The Secret French Recipes of Sophie Valroux - Samantha Verant Page 0,94

me in. In that moment, with her words not speckled with sarcasm, I knew I’d gained at least one ounce of Jane’s respect, and after seeing what she’d accomplished, she had at least two ounces of mine.

The sound of applause thundered in my ears. I brought my hands to my wildly beating heart, not knowing what to say. I closed my eyes, thinking of my grand-mère. “My grand-mère taught me that meals are supposed to be cooked with love, each ingredient celebrating this exquisite emotion. Tonight, we are celebrating love, are we not? And it’s my greatest hope you’ll love what we’ve prepared for you. Toujours l’amour. Encore l’amour,” I said. “Merci.”

Forks and spoons clanged on glasses.

* * *

The next four hours were frenetic and fast-paced. Séb, now a chef and our caller, remained calm and cool as he belted out the orders and managed his station. The air in the kitchen was so electric, even the granny brigade and Gustave stuck around to see how the service went. During dessert, Jane returned to the kitchen.

“I think it would be a good idea if you came into the dining room again,” she said.

My heart raced. “Is there a problem?”

“Quite the opposite,” she said.

“Everybody, follow me,” I said. “We’re a team here.”

“Yes, Chef.”

Before entering the room, I snuck a quick peek and watched the guests’ faces as they cracked the chocolate dragonfly and dipped their spoons in the spiced chocolate mousse with cognac-drunk pears. The sounds of pleasure filled the room. Séb, Phillipa, the granny brigade, Clothilde, and Gustave followed me in and we stood in front of the fireplace. “Ladies and gentlemen,” I said. “I’d like to introduce you to all of the people responsible for creating tonight’s meal—my family.”

If I thought the applause I’d heard earlier was loud, this time the sound reverberated in my chest, so powerful it felt like an earthquake.

“Best meal I’ve ever had in my life.”

“You cook with your heart.”

“I feel love in every delicious bite.”

“Worthy of not one Michelin star, but three.”

I lowered my head and placed my hand on my beating heart, thanking my lucky stars and Grand-mère, whose presence I could feel embracing me. If I took O’Shea up on his offer, my dream of becoming one of the one percent of female chefs running a Michelin-starred restaurant would come to fruition in the blink of an eye, but I’d be back to telling O’Shea’s story and following his rules. Grand-mère had said I could reach for the stars here.

Did I dare become a rule breaker?

Yes.

Forget about Eric. Forget about New York and Cendrillon. I felt more alive and at home in Champvert. This girl was finally going to rise from the ashes like a culinary phoenix. For the love of cooking, I had the chance to create and the chance to reclaim a passion I’d lost somewhere along the way. I had a chance to tell my story. I was happier in Champvert than I’d been in a long while. Not only did I have a kitchen, I had a chance at love.

It was in that moment I truly understood how far people go to achieve success and just how far they go to protect the ones they love. I forgave my mother, I forgave my grandmother, and, most important, I forgave myself. I had closure. In a way, my grandmother had given me my life back, and I was going to claim it. After the applause died down, I raced to Grand-mère’s room and tapped on the door. Agnès opened it.

“Is she awake?” I asked.

“Yes, why? Is something wrong?”

“No, Agnès, everything is all right. More than right.” I twirled her around and scurried over to my grand-mère.

“I’ve made my decision. I’m not going back to New York. I’m staying in Champvert. For good,” I said, taking her hands.

Grand-mère tried her best to smile. “Oh, I was so hoping to hear those words. I couldn’t imagine what the vultures would do if you sold the estate. They’d probably turn the grounds into one of those horrendous theme parks.” Her green eyes went clear as she took my hand. “You’ve given a dying woman her greatest wish.”

“For me to take over the château?”

“Non, ma chérie, my only wish was to see my granddaughter take charge of her happiness. It’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted for you.”

III

spring

At home I serve the kind of food I know the story behind.

—MICHAEL POLLAN

28

famous for being infamous

Spring, the season of renewal and new beginnings, had