Cancans, Croissants, and Caskets

by Mary McHugh

  “Don’t you love that police officer?” Tina said. “Can you imagine a New York police officer doing that?”

  “Not really,” I said, my mind back in the kitchen.

  When the egg whites and the cream were just right, Madame took the mixers and thanked her helpers, who returned to their seats.

  “Now we are coming to the best part. I will fold the eggs whites into our mixture, which has now cooled. And then I’ll fold in the whipped cream. Do any of you know what I mean by ‘fold’?”

  Mary Louise and Officer Paulhe raised their hands. Madame said, “Madame Temple, tell us.”

  “You take a rubber spatula and sort of cut down through the cream and then fold it back up through the lemon mixture. You turn the bowl a little bit and repeat cutting and folding and turning the bowl until the whipped cream or the egg whites are thoroughly mixed in.”

  “Very good,” Madame said. “I would only add that you want to do this very gently to preserve the delicacy of the frozen soufflé.”

  She did just that, first folding in the egg whites and then the whipped cream. When it was perfectly blended, she poured it into the soufflé dish with its waxed paper collar. There was too much of this confection to fit into the bowl, so the rest was held in place by the waxed paper. She smoothed the top of the mixture, said, “Voilà!” and put the dish in the freezer.

  “It takes a while to freeze,” she said. “But I made another one before you came and will let you taste it soon.”

  My whole being thanked her for this.

  “To finish up our cooking lesson today,” Madame said, “we will take our tarte tatin out of the oven and see if we did a good job.”

  We applauded, the police officer loudest of all.

  “I’d better do this last part,” Madame said, “because it’s a little tricky.”

  She took the pie out of the oven and very carefully turned it upside down onto a large pan. The pie crust was on the bottom and the apples were now on top. She sprinkled sugar all over the top of this mouth-watering delight and slipped it under the broiler for a brief time until the sugar turned a luscious light brown.

  When it came out of the oven, it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I was so hungry by this time that I would have eaten it with my fingers, but Madame had set a table in another part of the kitchen with a rose linen cloth and pale pink roses in bowls in the center. She told us to sit wherever we wanted, and then she put a square of the tarte in front of each of us.

  One taste and I was transported into some kind of pie heaven. Just the right balance of sweetness and tartness. A crust that was so light I barely had to chew it. I knew I could never make this at home, but I planned to encourage Mary Louise to cook it as soon as we got back to New Jersey. She read my mind.

  “Can’t wait till I try this at home,” she said.

  “Me too,” I said. “As soon as possible.”

  “Madame,” Mary Louise said, “could you please give us the recipes for the tarte tatin and the lemon soufflé?”

  “Of course, my dear,” she said. “That’s part of this class. I have them all written out for you to take with you.”

  We were still savoring every bite of the tatin, when Madame went to the fridge and brought out a previously made frozen lemon soufflé. She sprinkled the top with fresh raspberries and spooned out portions for each of us.

  It was a perfect counterpart to the warm tarte tatin. The cold and infinitely delicious, lighter-than-light, frozen lemon soufflé left us speechless. With our group that’s a small miracle.

  Finally, Gini looked around the table at all our happy faces and said, “Madame, we will remember you forever. Thank you for this feast.”

  “You are delightful,” she said. “I must come and see you dance. How long will you be on the Bateau Mouche?”

  “Unfortunately,” Tina said, “the rest of our performances have been canceled because of—um—a couple of disastrous occurrences.”

  “She means a couple of murders, Madame Arnaud,” Gini said.

  “I read about them,” she said. “I didn’t know you were involved. Do they know who did it?”

  “We have a pretty good idea,” Gini said, “But they need proof.”

  “Well, I’m sorry I won’t get to see you,” Madame said. “If anything changes and you do dance again before you leave, will you let me know?”

  “Of course we will,” Tina said. “Thank you again for today, Madame. We’d better be on our way.”

  Madame’s little black spaniel sat patiently nearby.

  “What a good dog,” Pat said.

  “He’s well trained,” Madame said. “He knows he can’t beg for food when I have guests.” She held out a piece of tarte tatin for him to taste, and he gobbled it up in seconds.

