande dame of this château, and an even better grandmother. She didn’t let titles or money affect her friendships. She opened the doors of this château to everyone. So in honor of my grandmother, I’d like to carry on that tradition. We’ve re-created many of the recipes she’s served us throughout the years. The buffet is open. Please join me in celebrating my grandmother’s life.” I raised my glass. “To Grand-mère Odette, may she soar among the wild butterflies and dragonflies.”

  A few guests burst into tears; I stood strong, feeling my grand-mère’s strength fill me. I met the eyes of my family, my gaze shooting from Clothilde and Bernard, to Gustave and the granny brigade, to Laetitia and Lola, finally settling on Jane and then Phillipa. Love vibrated from every corner of the room, pulsing in waves. I fingered the necklace Rémi had given me for my birthday, thanking each and every one of my lucky stars.

  Once the applause died down, I took in a deep breath. Rémi pulled me to the side, away from the others. “I thought we’d end today with something special. Can you come with me?”

  I nodded, wondering what he was up to. He led me out the front door and stood quietly for a moment, head down. From his pocket, he pulled out my grandmother’s engagement ring; it sparkled in the sunlight like a beacon. “You had the ring? I’ve been looking everywhere for it.”

  “Grand-mère Odette wanted me to give you this,” he said. “Under one condition, though.”

  “Condition?”

  He dropped to one knee and smiled his fantastic, dimpled smile that made my knees turn to butter. “I know we’ve been moving at the speed of light, and you wanted to take things slow, but when you know you’re in love, you know. I’ve loved you from the first moment I laid eyes on you when I was only nine years old. And I never stopped loving you. Sophie Valroux de la Tour de Champvert, will you marry me?”

  Grand-mère Odette had calculated and manipulated and connived, right up to her last breath. She’d never wanted to hold the ring again. She’d wanted to give it to Rémi so he could give it to me. And if that didn’t prove her love for me, I don’t know what did. I was ready for change, to ride on the wings of dragonflies and butterflies. I was ready to start my new life. No looking back, only forward, but just a little slower—one breath at a time, and I couldn’t find mine, so I didn’t say a word and stared at my feet.

  Rémi lifted up my chin. “What? Too fast?”

  I met his eyes and said, “Can we just be engaged to be engaged?”

  “J’ai mal compris” (I don’t understand), he said.

  “Yes, I want to be your fiancée, Rémi,” I said, hunching my shoulders. “But we really need to get to know one another better. Marriage is a huge, forever commitment. I want to be with you and want that for our future eventually, but can we take our time? Maybe we could take a vacation together first? I read somewhere that that’s the best way to get know somebody. You know, stuck in a room.”

  “We’ll leave tomorrow,” he said.

  “I can’t. The château is booked solid and there won’t be any breaks until after Christmas,” I said.

  “You’re talking about schedules now? Bon Dieu, you really are Grand-mère’s petite-fille.”

  My posture straightened proudly. “I am.”

  After holding up his hands in surrender, Rémi pulled me in for a passionate kiss. “By the way, your grandmother also wanted me to tell you that rings are supposed to be worn on fingers, so when you’re ready, let me know, because it’s going on your left hand. Until then, wear it on your weird necklace, so I know I’m still in the running,” he whispered as he pulled away.

  “Merci, Rémi,” I said, tears of happiness glistening in my eyes. “Thank you for
understanding.”

  “What’s to understand? Some people need more time than others. I get that about you, Sophie, but you’ll come around. Love always wins in the end,” he said. He wrapped one arm around me and pointed to the orchard with the other one, to flowering trees exploding with white blossoms dancing in the wind. “Cherries will be in season soon. Do you know what that means?”

  “I do,” I said. “We can make Grand-mère’s clafoutis.”

  It was then I realized that Grand-mère would live on through me, through her recipes, through everything she created at the château. She would always be here with me; she wasn’t really gone. She would always live on in my heart—the one I discovered outside of the kitchen, thanks to her. But Grand-mère had passed her dreams on to me. And I wasn’t quite sure how I felt about that, because I used to have dreams of my own.

  Rémi clasped his hand around mine. “Ready?”

  “For what?” I asked.

  “To go back in,” he said.

  Rémi kissed me, pulling me in close, his breath a whisper on my neck, before he opened the door. My thoughts melted like butter on a hot skillet. Aside from Grand-mère, didn’t I have everything? I was a woman. I was a chef. And I could have both love and success on my own terms.

  “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” I said.

  Le Dessert

  This is my invariable advice to people: Learn how to cook—try new recipes, learn from your mistakes, be fearless, and above all, have fun.

  —JULIA CHILD

  discussion questions

  1. In the beginning of the novel, Sophie is chasing her one and only dream, but it’s snatched from her grasp. Have you ever chased a dream that didn’t come to fruition? What did you do to make amends with yourself? How did Sophie pick herself up from the beginning of the story until the end? How did she change? How did you change?