episode when he was eliminated.”
“He’d have probably won if he’d served this,” Blake said, soaking up the sauce on his plate with his last bite of bread.”
Vito never reappeared, so when the food was gone, the tour slid out of their chairs and left.
The last stop was Liaison Amoureuse , a dessert café and bakery less than two blocks away. “Liaison Amoureuse is owned by a French pastry chef named Corinne Blanchet. You won’t believe she’s old enough to be a chef, let alone own her own business.”
The inside of Liaison Amoureuse was beautiful. The décor was mostly creams and ivories. The wooden chairs at the tables were a deep plum, and plum pendant lights hung in uneven clusters above the tables. The walls were covered with love letters.
“Yay! You are here,” said a tiny woman who nearly bounced out of the kitchen. Her almost-black hair was styled in a short, pixie cut. From a distance, she looked about twelve years old, but as she approached the group, she aged to somewhere in her thirties. “How has your tour been?”
They nodded and said things like, “Great,” “so much fun,” and “perfect.”
“You’re lucky to have Jamal. He’s the best,” she said with a gentle punch to Jamal’s arm.
“She says that to all the guides.”
“No, she doesn’t,” said the petite woman.
“This is Corinne Blanchet,” Jamal said, and Corinne curtsied.
“And this is Liaison Amoureuse,” said Corinne, opening her arms to take in the restaurant. Her accent made everything sound romantic. “In French, liaison amoureuse means love affair, and I want everyone who comes in here to have a love affair with dessert.”
“Tell them about the love letters,” Jamal said.
“My parents were moving to the south of France and they were tossing most of their souvenirs and I saw a trunk of their letters to each other. They were going to throw them away.” She sounded incredulous. “I rescued them, and when I read them they were lovely. Some were a little hmm hmm,” she said putting her hands on her cheeks and shaking her head. “They’re up high so you can’t read them. Scandalous!”
Lydia looked at the letters on the wall. There had to be over a hundred. “These are all from your parents?” she asked.
“No, no, no. Anyone who wants to bring me a nice copy of a love letter, I’ll put it on the wall. I read them all before I put them up. They’re so romantic, I fall in love with them. Please, come sit down.” When they were all seated, Corinne continued, “I believe dessert is the most important meal of the day.” Her enthusiasm was catching and everyone at the table smiled. “In honor of our beautiful city, dessert will be Charlotte à la Framboise . In English, that’s a Charlotte cake with a raspberry filling. It will be served with two sauces, a raspberry and pear reduction, which is a more traditional sauce with a Charlotte, and a ganache, because some people, like me, just need chocolate with their dessert. Enjoy.” She kissed her fingers and threw them into the air.
The Charlotte was incredible—buttery and crisp cake and moist, sweet filling. Blake preferred the raspberry and pear sauce, but Lydia couldn’t get enough of the chocolate.
“Are Elliott’s letters too sad to share?” Blake asked when his dessert was finished. Lydia still had several bites. She was eating it slowly, making it last as long as possible.
“Not the first ones,” she said. “They were very romantic.”
“We should make a copy and bring one in. Leave a piece of history here.”
“That’s a great idea. Francie said they were part of history,” Lydia said. “Oh my. I’ve never tasted anything like this.” She licked her fork after her last bite.
Blake was deep in thought as they rode their Segways back to the City Tours office. Lydia stifled her curiosity and left him to his thoughts. After they’d parked the Segways, returned the helmets, and said their thank yous and goodbyes to
“He’d have probably won if he’d served this,” Blake said, soaking up the sauce on his plate with his last bite of bread.”
Vito never reappeared, so when the food was gone, the tour slid out of their chairs and left.
The last stop was Liaison Amoureuse , a dessert café and bakery less than two blocks away. “Liaison Amoureuse is owned by a French pastry chef named Corinne Blanchet. You won’t believe she’s old enough to be a chef, let alone own her own business.”
The inside of Liaison Amoureuse was beautiful. The décor was mostly creams and ivories. The wooden chairs at the tables were a deep plum, and plum pendant lights hung in uneven clusters above the tables. The walls were covered with love letters.
“Yay! You are here,” said a tiny woman who nearly bounced out of the kitchen. Her almost-black hair was styled in a short, pixie cut. From a distance, she looked about twelve years old, but as she approached the group, she aged to somewhere in her thirties. “How has your tour been?”
They nodded and said things like, “Great,” “so much fun,” and “perfect.”
“You’re lucky to have Jamal. He’s the best,” she said with a gentle punch to Jamal’s arm.
“She says that to all the guides.”
“No, she doesn’t,” said the petite woman.
“This is Corinne Blanchet,” Jamal said, and Corinne curtsied.
“And this is Liaison Amoureuse,” said Corinne, opening her arms to take in the restaurant. Her accent made everything sound romantic. “In French, liaison amoureuse means love affair, and I want everyone who comes in here to have a love affair with dessert.”
“Tell them about the love letters,” Jamal said.
“My parents were moving to the south of France and they were tossing most of their souvenirs and I saw a trunk of their letters to each other. They were going to throw them away.” She sounded incredulous. “I rescued them, and when I read them they were lovely. Some were a little hmm hmm,” she said putting her hands on her cheeks and shaking her head. “They’re up high so you can’t read them. Scandalous!”
Lydia looked at the letters on the wall. There had to be over a hundred. “These are all from your parents?” she asked.
“No, no, no. Anyone who wants to bring me a nice copy of a love letter, I’ll put it on the wall. I read them all before I put them up. They’re so romantic, I fall in love with them. Please, come sit down.” When they were all seated, Corinne continued, “I believe dessert is the most important meal of the day.” Her enthusiasm was catching and everyone at the table smiled. “In honor of our beautiful city, dessert will be Charlotte à la Framboise . In English, that’s a Charlotte cake with a raspberry filling. It will be served with two sauces, a raspberry and pear reduction, which is a more traditional sauce with a Charlotte, and a ganache, because some people, like me, just need chocolate with their dessert. Enjoy.” She kissed her fingers and threw them into the air.
The Charlotte was incredible—buttery and crisp cake and moist, sweet filling. Blake preferred the raspberry and pear sauce, but Lydia couldn’t get enough of the chocolate.
“Are Elliott’s letters too sad to share?” Blake asked when his dessert was finished. Lydia still had several bites. She was eating it slowly, making it last as long as possible.
“Not the first ones,” she said. “They were very romantic.”
“We should make a copy and bring one in. Leave a piece of history here.”
“That’s a great idea. Francie said they were part of history,” Lydia said. “Oh my. I’ve never tasted anything like this.” She licked her fork after her last bite.
Blake was deep in thought as they rode their Segways back to the City Tours office. Lydia stifled her curiosity and left him to his thoughts. After they’d parked the Segways, returned the helmets, and said their thank yous and goodbyes to
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