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

by Noelle Love

  “Well then,” Tali said, “It sounds like you could use some crepes.” Tali headed back to the kitchen, wondering when both her and Zenna would see their men again. She had a feeling it would be very soon.

  Crepes Suzette with Orange Butter

  Serves 6

  Ingredients

  2 large brown eggs

  ¾ cup all-purpose flour

  ½ cup milk

  1/8 teaspoon sea salt

  ¼ teaspoon granulated sugar

  1/3 cup ice cold water

  1 tablespoon vegetable oil

  1 tablespoon unsalted butter, melted

  For the butter

  6 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened

  ¼ cup + 3 tablespoons granulated sugar

  3 teaspoons freshly grated orange zest

  1/3 cup fresh orange juice

  1 ½ tablespoons cognac

  ¼ cup Grand Marnier

  Directions

  In a mixing bowl combine the eggs, flour, milk, salt, and sugar, whisking until smooth and thick. Add the water, oil, and melted butter, whisking again to combine.

  Rub a bit of butter into the bottom of a small nonstick skillet (about 6” or a crepe pan if available). Heat the skillet over medium-high heat. Place 2 tablespoons of the crepe batter into the prepared skillet, turning until it is distributed evenly on the bottom. After a minute, the edges of the crepe should begin to peel away from the sides. When this happens, flip the crepe. Cook the crepe on the other side for another 10 to 15 seconds or until the bottom starts to show a few brown spots. Turn the skillet over, tapping the crepe out onto a baking sheet. Continue preparing the crepes until all of the batter is used (you should be able to make a dozen crepes).

  To prepare the orange butter, combine the butter, ¼ cup sugar, and orange zest in a blender and run. Begin to add the orange juice a bit at a time with the blender still running until it all has been incorporated.

  Turn on your oven’s broiler. Prepare a large baking sheet with a rim by rubbing the bottom with butter and then sprinkling with sugar. Place a crepe on the baking sheet and then set 2 tablespoons of the orange butter in the center of it. Fold the crepe in half, sealing in the orange butter, and then fold it in half again to make a triangle shape. Continue with the remaining crepes until all are filled and folded. Arrange the crepes so that they all point the same direction, overlapping each other a bit. The remaining 3 tablespoons of sugar should be sprinkled over the finished crepes before placing in the broiler.

  Allow the sugar on the crepes to caramelize in the broiler, which should take about 2 minutes. Carefully transfer the crepes to a heatproof serving platter. In a small saucepan, combine the Grand Marnier and the cognac and heat over medium-high heat. Use a long match to light the alcohols on fire. While still flaming, pour over the crepes. Use a spoon to collect the alcohol that collects around the edges of the platter and continue pouring over the crepes until there are no more flames. Enjoy the crepes immediately.

  17

  Margot looked at her bakery beneath through the steel latticework of the Eiffel Tower. From her view, it looked as if The Two Macarons was closed, barred up, and very much out of business. It’s only a matter of time before that perspective became reality, she thought. The way things were going her bakery would be closed by the end of January. She was late on her bills, she knew, could barely afford to buy the ingredients to make the desserts that no one bought, and, truth be told she was in a way relieved to be able to wash her hands of the whole mess.

  She had become a walking disaster in recent months, floating through life like a dried-up leaf, just avoiding the inevitable – getting crushed. But now, looking at her empty bakery she decided it paired nicely with her empty life, which was only made bearable by night after night of meaningless sex. She was ready to be crushed, to leave this part of her life behind and move on, away from the stupid idea of a bakery, which she really had no idea how to run, and away from Paris. The fact that she had experienced success at all was pure luck. Or, maybe, she thought, life’s cruel way of giving you something, like Aubin, only to pull it away by a string that was attached all along, maybe to teach you a lesson or maybe just to be a bitch.

  Margot sat down on a bench, stalling going into the bakery for as long as she could today. If the bakery did close, what would she do with her life? Would she actually have the balls to move away? Maybe she would. Maybe she would jump on the train and head north, somewhere like Stockholm or Helsinki, where people were less romantic and more realistic, down-to-earth and driven, maybe there she could find herself, or at least be far enough away from the City Of Lights that she wouldn’t have to be reminded of the romance, the life that could have been.

  Laughing, Margot thought of another option - moving to the United States. There she could learn yoga, use her flexibility and alluring accent to steal men away from their girlfriends, and then fuck them just for the hell of it. She might not have luck on her side, but she was sure that karma hadn’t deserted her. And karma definitely owed her one.

  She stood up, deciding that she would figure out an exit plan soon enough. Only a few more weeks in Paris, a few more weeks as owner of The Two Macarons, and then she would disappear. She liked that idea. But then, as she approached the sidewalk in front of her bakery, she caught a glimpse of Zenna, happily arranging the pastries in the front, smiling and chatting with Basile. She thought about Zenna’s son and how sweet he was. She thought about having to tell Zenna she was out of a job. Telling Coty that his mom no longer had money to pay rent for the apartment he had come to know as home.

  And then there was Basile. The bakery was his home and meant more to him than she could understand. Basile needed the bakery just like Zenna, just like Coty.