  “Is he called ‘Woofy’ because he woofs?” I asked.

  “No, actually, his real name is Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart,” she said. “Woofy, for short. I love Mozart’s music.”

  We all leaned down for a last pat to Woofy’s soft head as we left the apartment with Officer Paulhe. Madame handed Mary Louise the recipes as she left.

  RECIPES FOR TARTE TATIN AND FROZEN LEMON SOUFFLÉ

  Tarte Tatin

  Pie Crust

  1 cup flour

  tsp. salt

  ¼ cup sugar

  ¼ lb. butter

  3 tbsps. ice water

  Filling

  6 tbsps. butter

  ½ cup sugar

  3 cup peeled, sliced Red Delicious apples

  To make the crust

  1. Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.

  2. Sift the flour, salt, and sugar into a bowl.

  3. Add the butter with a pastry blender.

  4. Add the ice water and form mixture into a ball.

  5. Roll out the pastry to make a nine-inch circle.

  6. Grease a deep nine-inch pie tin with three tbsps. of the butter.

  7. Sprinkle three tbsps. of sugar over the butter in the pie tin.

  8. Put the apples in layers over the butter and sugar.

  9. Dot the apples with four tbsps. of butter.

  10. Sprinkle three tbsps. of sugar on top of the butter and apples.

  11. Cover the apples with the nine-inch pie crust.

  12. Bake for thirty minutes.

  13. Turn off the oven. Turn on the broiler.

  14. Turn the pie tin upside down over a broiler pan very carefully. The pie crust will now be on the bottom and the apples on top.

  15. Sprinkle apples with whatever sugar is left.

  16. Put the pan under the broiler just briefly, until the sugar is brown.

  Frozen Lemon Soufflé

  1 tbsp. gelatin

  ¼ cup cold water

  6 egg yolks

  1 cup sugar

  cup lemon juice (squeezed from lemons, not

  from a bottle)

  1 tbsp. grated lemon rind

  4 egg whites

  1½ cups heavy cream

  1 cup fresh raspberries

  1. Take a 1-quart soufflé dish and tie buttered waxed paper around it so that it extends three inches above the soufflé dish.

  2. Put the gelatin in the water to soften it.

  3. Put the egg yolks and sugar in a saucepan and beat them until they are very thick and light. Add the lemon juice.

  4. Keep beating them over a low flame, without letting them boil, until they are thick.

  5. Stir in the gelatin until it dissolves.

  6. Add the lemon rind.

  7. Cool the mixture.

  8. Beat the egg whites and fold into the cooled mixture.

  9. Whip the heavy cream and fold that in.

  10. Pour the mixture into the soufflé dish. The waxed paper will hold the part that rises above the dish.

  11. Freeze the soufflé until it’s set.

  12. Peel off the waxed paper

  13 Sprinkle the fresh raspberries on top of the soufflé.

  14. Enjoy!

  Janice’
s Fashion Tip: Yes, you will need an umbrella for those sudden summer showers in Paris.

  Chapter 17

  Parlez-Vous Français?

  “Thanks, guys,” I said when we were outside. “I feel much better. That was great. Now what?”

  “Mesdames,” our sweet police officer said, “I’m afraid our next stop won’t be as good as this one.”

  Uh-oh, I thought. What terrible thing does he have in mind? This was not like me at all. I’m usually up for anything that comes along, but that was before I was almost killed. That tends to make you a little nervous for a while.

  “What’s happening, Officer Paulhe?” Tina asked.

  “Captain Chantal just texted me,” he said. “We are to return to the bateau to meet her there with the rest of the band and Suzette. She’s sending a car here to meet us.”

  “Is Alan Anderson going to be there?” I asked. “I don’t want to go anywhere if he’s there.”

  “La capitaine didn’t mention him,” the officer said. “But you must not worry, madame. I will not let anything happen to you.”

  I was so grateful to this officer I wanted to give him a big kiss on the cheek, but I knew that wouldn’t be appropriate. “Merci, Monsieur Paulhe,” I said.

