Saving Who?

Chapter 8

"If you do not whip the cream properly, your cake will be ruined. Trust me." Chef Antoine was going on and on about it.

"Not like you're gonna have any problems whipping the cream without a machine Kat. You've gained some serious muscle there." my friend Claire whispered.

She was right, I had shredded the excess weight I had on me before. Now, I was lean and toned out in all the right places. Damn, it felt good. The year was almost ending, and things had taken a turn for the good in my life.

Things in culinary school couldn't have been better, and I was at the top of my class. During the weekends, I spent my time slaving away in kitchens to gain the experience I needed. I had worked in Anthony Bourdain's kitchen, as well as chef Bobby Flay. Although, my area of expertise was baking and pastries, I wanted to gain more knowledge in the other fields. I wanted to be good everything.

That was just the way I was. Nothing could stop me from achieving what I wanted. I always reminded myself that I had something to prove to not only myself, but everyone else. Mainly being my parents. They never tried to contact me once. I knew how my brother was through Talen.

Talen... that was the only glitch in my life. Things had taken a serious turn. He still thought I was Sarah.  Even though I know that he is deeply in love with her, but it's actually me, I continued this sick and twisted thing.

"I want this cake to be iced and decorated in 40 minutes! It is 10 percent. Treat it seriously!" he said in his French accent.

"We better get to work." I laughed looking at Claire's gobsmacked expression.

Not being one to brag, but this was an easy assignment. With precision, I sculpted the cake to my liking, than began whipping the icing together. When I was done, most of the other students were out of breath. I laid the icing on, making sure to cover the nooks and crannies and I set it in the blast chiller so it would be easier to lay on the fondant.

I decided to stick to plain white fondant, to show off my skill a little. Most students wouldn't want to deal with the white fondant because if mistakes were made, it would be difficult to start over. The decorations we were supposed to  do were flowers of our any choice. Since I was going to hand pipe Fleur-de-lis motives onto the cake itself, I decided to make roses out of black gum paste then dust it with edible gold dust.

Removing the cake that was in the blast chiller, I quickly rolled out the fondant and laid it onto the first layer of the cake which was the base. Nothing unusual, just a round bottom. When that was done, I did the second tier, then stacked it onto each other, secured it with some wood and royal icing.

Setting it aside, I decided to get started onto my roses. Changing my mind again, I decided to do half in gum paste and half in butter cream. My vision was to have the roses that look like it was cascading down to the base. The roses at the top of the tier would sit at the edge, and would be made out of icing, and the cascading ones would be gum paste making it easier for me to attach them with toothpicks.

Glancing at the clock, I had only 20 minutes left. I zoned myself out further and stepped up the pace. Grabbing my piping bag, I scooped in the black luscious icing and pushed all of the air out. With a steady hand, I began to pipe the Fleur-de-Lis motives onto the cake.

I made sure that I didn't make a design that would be too overwhelming because there would be the roses as well. Rushing to let the icing set, I placed it into the cooler again, and finished up the 10th and final gum paste rose. Looking at the clock again, there were 10 minutes left.

"10 minutes left. I hope you understand the meaning of perfection!" he yelled.

Without breaking my concentration, I pulled the cake out of the cooler and arranged the gum paste roses meticulously. Then, I grabbed my piping bag again and changed the nozzle that was suitable for making the other kind of roses I wanted. I picked up my flower nail, which looked like those things you put a golf ball on.