Читать книгу Spice - Robert A. Webster - Страница 5

The Baking Phenomenon

“The Baker of the Year Award goes to...,” the master of ceremonies announced and paused for effect as he glanced at the name written on the back of a gold-coloured card. “For the third consecutive year,” he faced the audience and smiled. “The pâtissier representing the Avalon Hotel,” he again paused and announced, “Mr Ben Bakewell!”

He applauded along with the audience in the plush Park Lane Hilton conference suite. Many cheered while a few mumbled as a man in an ill-fitting suit sauntered towards the stage.

“Well done Cake,” said the M.C. as the baker stepped onto the platform and shook his hand.

Although Cake had won this prestigious award three years in succession, he still felt awkward as he held up the small crystal effigy. His acceptance speech echoed those from previous years. “Thanks,” he mumbled into the microphone, blushed, farted, left the stage, and rushed over to the table to join his colleagues.

The awards ceremony was almost over, much to the relief of Cake. Several food critics were on the stage discussing the various dishes that won prizes. Cake loathed these events and considered the food critics’ idiots, incapable of boiling an egg and they didn’t belong in the industry. Even though he always received rave reviews from them. One described his *Avalon Nest Egg to be an explosion of flawless flavours creating an oral orgasm and said every dish Cake created tasted perfect.

However, Cake always felt they were average and considered his food lacked something, but unable to figure out what it was.

Cake arrived home at around 11:00 pm, after a long commute through the capital city. Jade had already arrived back from her five-day jaunt to Lincoln. Cake, excited to see her, wanted to find out how their bakery was progressing. He flopped into an easy chair in the living room while Jade fetched him a glass of wine, and they got cosy. He handed her the cheque for winning the competition and she smiled and showed him video footage of the work in progress.

Benjamin Bakewell, known as Cake for as long as he could remember, had an impeccable reputation within the culinary world. Every top chef and high-end dining establishment knew of Cake. He had held the top position as head pâtissier at the Avalon for three years. His signature cakes and pastries were the envy of every top chef, and not only unique in their preparation but also difficult to replicate. Many tried, but failed.

Cake was born on the outskirts of Louth, Lincolnshire, a rural farming town, forty-kilometres from Lincoln City. His family owned a 200-acre arable farm on the small town’s fringes, growing wheat, barley, and hops. His nickname, Cake, was because of his surname, Bakewell, and for his love of baking. He attended Grimoldby Primary School and while the other kids used their break time playing sport and recreation, he would be in the school canteen helping the school cooks.

Cake’s parents always knew he had an unusual sense. He could detect every ingredient of any dish and would add components he considered the dish lacking to enhance and elevate its flavour until his perfect palate found it acceptable. Cake would not eat nor handle meat, as the smell contained no fragrant aromas, and the texture felt grainy and rough, and the taste made him vomit. He tolerated certain seafood, but only if it was fresh and mildly flavoured, such as monkfish or scallops, to which he could add herbs and spices to disguise its fishy smell and taste. Nobody could understand this boy’s unusual gift, and it would be many years before anyone discovered the reason for his heightened sense of taste and smell. Only Cake could perceive how the world smelt and tasted to him, detecting odours and fragrances in the air. During his younger years at school, he used his unique talent to earn sweets and other goodies from his school chums by guessing what they had eaten for breakfast that morning from a whiff of their farts. This also became a handy party trick as he grew up.

Cake had a happy childhood and many friends, although girls avoided him because of his proclivity for sniffing the surrounding air, which was off-putting. His mates always found this a great form of entertainment, but he stopped doing this after his mother told him it was not a polite thing to do, and one day he would need a girl, and shoving his nose up their arses was not the way to attract them. Cake helped around the farm with the crops, and his favourite time of the year was spring when the flora and fauna pollinated and blossomed, the odours exploded his world into ecstatic overdrive. He also helped his mother and grandmother bake fresh bread, cakes, pies, and pasties for his family and the farm’s labourers. Cake focused his unique talent on baking, as the savoury, sweet smells and tastes pleased his senses. Young Cake always felt at home in the kitchen and chuckled with delight each time he removed a tray of his new confectionary from the oven. The mouth-watering, oven-fresh smells drifted around the hot farmhouse kitchen as his grandmother stopped flitting around and went to see what new or improved confectionary Cake had invented.

