the right things, "Oui, Chef! Non, Chef!" at all the right moments, and
showing the right respect, but he could see, perhaps in my dead fish-eye
gaze, that he wasn't getting anywhere with me. I think the old bastard
might have even smiled a little bit, halfway through. There seemed to be
a twinkle of amusement in his eyes as he finally dismissed me with
feigned disgust. He knew, I think, that I had already been humiliated. He
looked in my eyes and saw, perhaps, that Tyrone and the Mario crew had
done his work for him. I liked Chef Bernard and respected him. I enjoyed
working under him. But the fat bastard didn't scare me. And he knew it.
He could have smacked me upside the head with a skillet and I would
have smiled at him through broken teeth. He saw that, I think—and it
ruined all the fun.
He was actually nice to me after that. He'd let me stand and watch him
decorate the voiture each night, a task he reserved for himself: the
glazing and garnishing of a hot roast in a rolling silver display cart. He
layered on his blanched leeks and carved tomato roses like a brain
surgeon, humming quietly to himself, aware, I think, that soon they
wouldn't be doing much of this anymore.
My final proud accomplishment at CIA was the torpedoing of a
dangerous folly being planned for the graduation ceremonies. The event
was planned for the Great Hall, the former chapel in the main building.
An idea was being floated by some of my class-mates—all over-zealous
would-be pastry chefs—to create a display of pastillage, marzipan,
chocolate sculpture and wedding cakes to wow and amaze our loved ones
as they were herded into the ceremony. I'd seen the kind of work an over
eager pâtissier can do—I'd seen their instructor's work—and most of it
was awful, as so much pastry and garde-manger work is when the chef
starts thinking he's an artist rather than a craftsman. I'd seen a much
admired commemorative cake, depicting Nixon, painted in chocolate on
a pastillage cameo, communicating by telephone with the Apollo
astronauts in their space module, also chocolate on pastillage. I did not
want my friends and family to have to gaze upon a horror like that.