Three French Hens, Two Macarons, and Lovers in a Bakery: A Love Story Served With Indulgent French Desserts

by Noelle Love

  “I’m not happy,” Aubin says at the sight of Margot in his foyer, hands filled with food. Thinking he was angry that she brought the food up herself rather than allowing it to be delivered Margot replied, “The delivery man was out and I thought you might be hungry sooner. I don’t mind at all.” Looking at his face it was clear that the food is not what Aubin was referring to. “What’s wrong?” she asked, setting the bags down and touching his arm. “It’s not going to work, me and you, if you don’t do something that my family can be proud of. These days, women are expected to do more than dress well and stay thin. Women can run businesses and make money. Why can’t you do something like that?”

  Margot didn’t know what to say. Aubin had never mentioned that he wasn’t anything but pleased with her. Last night, in fact, while she was giving him head he sang her praises like never before. “Why do I need to make money when…” “When I have so much?” Aubin interrupted. “No, that’s not what I meant,” Margot said, frustrated because that is exactly what she meant. “My dad met a woman last night, two years younger than you, that opened a clothing store right beneath the Eiffel Tower. She made over a million last year. You could at least do that Margot.” “But I don’t know the first thing about running a business. I write a gossip column.” Aubin was silent. Margot could tell that he had gotten into an argument with his father. That’s the only reason for all of this business talk out of left field. Margot sat down next to Aubin who was now rubbing his temples on his leather sofa. “Don’t worry about your father,” she whispered into his ear. “My father?” Aubin stood up. “You think I’m saying this because of him? Fuck, Margot. When are you going to get it? I can’t marry you if you’re not successful. I wouldn’t want to. Right now, I don’t want to.”

  Margot felt like all of the life her father had breathed into her as a young girl left her body at once. If Aubin didn’t marry her all of her plans were ruined, not to mention, she really did love him. Scared, Margot did the one thing she knew might make things better. She took off her dress herself, slid off her boyfriend’s pants, and began to suck his penis. The harder she sucked the better she felt. She could figure something out. She would do anything necessary to keep Aubin and convince him that she was worthy of the Guillory name.

  The next morning Margot signed the papers on a lease for a small space at the foot of the Eiffel Tower. Immediately she found Zenna, who was presently walking down a set of invisible stairs, her face painted white and her long red hair tucked away under a black hat. “I’m opening a flower shop,” she announced to her friend. “Flowers?” Zenna said. “What the fuck am I going to do at a flower shop?” Of course, thought Margot, she would get Zenna to help her run the business. It would give her friend a job and give herself a perfect partner in crime, someone to bounce ideas off of, someone who could show up if she had a late night. “Did I say flower shop? I meant bakery?” Zenna’s eyes lit up, apparently unconcerned about the quick change of plans from her friend. “Bakery? That I can do,” Zenna smiled devilishly. “Coty,” Zenna called to her son, “We’re going with Aunt Margot. We’re going to open a bakery.”

  A quick four weeks past and in that time the space Margot leased transformed into a delightful little bakery. Margot quit her job at the magazine, a few months earlier than she had planned but convinced it would help secure a ring around her finger, so totally worth it. Zenna officially finished her courses at the local pastry school, speeding up the process by several months by sleeping with one of the instructors. Her instructor gave her an “A+” on her final exam, which involved perfecting the art of filling éclairs with cream, citing that filling something with cream and taking the cream out of something, whether with your mouth, vagina, or otherwise, was pretty much the same thing.

  The sign was hung out front. The Two Macarons was officially open for business. Margot opened the doors for their first day, knowing that she, like the woman Aubin spoke about a month ago who started this whole thing, was going to be successful. The universe nodded in agreement and sent a little old man by the name of Basile their way. “A raspberry macaron and an espresso,” he said, unaware that he was the bakery’s very first customer, but pleased to hav two attractive women helping him to what would become his seat at a small square table near the window. For hours he watched Margot and Zenna giggle like schoolgirls, stocking their cases with colorful macarons and discussing the extravagant wedding that was looming in Margot’s, so therefore their, future.