His grandmother saw a sparkle in his eyes when he said. “Gran, one day I will be the most famous baker in England… maybe even the world.”

His grandmother would sigh and then smirk. “Yes Cake, I know.”

He had accumulated cookbooks and magazines throughout the years and replicated every cake in the journals, adding herbs and spices that he blended to enhance the flavours, making them unique. Although there always seemed to Cake as if something was missing, his grandmother, Pearl, assured him that one day he would discover HIS perfect spice.

Cake took up kickboxing in his early teens. He was tall and slim and the martial art developed his body to be muscular, but his legs and arms remained scrawny, however hard he trained.

Cake was a handsome lad with a thin face, hazel eyes, and dark, brown, short hair. He resembled a young Kevin Costner, although his gangly odd shape gave him a Coco the clown appearance and throughout his mid-teens girls started noticing him, now he had stopped sniffing them.

His family assumed that on leaving school, Cake would join the family business and become a farmer. However, his dreams and ambitions were a world away from theirs, and he wanted to attend culinary school. His parents forbade it and offered a compromise. He, along with his mother and grandmother, could start a small market bakery business and the three of them would bake, while his sisters sold their products to businesses in and around Louth. Cake agreed to this compromise, knowing this would mean working long hours and the forfeiture of his kickboxing training, but baking was his passion. His grandfather let them use an old barn and purchased two second-hand gas-baking ovens, along with the large AGA cooker in the main kitchen. The family bought a dough-mixer and other baking machinery, including shelves, refrigerators, and storage, as per Cake’s instructions and they set up a quaint rural bakery. His father had given them one of the farm’s Land Rovers to use, and he and his sisters travelled around the small town to find factories and shop outlets to sell their bakery items. Cake kept the menu simple. Although he loved to experiment, the family decided that bread loaves, rolls, baguettes, cakes, and tarts would suffice.

After harvesting the crops, Cake’s business got underway. They baked early morning, and the first batch left the bakery at 6:00 am. The sisters made deliveries before going to school and Cake would bake and deliver any further batches through the day. This routine worked well and within a short time, they became inundated with orders. The bakery business became a lucrative extra income for the farm. Cake, although happy, didn’t feel content with his lot. The more he read cooking magazines about new techniques and recipes created in the large bakeries, restaurants, hotels, and with the adulation written about the master chefs, the more Cake yearned for the glamorous life.

One warm summer’s morning, as Cake removed a fresh batch of crusty ploughman’s rolls from the oven, he received a phone call from Bill, the landlord of the ‘Rising Sun’ public house.

“Morning Cake,” said Bill, “I have a customer who wants a word with you. Can you come here?”

“What does he want?” asked Cake.

“I don’t know, come here, and meet him then you can find out,” said Bill, sounding vague.

Cake, intrigued, looked at his watch and said, “Okay Bill, give me about twenty- minutes.” Cake changed out of his baker whites and drove into town.

He went into the Rising Sun and over to Bill, who smiled and told him about the customer. “He ate your gourmet sandwich with a slice of Gateau on the first day, and today he ordered several of your sandwiches and slices of cakes. I saw him take a bite from each, savour them, wrap them in a napkin, and place them into a holdall.” Bill scratched his chin and continued, “Today, he asked me who supplied my bakery products and when I told him it was a local baker, he introduced himself and insisted that he spoke to you. I wouldn’t have bothered, but he claimed to be famous, although I have never heard of him.”

“That’s strange,” said Cake and puckered his brow, “what’s his name?”

Bill thought and said, “Jimmy, something… I’ve forgotten his surname, but he is sitting over there,” and he pointed to the man sitting in the lounge reading a newspaper.

Cake went over to the man, who peered over his newspaper and smiled. He placed the paper down on a table and asked Cake to sit. Cake gasped and looked surprised when he recognised the man. He had read articles about him in British Bakery magazines, and well aware of the prestige surrounding the small, round-faced individual, with a receding hairline.

“I’m Jimmy Constable, the head pâtissier at Harrods bakery,”

Cake shook Jimmy’s hand and with a tremble in his voice said. “Yes, I know who you are, everyone calls me Cake.”

“I am pleased to meet you Cake,” said Jimmy, “What can I do for you, was there something wrong with the food?” asked Cake looking concerned.

