it is! Someone has made an orange ball. At the Gala des Gâteaux Grands. What do you call this thing, young lady?”
“It’s a Double Orange Whoopie Pie .”
Jean-Pierre turned to Flaurabelle. “Remind me to put a limit on the age of our entrants next year. No one under thirty.” Jean-Pierre lifted a whoopie pie, eyed it doubtfully, and then took a bite. His eyes went wide. He shoved the entire thing into his mouth and gulped.
“It’s . . . I don’t know what it is . . . ,” he said. “There’s an ineffable quality, an elusive something or other. It holds a secret. Perfectly sweet and perfectly sour at the same time. It makes me feel . . . confused. In the best way. I like this whoopie pie very much.”
Jean-Pierre looked straight into Rose’s eyes. “I look forward to seeing what you’ll create tomorrow . Yes, everyone, Rose Bliss survives to cook another day, along with Chefs Lily Le Fay, Wen Wei, Dag Ferskjold, and our winner, Roshni Mansukhani. The rest of you may return to your sad little lives.”
Rose blushed as Ty did a gyrating victory dance, then glanced over at Lily, who was smiling tersely. Unlike Mona Lisa, who tried to frown but couldn’t help smiling, Lily tried to smile but couldn’t help fuming.
That afternoon, Albert took the whole family out for victory omelets at a small, dark café. Rose hadn’t won. But neither, unexpectedly, had Lily.
Rose sat at one end of the long, rectangular table, flanked by Ty and Sage and Leigh, while Albert and Purdy and Balthazar sat at the other end of the table.
Albert cleared his throat, stood, and clanged his knife against his water glass.
“Everyone did a great job today,” he said. “But we need to start preparing for the rest of the week immediately. Your mother and I will collect ingredients from the top of the list—that’s PUFFED, PHYLLO, CHEESY, and CHOCOLATE—and the kids will collect ingredients from the bottom—that’s AIRY, SUGARLESS, FLAKY, and ROLLED.”
“I already translated the recipes for all the kids’ categories but one,” said Balthazar. “Since I work my way from the bottom and all. They’re back at the hotel.”
“I suggest we start collecting now. We have limited time, and some of these ingredients are very hard to come by,” Purdy said.
In the hotel suite, Balthazar handed Rose three sheets of paper, each printed with a different magical recipe. Albert and Purdy left to collect the magical ingredient in the Nectar-of-Joy Cream Puffs in case Jean-Pierre announced the PUFFED category the following morning.
Rose sat on the couch with Ty and Sage and Leigh, holding the stack of three recipes. She examined the first of the stack, the AIRY recipe for Angel’s Breath Food Cake.
Angel’s Breath Food Cake, for the Appearance of a Dessert when really there is none.
It was in 1322, in the Japanese fishing village of Hamamura, that Chef Hiroshi Bliss did manage to cure the portly councilman Aki Mayuchi of his dangerous addiction to white cake. Councilman Mayuchi did eat vanilla cake on no less than fourteen occasions per day, which made him larger than the town’s largest sumo wrestler. Chef Bliss did create this Angel’s Breath Food Cake, which did look like an exact replica of Councilman Mayuchi’s beloved white cake, but did contain 90 percent air instead. Councilman Mayuchi continued to eat fourteen of the cakes per day, but he did return to his normal size, unaware that the cakes were made of air.
Chef Bliss did combine two-and-one-half fists of fine white flour , two fists of sugar , the whites of six chicken’s eggs, and a single ghostly gust .
The recipe went on to spell out the baking time and temperature, but Rose couldn’t get past that final ingredient.
“A ghostly gust ?” said Rose, pacing over to Balthazar’s room. “Balthazar? What’s a ghostly gust?”
“I’m busy translating!” he grunted, shutting the door. “Ask the cat. He knows all about
“It’s a Double Orange Whoopie Pie .”
Jean-Pierre turned to Flaurabelle. “Remind me to put a limit on the age of our entrants next year. No one under thirty.” Jean-Pierre lifted a whoopie pie, eyed it doubtfully, and then took a bite. His eyes went wide. He shoved the entire thing into his mouth and gulped.
“It’s . . . I don’t know what it is . . . ,” he said. “There’s an ineffable quality, an elusive something or other. It holds a secret. Perfectly sweet and perfectly sour at the same time. It makes me feel . . . confused. In the best way. I like this whoopie pie very much.”
Jean-Pierre looked straight into Rose’s eyes. “I look forward to seeing what you’ll create tomorrow . Yes, everyone, Rose Bliss survives to cook another day, along with Chefs Lily Le Fay, Wen Wei, Dag Ferskjold, and our winner, Roshni Mansukhani. The rest of you may return to your sad little lives.”
Rose blushed as Ty did a gyrating victory dance, then glanced over at Lily, who was smiling tersely. Unlike Mona Lisa, who tried to frown but couldn’t help smiling, Lily tried to smile but couldn’t help fuming.
That afternoon, Albert took the whole family out for victory omelets at a small, dark café. Rose hadn’t won. But neither, unexpectedly, had Lily.
Rose sat at one end of the long, rectangular table, flanked by Ty and Sage and Leigh, while Albert and Purdy and Balthazar sat at the other end of the table.
Albert cleared his throat, stood, and clanged his knife against his water glass.
“Everyone did a great job today,” he said. “But we need to start preparing for the rest of the week immediately. Your mother and I will collect ingredients from the top of the list—that’s PUFFED, PHYLLO, CHEESY, and CHOCOLATE—and the kids will collect ingredients from the bottom—that’s AIRY, SUGARLESS, FLAKY, and ROLLED.”
“I already translated the recipes for all the kids’ categories but one,” said Balthazar. “Since I work my way from the bottom and all. They’re back at the hotel.”
“I suggest we start collecting now. We have limited time, and some of these ingredients are very hard to come by,” Purdy said.
In the hotel suite, Balthazar handed Rose three sheets of paper, each printed with a different magical recipe. Albert and Purdy left to collect the magical ingredient in the Nectar-of-Joy Cream Puffs in case Jean-Pierre announced the PUFFED category the following morning.
Rose sat on the couch with Ty and Sage and Leigh, holding the stack of three recipes. She examined the first of the stack, the AIRY recipe for Angel’s Breath Food Cake.
Angel’s Breath Food Cake, for the Appearance of a Dessert when really there is none.
It was in 1322, in the Japanese fishing village of Hamamura, that Chef Hiroshi Bliss did manage to cure the portly councilman Aki Mayuchi of his dangerous addiction to white cake. Councilman Mayuchi did eat vanilla cake on no less than fourteen occasions per day, which made him larger than the town’s largest sumo wrestler. Chef Bliss did create this Angel’s Breath Food Cake, which did look like an exact replica of Councilman Mayuchi’s beloved white cake, but did contain 90 percent air instead. Councilman Mayuchi continued to eat fourteen of the cakes per day, but he did return to his normal size, unaware that the cakes were made of air.
Chef Bliss did combine two-and-one-half fists of fine white flour , two fists of sugar , the whites of six chicken’s eggs, and a single ghostly gust .
The recipe went on to spell out the baking time and temperature, but Rose couldn’t get past that final ingredient.
“A ghostly gust ?” said Rose, pacing over to Balthazar’s room. “Balthazar? What’s a ghostly gust?”
“I’m busy translating!” he grunted, shutting the door. “Ask the cat. He knows all about
Similar Books
