"Hey sweet thing, how's the pastry business?"
Sam looked up from his desserts. He hoped the voice belong to someone else, someone he didn’t hate. The visitor ducked out of the kitchen through the wrong door nearly hitting busboys carrying plates.
"You know that jerk?" I asked as I prepared my station for the chocolate gorillas.
"Unfortunately," replied Sam, the best pastry chef I ever worked with. We didn’t talk until we finished forty “death by chocolate”– four types of chocolate cake layered with four types of chocolate filling, frosted with chocolate, decorated with chocolate flowers, and each surmounted with a chocolate banner announcing "Happy Birthday" in delicate gold icing.
"How?" I pried.
"From culinary school, he’s a self-important moron,” Sam said.
"He's auditioning for head chef," I said.
Sam rolled his eyeballs in disgust as he started to wrestle the mountain of bread dough we called the creeping white fungus.
We didn't talk as he sliced strands of dough, rolled them in powdered sugar and arsenic, and carefully braided them before basting the beautiful round loaf with egg whites from which the white oleander blossoms had been thoroughly strained out.
"I don't think that audition will be a problem," said the best pastry chef I ever worked with. "As long as the arsenic doesn't kill the yeast before the second rise."
Opening: Dave.....Continuation: J.E. Barnard