Jimmy smiled and said, “No, the food’s perfect.” He then told him, “A few days ago, while I was travelling to Hull to interview a candidate for a position at Harrods I stopped here for a snack. I expected bland, dry, roadside food.” He leant forward and said, “Instead, the flavours and textures of the roll and Gateaux blew me away; I could not believe the taste sensations. I came back the next day to sample other items on the menu and again delighted with the unique, distinctive flavours.” He looked over at Bill smiling, and he whispered. “It tasted a lot better than the awful beer.”

Cake, thrilled to hear Jimmy Constable sing his praises, explained how he got his nickname, told him about his family’s bakery, and invited him to visit. Jimmy agreed, they left the Rising Sun and went to the Bakewell farm.

Jimmy looked around the farm's bakery and sampled a few more of Cake’s products, a look of pleasure spreading across his face with every bite.

“Have you any baking qualifications Cake?” asked Jimmy.

“No,” replied Cake “Sorry.”

Jimmy smiled. “Never mind, I have tasted nothing this good for a long time, so we can get around the paperwork. I would like you to do something for me.”

Cake, looking confused, asked, “Get around paperwork for what?”

Jimmy ignored his question and took a magazine from his bag. He showed Cake a glossy photograph of a white icing topped custard slice and asked, “Can you make one of these?”

Cake looked at the photograph. ‘Why would a top pâtissier want me to make a simple custard slice?’ he thought, looking puzzled and replied, “Sure,”

“Please make me one,” said Jimmy and smiled.

“Only one?” asked Cake.

“Yes, Just one,” replied Jimmy.

Jimmy sat and watched as Cake, who, like a whirling dervish, went through his jars and containers of ingredients. Using no weighing scales, he dolloped, sifted, folded, spooned, and mixed ingredients together, smelling and tasting it until he appeared satisfied and looked a perfect match to the one on the glossy page, he placed it into an oven. They spoke for a while about London and baking until Cake knew that the custard slice was ready. He removed it from the oven and spread icing across the top.

Jimmy inhaled the delicious aroma and smiled.

While waiting for the icing to harden, he asked Jimmy, “Why did you want me to bake you a simple custard slice?”

Jimmy looked at Cake and smiled, “They aren’t so simple and can taste bland. I always look for someone who can produce a unique flavour and turn a bland item into something special,” Jimmy replied.

“Look for what?” asked Cake, sounding confused.

Jimmy looked at Cake, and said, “An assistant.”

It dumbfounded Cake when Jimmy then told him, “There’s a position at Harrods for an assistant head pâtissier, but so far I haven’t been able to find a suitable candidate.”

Confused, Cake handed the warm custard slice to Jimmy, who took a bite of the sweet, crispy, pastry. The flavours exploded in his mouth with a blend of subtle tastes that enhanced the vanilla custard and icing.

‘This kid's talent’s phenomenal,’ thought Jimmy before announcing, “The job as my assistant is yours young Cake.”

Cakes heart pounded, he knew he would never get another opportunity like this. It was his dream, but he knew one thing stood in his way. He then sighed and said. “I would love to come to London and work for you Jimmy, but I have to run the bakery for the family.”

Jimmy, sounding disappointed, looked at Cake, and said, “If you want the job, I will speak with your family,” he smirked, “I can be very persuasive.”

Cake smiled and looking like an excited puppy said. “Thanks Jimmy,” he looked at his watch, “the family are upstairs.”

Jimmy and Cake walked into the large bakery section of Harrods a week later after Cakes family, knowing it had always been his dream, agreed. Jimmy gave Cake a tour of the prestigious store. Cake gazed at the contents of the glass display cases in Harrods pâtisserie section, which looked like works of art. Jimmy showed him to his room in the staff quarters at the rear of the building and issued him several sets of chefs’ whites with the small gold Harrods motif.

Cake felt like a million dollars as he changed into his whites and went into the pristine, well-organised, efficient bakery, with each pâtissier knowing their routine. Cake felt overawed as he wandered around looking at the modern ovens and equipment.

“Okay Cake,” said Jimmy, “Have a look around and get your bearings, then I need you to make two dozen chocolate éclairs.”

“Yes Chef!” replied a happy Cake, setting to work.