  Her heart sank. She couldn’t just let all of this crumble. Margot had been called lots of names in her life, slut, bitch, blonde, but never conceited, and she meant to keep it that way.

  “Damn it,” Margot sighed, knowing that she would have to fight and fight hard to keep the bakery open. Even if she didn’t want it anymore, she knew three people who desperately needed it. And she was not going to be the one to take it away from them.

  An old woman and her two grandchildren approached the door of the bakery just as Margot was about to go inside herself. "Allow me," Margot said as she opened the door, hoping to make a good impression, for what would most likely their only customer that afternoon. The woman, who was dressed in blue riding pants, brown knee-high boots, and a wool sweater, white like her hair, took her grandchildren, a little boy about five and a girl maybe six or seven still in their uniforms having just got out of school, by the hand up to peek inside the cases, asking them to say the colors and names of each dessert.

  “Let me know how I can help you,” Margot said to her, making her way behind the counter and slipping on her apron, whispering an apology for her tardiness to Zenna.

  “It will take us a bit to get through all of these,” the woman said, looking up at Zenna and Margot with a smile.

  “No hurry,” Margot replied, leaving her in the hands of Zenna as she made her way to the back to see what Tali was up to.

  Tali appeared uncharacteristically happy, almost chipper. There was a glow about her Margot observed, as if she had swallowed something radioactive. Or, more likely, Margot decided considering Tali’s graceful and unhurried movements, like she were shot by a very large arrow by a notorious naked angel. In fact, the arrow was still protruding right out of her back, directly behind her heart. Margot prepared herself for a conversation with love-drugged Tali, trying to muster up the best attitude possible so as not to offend her. Margot was actually a bit intrigued – who could have won Tali’s heart? She was always so reserved and quiet. Had she even spoke with the guy? Maybe it was just a crush.

  Having noticed Margot’s presence and unable to hold her enamored tongue any longer Tali wiped the flour off her hands onto her white apron and looked Margot in the eyes, grinning like a little girl who just blew
out all the candles on her birthday cake. “I met someone,” she said nearly in a whisper, not wanting to scare the love away.

  “I can tell,” Margot laughed.

  Tali in love, Margot thought. That’s interesting. Actually, everything about Tali was interesting. She was unquestionably the most beautiful woman Margot had ever seen in person and yet she emitted some sort of “Don’t-Fuck-With-Me” vibe that kept the majority of men at bay. Tali was quiet, reserved, and even when faced with the advances of incredibly attractive men, managed to turn them away, cool but kind, her face serious enough to make sure they would never try again. In Margot's mind, there was a very good chance Tali had never been laid in her life, which was such a pity, an incredible waste.

  Margot knew many men who would pay top dollar for a girl like that. So much money, in fact, that after a couple nights she could save her bakery (and probably buy herself a nice pair of shoes while she was at it!) Prostitute Tali. Margot played with the idea as she broke Tali’s just made Nougat Noir with the back of her knife. The slab broke into small pieces, getting her hands dirty, dirty like Tali could, and would, become. Margot The Pimptress – it had a nice ring to it. Tali even had a room practically upstairs. The bakery could become a front for a very lucrative business. She had all the ingredients, now she just had to convince Tali to hop in the oven.

  She looked at Tali with the eyes of a potential nighttime client. She would definitely do – do well, do hard, do long, and orgasm with mouth open, hands gripping the headboard behind her.

  Tali, aware of Margot’s penetrating stare, guessed that she wanted to hear more about the man she was in love with so she added, “He’s handsome.” She blushed as she smiled. Hmm, Margot thought smiling back at Tali, it would be harder than she thought to get Tali on board with her new idea, realizing that not everyone was as sexually enlightened as she was.

  Margot began to prepare another batch of the dark nougat, the almost black color matching her perverse plan. As she mixed the sugar and honey together over the stainless steel stove, she wondered exactly how much a doe-eyed virgin like Tali would go for in today’s sex market.

  Nougat Noir

  Serves 6 to 12

  (The more sinister the plot the more you will need to eat)

  Ingredients

  1 pound roasted almonds, hot

  1/3 pound roasted hazelnuts, hot

  8 ½ tablespoons honey

  1 1/3 cup granulated sugar

  Directions

  Prepare a large marble slab by greasing with oil or butter. If you want to use a silicone baking sheet instead you won’t need to grease it.

  Combine the sugar and honey together in a saucepan and heat over medium. Use a candy thermometer to monitor the mixture until it reaches 330 degrees F. Then stir in the roasted nuts and mix thoroughly. Pour the hot candy mixture onto the greased slab or silicone sheet, using the back of a spoon to spread it evenly.

  Allow the mixture to cool and harden for 10 minutes. Then use a knife to cut the nougat into small, bite size pieces. Allow the candy to cool for another 10 minutes before serving or packaging in airtight containers.

  18

  Zenna was enjoying watching the woman and her two grandchildren delight in the displays of pastry in the front cases, darting back and forth, commenting on the decoration. Seeing people’s eyes light up in response to what she had made was her favorite part about baking. Unfortunately, people weren’t always aware of the pleasure bakers get from having their work admired, especially when in a hurry, saying nothing more than a “that there” and “thanks” before leaving. That’s why children were Zenna’s favorite. They were never in a rush and spoke their minds, giving her sound feedback and ideas for her next confections.