  The macaron, the women, the view – Basile would definitely be back. There was something special about the place and he liked it very much.

  Raspberry Macarons with Rose Buttercream

  Makes 3 Dozen Sandwiches

  Ingredients

  2 cups powdered sugar

  1 cup almond flour, sifted

  3 large egg whites

  2 ½ teaspoons granulated sugar

  1/8 teaspoon salt

  Food coloring, optional

  For the filling

  4 cups frozen raspberries

  1 cup + 6 tablespoons granulated sugar, divided

  2 large egg whites

  10 tablespoons unsalted butter at room temperature, cut

  ½ teaspoon rose water

  Directions

  Prepare two baking sheets by lining them with parchment paper.

  In a large bowl, sift together the powdered sugar and almond flour. In a separate bowl, combine the egg whites, granulated sugar, and salt, and beat with an electric mixer to form peaks. Fold this mixture into the almond mixture until just combined. Place half of the batter into a pastry bag with a plain tip and pipe onto the prepared baking sheets to create the cookies. Be sure to leave about an inch of space between each cookie, as they will spread when baked.

  If desired, you can use food coloring to dye the batter before placing into the pastry bag in order to get the colorful macaron cookies that are so popular today.

  Before placing in the oven, allow the batter to rest in cookie form at room temperature for 15 to 20 minutes. Meanwhile, preheat your oven’s temperature to 375 degrees F. Place the cookies in the oven and bake for 5 minutes. Adjust your oven’s temperature to 325 degrees and bake the cookies for another 10 minutes or until they appear puffed and slightly gold on top.

  Let the cookies cool on their sheets for 5 to 10 minutes before removing from the parchment paper and cooling completely on wire racks.

  To make the filling boil the raspberries and a cup of the sugar in a large saucepan, stirring to dissolve the sugar. Continue cooking the raspberries until the juice thickens and the berries themselves become soft. Strain ½ cup of the mixture into a small bowl and allow to cool. Place the remaining unstrained raspberry mixture in a separate bowl and cover to cool.

  In a heatproof mixing bowl, combine the egg whites, 6 tablespoons of sugar, and ¼ teaspoon of salt. Simmer water in a large saucepan and place the mixing bowl on top. Place a candy thermometer in the mixing bowl and cook until it reads 140 degrees F; then remove from heat. Be sure to stir the mixture often as it cooks. Once done cooking, use an electric mixer to beat the mixture until it forms a stiff meringue, about 5 minutes. Continue mixing as you add in the butter, a tablespoon or two at a time. Then add in the rose water and 3 tablespoons of the strained raspberry mixture, beating to combine until smooth. Place this mixture into a pastry bag with a plain tip.

  To assemble the macarons, spread a ½ teaspoon of unstrained jam onto the flat sides of half of the cookies. Use the pastry bag filled with the buttercream to top the remaining half of the cookies, working in a spiral from the outside in on each cookie. Press a jam-topped cookie on top of a buttercream topped cookie and gently press together. Place the finished macarons on a parchment lined baking sheet, cover, and refrigerate for several hours or overnight before serving.

  3

  One Year Ago – The Two Macarons was more successful than either Margot or Zenna could have imagined thanks in part to their newest best friend, and the only other employee at
the bakery, Tali. Every day they opened their doors to an eager line out front. Before closing the line would reappear with tired Parisians and camera loaded tourists looking for a sweet ending to their day. The orders would clear their front cases and even dip into the reserves in the back on occasion. The only sweets left in the store by closing were the goodies Zenna reserved for her son who had become accustomed to ludicrous amounts of sugar each day. As far as Zenna could tell, however, there were no detrimental effects to the boy’s health so she carried on indulging his growing sweet tooth.

  More serious than the other two girls and far more practical, Tali was often the one responsible for staying late in order to fill the cases with delectable delights for the next morning. While many people would grumble about being left in the bakery alone all night, solely responsible for the business’s ability to open its doors the next day, Tali enjoyed the solitude, finding it a very conducive environment for her imagination.