It took a short while for Cake to settle into his new life. Harrods bakery staff at first was cold towards him. They were jealous and could not understand why a young farm boy with no qualifications had landed the enviable position as the head pâtissier’s assistant. However, once they tasted his cakes and pastries, they realised that he was special and deserved the post. Cake worked hard and spent most of his time at the bakery.

Cake’s reputation spread throughout the culinary world around London. Harrods bakery sales increased and Cake was soon in demand by competitors. He earned good money and was doing what he loved, baking.

Jimmy became his mentor and taught Cake invaluable trade tricks and techniques. However, Cake felt limited from experimenting at Harrods. The fixed menu rarely changed and there was no room for innovation. Cake felt unchallenged and the job soon became mundane. He took up kickboxing again to break the monotony.

Although turning down jobs in other prestigious bakeries and restaurants, Jimmy encouraged him to advance his career, advising him to take another job should the right opportunity come along. That opening came when Cake was twenty-four-years-old. The Savoy Hotel approached him to be their head pâtissier, which Cake considered.

They offered him a generous salary increase and he would control the cake and pastry menu. He had the freedom to experiment with his own recipes, but the success of the department and responsibility to make the pâtisserie a success, rested on his shoulders.

Cake discussed the offer with Jimmy, who advised him to accept the position.

The Savoy, although built in the late eighteenth century, was a modern 5-star hotel with its opulence and grandeur impressing Cake.

He wasn’t impressed with the bakery, which, unlike the Hilton, was next to the main kitchen. Cake’s first day came as a shock as he was used to a quiet and efficient bakery. The chefs in the kitchen buzzed around like headless chickens, as a small, fat, head chef bawled and screamed at them. Cake went into the bakery section, where a pâtissier was shouting at his harassed looking staff. He introduced himself to the assistant head pâtissier, who looked unimpressed at his new boss and, while barking out orders to his underlings, showed Cake around.

Cake wasted no time in getting the bakery into order and after a short time, reorganised the bakery section and trained the bakers to his techniques and recipes.

At last, he felt free to experiment with his own innovations and involved in creating every item that left his bakery. He fired the assistant pâtissier and the work area became serene and well organised, unlike the main kitchen, with its disorganised chaos and megalomaniacal head chefs yelling at their minions. Albeit they spoke respectfully to Cake, as they knew that unlike him, they were expendable.

Cake enjoyed strolling along the river Thames and often wondered about his extraordinary senses. He wanted to find out more about it, so went to see Doctor Arnold Sagger, an eminent Harley Street clinical genetic specialist and physician, who took DNA samples for parenthesis and susceptibility.

The results astounded the doctor. Cake had over a third more olfactory receptor genes than other human beings and more than most other mammalians.

The doctor had researched cases of individuals and on record, they’d found the most in a wine sommelier in Italy, with 980 receptor genes, slightly more than the average in human beings of less than 900. Cake had in excess of 1400, slightly less than mice, which have the highest with 1500 olfactory genes.

The doctor sounded excited when he asked to study Cake and research his unique mutation, but looked disappointed when Cake declined because the doctor made him feel like an X-Man. He was just a normal chap with a heightened sense and now that he had found out the reason behind it, that was all he needed to know.

Cake remained at the Savoy for several years, his name becoming synonymous with great confectionary. His reputation spread with articles written about him in baking journals and magazines referring to him as ‘The Pâtissier Phenom.’ Prince Charles regularly had Cakes confectionary delivered to Clarence house.

Cake went on a few dates with female chefs, who he’d found boring and smelt of cooking fat.

Several years later, the Savoy’s ownership changed, and the new owners were a corporation. Their only concern was money, profit, and setting targets and budgets. Cake spent more time with paperwork than doing what he loved, so he became disheartened. He’d received many other job offers and after again discussing them and his situation with Jimmy, he accepted an offer from a new hotel in Richmond, Greater London, The Avalon. He would earn the same as the Savoy with bonuses, and still be running the bakery, but would not have to do any paperwork as they allocated him an administrator. The Savoy offered Cake a substantial wage increase and a large bonus to stay, but Cake refused and left the Savoy.

Cake enjoyed working at the Avalon. Now thirty-years-old, he felt comfortable with the freedom and responsibility.

Gaining a kickboxing black belt qualification before leaving the Savoy; after starting with the Avalon, he went to the Tojo Kickboxing Club, based in the gymnasium of the nearby Kings Leisure Centre.