  “Ah, you are beginning to speak French,” he said, smiling at me.

  “I wish,” I said. “Gini, maybe you could teach us a little Frenchbefore we leave. You know, just simple phrases that we can use the next time we come to Paris.”

  “Of course, Jan,” she said. “That’s ‘bien sûr’ in French. I’ll try to remember to do that. It’s such a beautiful language. I’m glad you want to learn it.”

  “At least the basics, Gini,” Pat said.

  “I think you have a very willing teacher already,” Gini said, grinning at Pat.

  “If you mean Geneviève,” Pat said, “she speaks perfect English.”

  “Just saying,” Gini said. “You know, useful phrases, like ‘Je t’aime.’ ”

  “Knock it off, Gini,” Pat said. “I told you it’s not like that with us. We don’t say ‘I love you’ to each other in English or French.”

  “Not yet anyway,” Gini said.

  “Leave her alone, Gini,” Tina said. Gini never knows when to stop.

  “Ah, voilà,” said Officer Paulhe.

  A police van pulled up next to us and we piled in. Officer Paulhe sat in front with the driver.

  “To the bateau,” he said.

  Fifteen minutes later we were at the pier. We could see Captain Chantal waiting for us on the boat. My stomach was doing flip-flops as I followed my friends up the ramp. Our guardian officer was right behind me.

  The band and Suzette were in their usual places at the front of the vessel. Ken waved hello to me as we joined them. Suzette looked startled when she saw us, but quickly regained her composure and nodded without smiling. Her shih tzu yipped when he saw us. She popped some kind of doggy treat into his mouth.

  “I am sorry to disrupt your day,” the captain said, “but Jean asked me to bring you here. Go ahead, Jean. Explain your problem to our American friends.”

  “I must ask a great favor of you,” he said to us. “Nobody canceled the program for tonight. I thought somebody else had called it off, but it seems a large crowd of Americans booked our bateau to celebrate a birthday of one their group—her sixtieth birthday. She asked especially for our band and Suzette and for you. We couldn’t disappoint her. Could you possibly dance tonight? I know it’s short notice and I . . .”

  “Of course we will, Jean,” Tina said. “We were supposed to dance on this boat all week, so we will certainly be here.”

  Jean’s face reflected his relief. “Thank you, Tina,” he said. “What would you like to dance to tonight?”

  “Do you know ‘Pigalle’?” Tina asked.

  “Mais oui! Bien sûr,” Jean said. “It’s one of our favorites. And Suzette loves it, n’est-ce pas, Suzette?”

  “Comment?” she said, not looking at him. “Quoi?” She was clearly annoyed.

  “ ‘Pigalle,’ ” Jean repeated. “Is it okay if we do that song tonight?”

  “I don’t care what you do,” Suzette said, turning her back on us and starting to speak to Claude in French.

  “What’s wrong with Suzette?” Gini asked.

  “She’s bummed,” Jean said. “She thought she was leaving for New York tomorrow, and now it looks as if she won’t be able to.”

  “Why not? Gini asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Jean answered. “Something about Anderson being delayed, I think.”

  At the mention of Anderson, I felt nauseous. I sat down. My friends gathered around me.

  “Are you all right, Jan?” Mary Louise asked. “You don’t look good.”

  “Give me a minute,” I said.

  Jean came over to me. He looked concerned. “Qu’est-ce qu’il y a, ma petite?” he asked me. I assumed he was asking me what the matter was. I particularly liked his calling me petite.

  “Jean,” I said, “will Anderson be here tonight when we perform?

  “I’m not sure,” Jean said. “I’m never sure with him. Why? Did you want to see him?”

  “No, I’d rather not see him,” I said.

  Captain Chantal put her hand on my shoulder. “I’ll make sure he’s not here, Janice,” she said. “We’re still investigating him.”

  “You’re investigating Anderson?” Jean asked. “Why?”

  “We don’t know if he has proper clearance to take Suzette out of the country,” the captain said. “Until we are sure, they cannot leave Paris.”

