The Secret French Recipes of Sophie Valroux - Samantha Verant Page 0,55

“How are the potato terrines and canard à l’orange coming along?”

“Absolutely fine! Everything is prepped for the duck and it will mijoter for two hours, so I have about an hour before cook time. I just need to sauté the potatoes for the side dish in duck fat and parsley, season them, and place them in their individual baking dishes. Perhaps while I finish up you could check in on the rest of the staff?”

Hesitantly, I walked up to Gustave.

As if reading my mind, he said, “Dessert is almost complete. The pears are chilling in the frigo and then I’m going to take a nap,” he said. “But before I do, come, I made one for you to taste, like I always do for your grand-mère Odette.”

He placed the dish in front of me and I almost fell down from the shock. Gustave had created a work of art and I hadn’t even realized he’d worked so quickly; I thought he’d only peeled the pears. He’d plated one of the desserts in a beautiful glass bowl, complete with what he said was the homemade vanilla bean ice cream he’d made the previous night, and garnished the pear with the sauce, a cinnamon stick, sprigs of thyme, vanilla bean pods, and pomegranate seeds.

“The sauce?” I asked, dipping in my spoon.

“Vanilla bean seeds, red wine, sugar, and nutmeg,” he said. “If there’s anything I know, it’s how to make sauces with wine.”

I dipped my spoon in and tasted it. Oh my God, heaven on my tongue. I eyed him warily.

“You really do know sauces. It’s simply delicious,” I said. “But I taste a few more ingredients? Orange? Star anise? A dash or two of pastis, maybe?”

“Your palate is just like your grandmother’s. I can never get anything past her either.” He laughed and added a whole star anise to the garnish. “Do you like it?”

“What’s not to like? It’s perfectly delicious and beautifully brilliant.”

Gustave let out a hearty laugh and slapped me on the back. “It is, isn’t it?”

Who would have thought the town drunk would be a maestro in the kitchen? By the end of the evening, we’d have poached pears and a poached chef.

* * *

When I wasn’t dropping utensils or tripping over my two feet, the rest of the evening went by without a hitch. Somehow everything worked. There were no uniforms—no toques, no ugly checkered pants. And, oddly, there was only one man. It was an alternative cooking universe to what I’d grown accustomed to, and I enjoyed every moment, every second.

Sébastien, one of the servers and, apparently, also the caller, alerted us when the guests were seated in the main dining room for dinner service. He yelled out orders, tucking sheets of paper in the rack. My heart nearly stopped when he said, “We have a full house and it seems most of the guests are ordering the daurade tonight—twenty-seven out of forty plates.”

“We just need to focus,” I said, mostly to myself. “It’s go time.”

Phillipa and I plated the amuse-bouche and set out the entrées. An hour later, it was time for le plat principal. I wiped the sweat off my brow. “The sweet potato purée is ready. I wanted to show you how to prepare the daurade. First, into two pans, melt a little butter and add a dash of olive oil so the butter doesn’t burn. Add some minced garlic into one of them; it’s for the cabbage. Sauté for two minutes.” I paused. “Am I moving too fast for you?”

“No,” she said.

“Rub the fish with lemon and parsley. Season with herbes de Provence and a bit of ground pepper.” I slid four daurade filets into one pan. “Cooking fish can be tricky. You don’t want it to cook for too short a time, or for too long. These filets aren’t very thick, so I’m thinking about two to three minutes each side until the fish is opaque and golden.” I added butter and a dash of olive oil into another heated pan. Then I flipped the filets. “Onto the braised cabbage. Add the cabbage to the other pan with the garlic. Let it wilt and stir. Add in more. Wilt. Add a dash of balsamic, season with a pinch of fleur de sel, three or four twists of pepper, and some grated nutmeg. It’s time to plate.” Phillipa shot me the thumbs-up. I pulled out a four-inch circle tool and placed it on a plate. “First we add the cabbage, press it down,