He saw a few kickboxers training, so put down his holdall, and wandered around the gym waiting for someone to acknowledge him.

An attractive woman came over and smiled at him.

Cake smiled at her and thought. ‘Ooh, she’s nice and too pretty to be a kickboxer. Probably a groupie,’ he smirked.

“What do you want?” asked the woman in an abrupt cockney accent.

“I want to join the kickboxing club,” replied Cake.

“Why?” asked the woman, “D’ ya think you’re tough?”

The others around the gym looked and smiled.

“Tough enough,” said Cake, taken aback by the abrupt woman, “I’m a bla...”

His sentence cut short when she thumped him on the nose.

Cake looked shocked as she again went to punch him. He blocked her shot, so she kicked his leg and stood back into an attacking stance.

“The first lesson,” the woman said, “always be prepared.” She then launched a vicious assault, kicking and punching Cake, who, although blocking most of the attacks still got hit. Now angry, he retaliated, punching and kicking back at the woman, who blocked each strike and punched him again on the nose. Cake was becoming irate. The woman, noticing this, stood back, and smiled.

“Yeah okay, you can join. But we need to work on your defence and karma; it was too easy to rile you into making mistakes.”

Cake glared at the woman and looked at the other kickboxers, who were giggling as they watched the pair.

“I’m Jade,” said the woman extending her hand. “I am the head instructor.”

Cake, though feeling perturbed, said, “So you attack all new members, do you? What would happen if I couldn’t defend myself? Luckily I am a kickboxer.”

Jade chuckled and replied, “I don’t attack everyone, only the cocksure ones, Mr Blackbelt.” She pointed to Cake’s bag and the large cotton embroidered badge, showing the Zendo logo on his black belt tied around the handle.

Cake looked at his bag and then smiled at the woman.

“Oh!” he stammered, feeling embarrassed. “My name’s Ben, but everybody calls me ‘Cake.’”

After their initial contact, Cake and Jade hit it off. Cake found Jade intriguing, down to earth, and didn’t smell of cooking oil. Jade found Cake to be a kind, humble and attractive man. Everyone soon realised by the way they looked at each other and their lingering glances that the pair were falling for each other, and betting on which one would have the nerve to ask the other out. Although they had strong feelings for each other, they were both shy, neither realising how the other one felt.

Cake couldn’t take his mind off Jade and the kickboxing sessions became the highlight of his week.

The hair salon where Jade worked met at a nightclub for its Christmas party and Jade invited the kickboxers. Cake felt a little uneasy in the large nightclub. The party was the usual affair with people separated into their individual little groups. Jade could see that Cake looked uncomfortable and out of place, like a lost puppy. She left her group of hairdressing colleagues and went over to him. Cake stood alone with a bottle of Bacardi Breezer looking at the crowded dance floor.

“Glad you could make it,” Jade shouted above the noise of the music.

“Thanks for inviting me,”

There was an awkward silence between the two as music blasted out. Neither knew what to say next and both stared at each other for several moments, until Jade asked, “You smell nice, what’s that you’ve got on?” referring to Cake’s aftershave.

Cake looked thoughtful, smirked, and replied, “A hard, but I didn’t think you could smell it,” he laughed.

Jade looked confused and then figured it out. That broke the ice and Jade giggled and said, “Well it would be a shame to waste a good hard.” She took the bottle from his hand and placed it on a table.

“Let’s get out of here and go somewhere quieter,” she said, and suggested, “Let’s go to my place.”

The couple walked hand in hand out of the nightclub, with the kickboxers cheering them on.

Jade was a few years older than Cake, with brown wavy hair, brown eyes, and impish features. She resembled a smaller, muscular, Catherine Zeta-Jones. Cake marvelled at her feminine, well-defined body as they lay entwined, naked in each other’s arms on a cold Christmas morning in Jade’s single bed at her flat above the hair salon.

Cake felt nauseous by the overpowering smell coming from the chemicals in the salon, which he also could smell on Jade, but thought she smelt a lot better than female cooks did.

It was the first serious relationship for both of them. Cake and Jade became inseparable, spending all their free time together. Cake told Jade about his heightened olfactory senses, informing her he wasn’t being a cheeky twat by saying he couldn’t stay the night at the salon because it stank. The smell of ammonia in the hair dye made him retch.

