Baby on Board

22

My business is in chaos. The weather had been mild the past few days, so everyone in London was out enjoying the fact that it wasn't cold, windy or rainy. Of course, this meant that the shop was struggling to cope with the footfall and we were having to work twice as hard and twice as fast to keep up with demand. This would have been ok on any other weekend but this weekend? 

Oh, no. This weekend it was mental. All hands on deck, kind of hectic. Why? Because Arnaud decided that this weekend was the best time to take a day off! Silly man. He's never taken a day off before in his life. The man is a workaholic perfectionist who would rather cut off his own arm than leave the kitchen in Nate's hands. This is not to say that Nate isn't capable of running the kitchen by himself because let's face it, if Arnaud Bertrand trained you, you're pretty bloody good. It's just... Nate isn't Arnaud and without the Frenchman, we were a little at a loss. 

I had to abandon my paperwork to run down to the kitchen and try to whip up anything and everything that I knew how to make. After a failed attempt at making macarons, I threw away everything that I had made and went about making a tried and tested summer friendly dessert. Tarte aux fruits avec crème pâtissière. 

Putting the finishing touches to the fruit that adorned my offerings, I slid the seven trayfuls to Aimee, Keira and Martha and told them to change the menu boards to show that we were running a summer fruits promotion. When the kitchen door shut, I turned to Nate and mimicked his movements by leaning against the counter and sighing in relief. 

"I know I complain about Arnaud," Nate said, wincing as he vocalised his thoughts. "But I never want him to leave me again. Seriously, I cannot cope with another day like this again."

"Agreed," I said, bumping my shoulder into Nate's. Looking at the clock and seeing that the midday rush would be over soon, I smile to myself. "We've made enough tarts to keep customers happy and because of the hellish day we've had, I may even close up early. Surely, we deserve to enjoy some of this weather, too, huh?"

Nate high fived me and gave me one of his notorious big smiles. I asked him not to mention the early close to the other because I knew how they'd react, so instead, I took the time to sit with Nate and plan some menus for the next few weeks. Even without Arnaud here, Nate and I had worked with him long enough to know which ideas he'd like and which he'd curse in French at. As we were moving into a new season, we had different ingredients at our disposal and I was aware that Arnaud was keen to move away from tried and tested fruit desserts. 

My family in France had been quick in sending over some ideas for menus, especially my cousin, Olivier. He runs one of the family restaurants in Paris and had finely tuned taste buds, meaning that he knew exactly what would work well together. Olivier had also been trained by Arnaud, back in the day, so all the recipes Olivier had sent would have come out of Arnaud's personal recipe book. 

"Arnaud would hate that," Nate commented when I proposed an idea to him. "He'd tell you that cow shit would taste better."

Scrunching my nose up in thought, I found myself agreeing with Nate. Arnaud would say that. Our discussion continued for a long time, until, finally, we had enough recipes that we could try over the coming weeks. I drew up some menus plans before seizing on the fact that Nate was currently free.