  Margot was still in line, with so many other young women in Paris, for a proposal, but had plenty of reasons for why Aubin was making her wait. Like a true friend, Zenna helped fuel the excuses and agreed with the most outrageous, in order to keep her friend (who was now also the one who signed her paychecks) sane and pleasant. Zenna had a bad feeling about Aubin and the whole situation. She had gotten to know Aubin from different angle than Margot. And from the perspective she had, he appeared to be a womanizing dick. But Zenna kept her mouth shut. And when that wasn’t possible, she kept it full.

  One night, after a particularly busy day, Margot and Zenna found themselves alone in the front of the bakery, organizing the orders that they would be busy preparing well into the night. The conversation turned to Aubin and Zenna found it harder than usual to fake pleasantry. Margot hadn’t heard from him in nearly a week and the excuses she was making for him were beginning to sound more insane than usual. “I just know that his car broke down after driving back from his parents’. He probably didn’t want to bother them,” Margot paused, “You know because they’re so busy. So he didn’t call and, well, he probably is walking back to Paris now.” “And he hasn’t called to tell you because?” Zenna probed. “Because he’s going to surprise me. I’m going to be like ‘Oh no! He left me.’ And then, boom, proposal.” Zenna turned around to take off her apron so that she could roll her eyes without offending her friend.

  The small chime of the door twirled them both around from behind the counter. “Aubin!” Margot squealed. Margot was about to take off running into the arms of her boyfriend when she spied something blonde on his heels. She blinked several times hoping to un-see what she had just saw, but to no avail. There was definitely a blonde bimbo (verifiably, Margot thought, considering the fact that her mouth, which was just above a very bad, but very big boob job, was chomping away on pink bubble gum at eight o’clock on a Tuesday evening). “American,” Zenna whispered. Maybe, Margot thought. A cousin? A young aunt? The woman who gave him a ride to the bakery after picking an exhausted Aubin up off the side of the road?

  Margot attempted to make eye contact with Aubin, hoping to sort the whole matter out silently, but he evaded it and playfully nudged the blonde. “What do you want babe?” A capitalized “babe”, a proper name “babe”, Margot hoped. Zenna jumped in, observing her friend paralyzed in thought. “Two financiers Zenna,” Aubin said with an inappropriate wink. “Let’s get the berry ones!” Babe shouted. “A couple of blackberry financiers,” he corrected. Zenna filled the purple bag, hoping Margot would work up the courage to say something or at least kick him in the balls, but she remained stuck in the tangled mess that was surely now her mind. Zenna handed the bag to Aubin in exchange for a handful of cash. “I don’t need change,” he said, handing the bag to Babe and placing his arm around her shoulder. They turned to head out the door and Zenna, not wanting to let him strut away like a cock that just left the henhouse, elbowed Margot. “Do something!” she whispered.

  “What the fuck Aubin?” Margot shouted to the back of his head. Keeping his arm around Babe he stopped and turned around. “Felicia was hungry and this was the closest bakery. The food’s not bad so I figured what the hell.” Felicia, damn it, Margot thought, her name spoiling the idea of capital “B” Babe. “I’m sorry,” Margot said directing her attention to Felicia, “but who the hell are you?” She asked the question although she knew exactly what she was going to say – “A naïve little bitch from the States who can put my legs over my head because I practice yoga every day so that your ex-boyfriend can plough me, his new girlfriend, every night.” “His girlfriend,” Felicia answered, leaving the rest unsaid because it was apparently too obvious to bother.

  “It’s over Margot,” Aubin said as he was leaving. “I’m looking for something different.”

  Fucking Blackberry Financiers

  Serves 24 (lying, cheating bastards and their girlfriends)

  Ingredients

  ½ cup + 6 tablespoons unsalted butter

  1 cup thinly sliced almonds

  ½ cup all-purpose flour

  1 ½ cups + 1 tablespoon powdered sugar, and additional for finishing

  5 large egg whites

  2 ½ tablespoons honey

  2 cups blackberries, fresh or frozen and thawed, cut in half

  Directions

  Preheat your oven to 375 degrees F. Prepare two 12-cup mini muffin tins by greasing and set aside.