Although they both had good incomes, with the astronomical price of property in London, Cake entered baking competitions to make purchasing an apartment possible.

The couple raised a sizeable deposit and took out a mortgage on a swanky apartment, midway between the Avalon and Jade’s salon in Knightsbridge.

Madly in love, they enjoyed their life together; planning to marry when they both felt settled enough to start a family.

However, for the time being, they were content living in the limelight of the Pâtissier Phenom, with Cake winning every competition he entered.

Jade surprised Cake frequently. She was a successful hairstylist with a wicked sense of humour and a strange interest in horror, as Cake found out when she wrote a novel about a cocaine addict, who sniffed the ashes of an unknown disintegrated vampire and turned into Keith Richards, which she had published.

Cake had now been working at the Avalon for three years, and built a top-class reputation. When the owners announced they had sold out for a massive profit to a corporation. Cake, remembering his experience with the Savoy, decided it was now time for him to move on and handed in his notice shortly before The Baker of the Year Award.

Despite lucrative offers of employment from other top restaurants, and the Avalon’s offer of a generous pay increase. Cake, at the pinnacle of his profession, wanted to branch out with Jade and run a bakery business.

Cake now felt happy knowing it would be the last time he would attend The Baker of the Year Award or any more awards ceremonies as only sponsored chefs from top restaurants and hotels could enter. Cake always felt uncomfortable and realised he looked awful in a suit with his stocky body balancing on thin spindly legs. Even though top class London tailors made his suits to measure, they hung off him as if a cack-handed blind person had made them. He’d always felt it unfair on his peers entering these competitions because of his heightened olfactory sense, perfect palate, and exceptional talent gave him an indisputable advantage over them. He now wanted to bring his flavours and delicacies from the South and its decadent clientele and make them available in the North. The couple had been together now for three years. They found premises in the Lincoln city centre and having it converted it into a bakery and pâtisserie, which had been Cake’s dream for a long time.

Jade wanted to venture north with Cake and help him in his endeavour. Although content with her life in London and would miss the money and adulation given to her around London by being with her cooking superstar fiancé, she knew Cake was unhappy working in large hotels. Jade’s job paid well and with Cake’s high salary along with the prize money from competitions, and bonuses, and although having to pay a mortgage in London, they scraped enough money together to finance their Lincoln venture, which was almost complete. Jade regularly commuted to Lincoln to check the building’s progress. Cake was finishing his job at the Avalon in a few weeks’, when he and Jade would then move to the Northern city.

The big day arrived when ‘CAKE’S Bakery & Pâtisserie’ opened its doors to the public. For Cake and Jade, it was now time to see if the fruits of their labour would pay off. They stood in the pâtisserie like proud parents waiting to show their new-born to the world.

“The place smells wonderful,” said Jade and kissed Cake, who had been preparing and baking with his two bakers since 5:00 am, sending heavenly aromas drifting through the pâtisserie.

Cake looked nervous and glanced over at the staff stood in front of the glass displays filled with decorative cakes and pastries. He looked at his two bakers through the glass partition of the bakery, and then looked at Jade, sighed, furrowed his brow, and asked, “Does everything look okay?”

Jade took his hand and said, “It looks perfect, don’t worry.”

“I can’t see any people queuing outside,” said Cake, looking through the windows. He glanced at the wall clock. “It’s 7: 45,” said Cake fidgeting.

Two men then knocked on the door

“About time they got here, “said Jade, unlocked the door, let the men in, and relocked the door

“Sorry we’re late,” said Kris Pinyoun, the Lincoln city FC goalkeeper, who arrived with a photographer from the Lincoln gazette to open the establishment.

Jade looked outside, sighed, and locked the door.

Cake, Jade, the serving ladies, and Kris went to the centre of the shop and stood around a Louis Vuitton patchwork cake on display. The photographer took pictures of Jade cutting the cake and handing a piece to Kris, who took a forkful off the plate. The photographer snapped away as Kris placed the small chunk into his mouth. His expression changed as the delicate cake dissolved in his mouth as he savoured the flavours.

‘Great acting,’ thought the photographer, who continued snapping away at the happy footballer.

“It’s now eight o’clock,” said Cake sounding anxious and again looking at the wall clock.

Jade smiled and instructed, “Okay, open the doors.”

Sarah opened the front door and the staff went behind the counters to their respective workstations.