  Spotting Coty walking through the front door, still in his school uniform too, backpack slung over one shoulder, Zenna excused herself from behind the counter for a moment to ask her son how his last day was before Christmas break and if he was hungry, which of course he was. Coty took a seat at the table behind Basile, pulling out pages of arithmetic that were due in January when he returned to school.

  Zenna shook her head. What kind of teacher would assign a 5-year-old homework, especially over a long vacation? Hoping to cheer him up she brought Coty a cup of warm chocolate. She kneeled on the ground next to Coty’s chair, looking over his shoulder to double-check his work, 1+1 = 2, 2+2 = 4, and so on. “You’re doing great, sweetie,” Zenna said hugging Coty as she rocked forward to stand up and get Coty the special snack she had made him earlier this afternoon.

  But the intense look on Basile’s face stopped Zenna from getting up. Basile was turned slightly in his chair, enough that she could see his profile from her position behind him. Having shifted his gaze away from the book, Basile was focused on the face of the old woman at the counter. This type of behavior was extremely unusual for Basile. He was not the type to come to a public spot to people watch. To the contrary Basile came to places like the bakery to escape the real world, often so caught up in his book or work that he very rarely even looked up to check the time or observe whatever commotion might be occurring in the bakery. He was there solely for his coffee, his pastry, and his three “French Hens” – nothing more.

  Zenna remembered the time last summer that an entire busload of nude tourists unloaded in front of the bakery. Loud and exuberant, the group began shouting about taking pictures of The Tower. The nudists laughed, picked their cameras up off their bare chests, and began pointing their lenses not in the direction of The Tower Zenna assumed they had meant (The Eiffel, of course, like every other busload that comes through every hour), but rather at a man who had began posing on a bench just outside the bakery’s window, legs wide to flank the enormous erection he had on display. After getting their picture of the tower, many of the tourists began coming inside the bakery, placing orders, waving penises, breasts, and vaginas in every direction. And dear old Basile didn’t even look up once.

  Today, however, was very different. Basile's focus was glued on this lovely old woman who was now standing at the counter ready to place an order for herself and her two little companions. Realizing that she needed to move but not wanting to break the spell that Basile was under, Zenna quietly stood up and walked the back way behind the counter. Basile remained so stoic that Zenna thought for a brief moment that he may have had a stroke.

  “Just a moment,” said the woman, acknowledging the tug on her pocket that came from a little boy who had changed his mind about what he wanted. While Zenna waited for minds to be made up, she pulled out the apple tart she had made for Coty and sprinkled the top with gold leaf flecks to add a bit of Christmas magic for her son who was still working away on his homework.

  The woman stood up, having just had the final decision whispered into her ear, as Zenna simultaneously ran her hand over the counter, brushing the stray gold flecks into the air. The small puff of gold floated just above the woman’s head, catching the sunlight just right so that they illuminated her face with a brilliant glow as they floated down to the floor. The woman glowed for only a brief moment, a moment so brief, in fact, that unless someone was looking for it, it would have been missed entirely.

  “You have a lovely bakery,” the woman smiled at Zenna. “It was so hard to make up our minds!” She reached her hand forward. “I’m Oralie. I don’t think we have met.” Zenna shook her hand and introduced herself, pleased to put their order in a small box to take home (three macarons – all different colors, a pink napoleon decorated with snowflakes, a cream puff drizzled with chocolate, and a small pumpkin pie that Oralie said was for a get-together she was having tonight with a few friends.)

  Oralie handed the box to the little boy, who was happy to be entrusted with such an important duty, and took the hand of the little girl. As they made their way out of the bakery Oralie paused and smiled at Basile, who was still entranced and unable to acknowledge her, let alone her beautiful gesture.

  Coty, who had taken a break from his bo
ring math work, watched this scene from his seat at the table behind Basile. Despite his young age, Coty understood every look, every gesture. Although they rarely talked, Basile was near and dear to Coty’s heart. Growing up without a father was hard on Coty and he desperately wanted a male figure in his life. Age didn’t matter, Coty thought. As long as the man was respectful and kind and, most importantly, present, he would do just fine as a dad. Basile, in Coty’s eyes, was the closest thing he had to a real dad and, seeing now that his dad was in love, he made a pact with himself to make sure that the old woman who had just left would fall in love with Basile too and, like his mom would read to him from his bedtime stories, would “live happily ever after and have a lot of children.” Coty needed a good idea, one that would bring the two together forever.

  Zenna returned to Coty’s table with a just-cut slice of apple tart dusted with gold, much to Coty’s amazement. He grabbed his fork and dug in, his mind busy with romantic plans. Zenna tousled his hair with her fingers and, seeing as there were no other customers in the bakery, took a seat on the other side of the table. She stole a bite of the tart and decided to help him finish his work so that he could enjoy his Christmas break. Stupid teachers, she thought, as she wrote 3+3 = 6.

  French Apple Tart with Gold Dust