  Over medium heat, melt the butter in a medium size saucepan. The butter should begin to simmer. Simmer for 5 to 7 minutes, scraping the bottom frequently to make sure it doesn’t burn. Pour the butter and any browned pieces into a medium size bowl; cool for 5 minutes.

  Grind the almonds and flour together in a blender or food processor until fine. Pour the mixture into a medium bowl and whisk in the powdered sugar. Use an electric mixer to beat in the egg whites until the mixture is smooth. Then use a spatula to fold in the honey and browned butter. Depending on the altitude where you live you may need to add additional water or flour to get the correct consistency for the batter.

  Divide the batter between the prepared cups, about a tablespoon in each, and top with several blackberry halves. Place the tins in the preheated oven and bake for 15 minutes or until they are golden brown and springy to the touch. Allow them to cool for 10 minutes in the tins before removing. Before serving, dust with powdered sugar.

  4

  Meanwhile, oblivious to the blow her friend just took, Tali was in the back working on prepping the batters for several of the orders Zenna had just brought back to her. Tali loved to let her mind wander as she baked. The surprise of not knowing where it would take her was exhilarating. Some days she was transported to another time, years, decades, or even centuries in the past and other times she was catapulted into the future, given glimpses of what it held for her – a family, a loyal and kind husband, a small flat with a terrace that spanned from east to west overlooking the Seine so that she could paint both the sunrises and sunsets from the same table.

  Tali was in love with Paris from the day she was born. “The City of Light,” Tali whispered to herself, gazing in awe at the poster her mother kept in her bedroom tucked behind her armoire. Tali’s mother was infatuated with Paris like her daughter, raising the question if a love for all things Parisian is acquired or inherited. Tali believed in the latter, considering that she had no reason to feel so strongly about a city she, or her mother, had never been to.

  The poster on her mother’s wall, Tali remembered, didn’t always hide away in the bedroom. It used to be framed and have a prominent spot on the wall in her parent’s home, which was located just outside the capital, Cardiff. The poster was relocated the day after her father died in a car accident, the night before what would have been her parents’ fifteenth wedding anniversary. Her father always promised that one day he would take Tali’s mother to Paris. He would dance with her in the living room to an old Lucienne Boyer record. The vinyl, warped by the sunlight that poured into the dining room, could only play one song,
Parlez-Moi D’Amour. They would dance for hours, sometimes laughing, sometimes crying, but always smiling. In these treasured moments, Tali learned what true love was and vowed to never settle for anything less.

  Heartbroken, Tali’s mother threw away everything that reminded her of Paris, her husband, and the trip that would never be. The poster, purchased for her by her late husband in place of an engagement ring and placed against her window the night he proposed, was the only thing she kept. Not strong enough to throw it away but too weak to look at it and be reminded of what was lost, she tucked it away behind her wooden armoire. That spot, in the corner of her mother’s bedroom, became an altar for Tali, a place to go to pray, to dream, and to talk to her dad.

  Tali was only ten when her father passed away, but she knew how important Paris was to her mother and, that somewhere, hiding amidst all of the lights, was a piece of her father’s heart. In a small jar in her room, Tali began collecting spare change, saving up for a train ticket that would take her and her mother to Paris some day.

  But broken hearts are hard to mend and sometimes, in severe cases, are irreparable. Fifteen Euros into her savings, Tali’s mother passed away. She died quietly in the hospital early one morning, Tali and her mother’s sister, holding her hands as she left, anxious to be reunited with the love of her life. Tali took her fifteen Euros, the poster of Paris, and moved in with her aunt in her small, two-story stone home in the heart of Swansea. Tali’s aunt was kind, but too practical to allow for any talk of dreaming, which is why Tali began to draw at age eleven. She would draw what she saw, the rundown businesses across the street, her cousin’s obese cat, her mattress on the floor, until she discovered that she could close her eyes and instead draw what she saw in her own handmade world.