Cake and Jade stood with their arms around each other next to Kris Pinyoun, who helped himself to another slice of cake as a few people walked in. The photographer took snaps of the first few customers, as Jade gave them a slice of the Louis Vuitton cake.

Kris helped himself to another slice from the diminishing cake display and after eating that, he said, “We’re going then.”

Cake handed Kris his £300 fee.

“That cake tasted delicious,” said Kris, licking the crumbs off the green paper doily. “Good luck with the business.” He looked back at the diminishing Louis Vuitton cake, but after receiving a scowl from Jade, he realised he’d outstayed his welcome and left.

A few customers trickled in and out over the next hour.

“I thought it would be busier,” said Cake sounding disappointed.

“It will be fine,” said Jade, assuring him, “The first day is always hit-and-miss so don’t worry. Besides, it’s only nine-thirty.”

“I still think there is an ingredient missing,” said Cake sniffing the aromas.

“You always think there’s an ingredient missing; the elusive missing spice. Maybe I will ask Big Dave to fart. That usually sends your senses into fits,” said Jade, chuckling.

“Do you think we have done the right thing? It cost us a lot more money than we thought,” said Cake

“I’m sure we have,” replied Jade, kissing him on the cheek. “Now bugger off into your bakery and work your magic on a baked Alaska.”

Cake went into the bakery and watched through the glass partition as customers trickled into the pâtisserie, with Jade and the girls serving. He knew his family would visit later in the day and felt sure they would be proud of him.

Things had not gone according to plan for the couple. Because of unforeseen expenses, they had far exceeded their budget with building regulations and slapdash building contractors, which delayed the shop opening, with the extra costs digging deep into their pockets.

The pâtisserie and bakery looked stunning. Located in the centre of the Monks Road shopping area in Lincoln, the two-storey building had a large open space on the first floor, which Jade and Cake converted into plush accommodations. The shop front stood out amongst the neighbouring row of shops, with a large green sign and gold leaved logo.

The pâtisserie’s interior resembled a decadent 1920s London restaurant with small imitation gas lampposts and other Art Deco fixtures and fittings and lemon green marbled columns in each corner. With the colour throughout subtle green jade, everything matched, crockery, upholstery, paper serving bags, and doilies.

The pâtisserie section had large glass display cabinets along the walls and divided from the bakery section by a glass partition to enable customers to view the bakers working. Although mainly a takeaway establishment, there were several Stamford wrought iron round tables and chairs for customers to sit and enjoy the ambience while they ate. They employed three serving staff and two bakers. The experienced bakers, chosen from the many applicants who applied for the job, wanted an opportunity to learn from the legendary Cake.

Dave Smith and Dave Jennings were the two bakers Cake employed. To avoid confusion, Cake called Dave Smith ‘Big Dave’ for being tall, while Dave Jennings was ‘Small Dave,’ because he was short, and Sarah, Tracy, and Jackie were the serving ladies.

The contents of the display cabinets had been set out with each product symmetrically laid out.

One section of the temperature-controlled display case contained loaves of bread, sandwiches, and rolls, such as Roquefort and almond sourdough, shepherds loaf, gourmet sandwiches, parmesan and oregano submarine bread rolls with vegetarian fillings. Another section contained pastries, including Latin puff pastry and other shortcrust and flaky delicacies. The final section of the refrigerated glass case contained cakes and desserts such as crème de la crème, which would be the envy of every fine dining establishment in the world, let alone a street bakery in Lincoln. Cake and his small team created delicacies, such as white chocolate and amaretto truffle, strawberry Arnaud, and macaroons haute couture. The pièce de résistance for the opening was Cake’s interpretation of the Louis Vuitton patchwork cake.

The Daves’ heads had not stopped spinning since they started working with Cake. He truly was a master, although they found him a little eccentric. Every time he completed a dish, he would smell it several times, frown, and announce that there was still something lacking. They couldn’t understand why, because everything Cake created tasted delicious and looked spectacular.

The bakery had new equipment, stainless steel baking ovens, dough mixers, dividers, and other speciality equipment. It gleamed with stainless steel sheeting on the walls, sinks, and sections of the floor, with air-conditioners and other temperature control machinery in storage compartments for specific products. An ultra-modern 21st-century bakery resembled a 19th-century French pâtisserie.