5WC-The Pastry Chef

The pastry chef’s hands were steady, a lover’s hand, as he latticed flowers on another layer of wedding cake for a wedding he would not attend, a reception where his creation would be star, but he would remain unknown, uninvited and untroubled.  Until, of course, they received the bill.

His was a life of limited social interaction, partly because of his hours (he arrived at the bakery at pre-traffic 4:00am, in the heart of the quiet, receptive night, put in a ten hour day, went home alone and stayed that way until 4:00am rolled over again).  And partly due to temperament.  His love was the bakery.  The heat of the oven flamed his creative passion, sweat sheeted his face when he took dough in his hands and felt the texture and weight yield to his touch and become pliant.  The sweet yeasty smells excited him into further, deeper reaches of creativity and the acts of delicacy, the caress of a pastry tube, the gentle mastery of meringue, brought him to forms of sugary ecstasy.  He was alone, but Renard was a satisfied baker.