  Suzette turned away from Claude abruptly and exploded in a rapid stream of French at Captain Chantal. Her face was tense and angry, her gestures threatening. I assumed she was protesting the captain’s decision.

  Geneviève answered her quietly but intensely. There was no mistaking her attitude: I’ll decide when you can leave the country. Don’t mess with me, honey.

  Pierrot, the little shih tzu, jumped out of Suzette’s grasp and skittered around, barking at the police captain as loudly as his tiny body could manage, yapping and yipping, defending his mistress with all his might.

  He broke the tension. It was hard to stay angry watching this fierce little puppy.

  Suzette picked up her tiny dog and soothed him. “Ça va, Pierrot,” she said. “Shhh.” She kissed the top of his head, and he burrowed into her shoulder.

  Suzette straightened up and said to Tina, “Alors, ma chère, shall we rehearse our number for tonight?” She wasn’t smiling.

  “Good idea,” Tina said. “Let’s do a quick run-through of ‘Pigalle,’ just to be sure we get the right tempo and all. OK with you, Jean?”

  “Fine with me,” Jean said.

  Tina alerted all of us while Jean got his band ready to perform, and Suzette put a bowl of food on the floor for Pierrot.

  I love this song. Again, it reminds me of my honeymoon in Paris with Derek because we really liked the section of the city called Pigalle. It’s in Montmartre, and is raunchy and not too safe. The touristy nightclub Moulin Rouge is there in all its flashy glory, featuring topless dancers and lots of skirt-swirling cancans.

  We lined up at the front of the stage. When the band started the fast and joyful strains of the song, Jean blasting away on his horn, Yves actually awake and drumming, Claude plunking his cello, and my friend Ken playing fast and furiously on the keyboard, we swung into our dance with a vengeance. While Suzette sang of sidewalk cafés, taxi’s horns, naughty ladies working the streets where rich and poor come together, we danced our version of the cancan, backs turned to the audience, skirts lifted up to tease, flashing knees and sparkling, moving feet, never stopping, always promising things we had no intention of delivering, faster and faster until the last line of the song urging visitors to Paree not to miss Pigalle.

  We were breathing hard as we finished and collapsed in chairs nearby as the band and Suzette finished.

  “That was great,” Jean said, out
of breath himself as he congratulated us. “Should go really well tonight.”

  “Thanks Jean,” Tina said. “I’m glad we tried it out first. You played the exact beat we wanted. You’re really good. What time do you want us here tonight?”

  “Come about seven and you’ll perform at eight-thirty. OK?”

  “Perfect,” Tina said. “See you at seven.”

  Officer Paulhe—though we all called him Jacques now—appeared, beaming at us as if we were his own sisters. “Magnifique,” he said to us.

  We followed him off the boat to the police van that would take us back to the apartment.

  While Jacques stood guard outside our door, we scrounged around in the fridge to find some food to sustain us until the performance that evening. I didn’t really need much. I was still full from our tarte tatin and frozen soufflé, but I needed a little something to get me through our strenuous dance coming up.

  There was some cheese—brie and chèvre—a couple of loaves of French bread that weren’t too stale, a bottle of chardonnay, and some chicken liver paté. My idea of a feast, actually.

  We spread it all out on our table and gathered around it to munch and sip and talk about our Paris adventure.

  “How are you doing, Jan?” Tina asked. “Are you OK for tonight and one more day here? If you have any qualms at all about staying, I’ll cancel tomorrow and we’ll fly back in the morning.”

  “I think I’m all right, Tina,” I said, in between bites of the chèvre and paté. “I feel safe with our nice police officer out there guarding me. I don’t see how Anderson or Ahmet can get at me again with him there.”

  “Geneviève promised me she wouldn’t let anything happen to you,” Pat said. “I believe her. She’s really good at her job.”

  “I’d feel better if she could find some clue, some evidence, of my experience last night,” I said. “Otherwise, they have no reason to arrest Alan. I won’t have that police guy out there with me forever. Alan or Ahmet could get rid of me back in New York.”

  “She’ll find something,” Pat said. “Don’t worry, Jan. She’s extremely thorough, and she has her whole staff working on it.”