Katherine’s were as humble as Willa’s were extravagant. Normally, Henry didn’t hold with “rustic” preparations. They were an excuse to be messy and not have to answer for it. But he had to make an exception for Katherine.I’ll call her a shabby-chic baker.She made some awfully attractive “shabby chic” bakes, even if her skill was occasionally questionable. The éclairs she’d pulled out earlier in the day were showstoppers. Rose-petal whipped cream with a cinnamon and honey icing on the top.
And then there was Tristan. Tristan, still comfortably set right in front of Henry, where he’d been the whole time, with his fantastic ass and amazing baking skills. His croquembouche was completelyhim. The profiteroles were made with a chocolate choux pastry, because he couldn’t do anything simple, it seemed. His sugar work was considerably lighter in color than all the others, and he’d covered it in silver dragées and silver luster dust that made it so Goddamn elegant.He does some beautiful fucking work.
“Okay, that is time, bakers. Drop the spatulas and step away from the cream puffs!” Sylvia clapped her hands a few times, smiling at them.
I guess this is it. This is fucking it.Henry stepped back as far as he could and looked up and down his croquembouche: evenly sloped sides, sturdy, few spaces between the individual profiteroles. He had to resist the urge to tap it, to check if it was all hard and ready to go. He didn’t want to risk anyone thinking he could be cheating this close to the end.
Sylvia nodded as she scanned the room. “All right, if you all want to bring your towering croquembouches up to the table, I can get eating— I mean, the judges can get started.” She gestured to the right. “Willa, if you can go ahead? Or do you need some help with that beauty?”
Willa scooped up the tower with a smirk and brought it forward. Now was the time to see how this was all going to fall out.
Rita immediately picked up a spoon and cracked it against the side of the croquembouche. “A good, stiff caramel. Properly cooked, not raw or sticky. What flavors are we working with on this one?”
“It’s a basic choux pastry, filled with a chocolate and Irish cream filling, and then obviously the chocolate-covered espresso beans studding the outside. And some spun sugar wrapped around the whole number.”
“Well, the appearance is very, very impressive, but let’s get a check on the flavor.” It was almost painful, watching Rita crack the beautifully constructed tower. They all knew how much work went into that thing, and it was unceremoniously broken and handed out to the other judges, and Sylvia too. They ate in what could have been silence, save for the constant cracking of the sugar under their teeth.
“It’s good. Exactly what you said.” Rita nodded as she went in for another bite. “I mean, truly, it’s one of the most decadent cream puffs I’ve had in a long time. And I eat more cream puffs than I’m comfortable admitting on national television.”
“The filling is on point,” said Eli. “And I always appreciate some liquor with my dessert, so thanks for that.”
“But, you know, I’m not sold on this as a whole.” Dexter’s brows furrowed. “I know it’s a nitpick, but the espresso beans aren’t cutting it for me. I’m all for you going after something a little extra. This close to the end, you have to if you want to stand out. But I think they overpower the dish instead of cutting through all the sweet and the decadence, which is why I assume you went with them. All in all good, but maybe a bit too much.”
Willa nodded silently and, after a few seconds, she walked back to her station. She hadn’t hit a home run. Henry’s stomach flipped; they all still had a shot.
Sylvia smiled, then gestured back to the right. “Katherine?”
And it continued. Henry sat on the stool and stared up at his croquembouche. This was torture. The judging got shorter every time, as they lost people, but it always felt twice as long as the round before. He didn’t even watch now, just listened.
Eli first. “Good structure, nice appearance. Flavors?”
Katherine. “It’s a vanilla and Earl Grey pastry cream, and the choux has finely ground Earl Grey mixed in as well, and then a caramel and some candied citrus rinds.”
“Color me intrigued.”
Henry shifted his focus to watch Eli break apart the individual profiteroles. He was much more delicate than Rita had been, carefully cracking the sugar apart, then passing a couple to each of the other judges. Henry watched their faces. No obvious disgust. Rita went back in for another bite after her first, and so did Dexter. Not Eli, but all their initial reactions seemed positive.
Eli broke first. “It is good, but your choux pastry has some problems. The Earl Grey I don’t think was ground down finely enough, so I’m getting pockets where I bite down on tea, and there’s this overallgrittytexture that I’m not in love with. But the candied citrus is a lovely touch. Even with the tea, the profiteroles are a little on the sweet side, and the bitter and sour from the rind helps balance that right out.”
They really are being picky, aren’t they?
“I’m not bothered by the texture,” said Dexter. “And your pastry cream is incredibly flavorful. It’s never easy to get tea to carry through, even harder when you’re working with something as potent as vanilla to go with it. But you managed it. I do agree that’s it’s a little on the sweet side. I would have liked some of that citrus in the pastry or the cream instead of only on the side.”
“They’re both crazy. This is perfect.” Rita leaned over the table, smiling. “How much tea did you have to use for this pastry cream to taste like actual tea?”
“It was about half a cup.”
“Good to know. Very good to know.” Rita jotted something down on a slip of paper. “Thank you, Katherine.”
Katherine nodded and walked back to her station, and off went the broken croquembouche with the production assistants, following behind her. Judging by the split of her critiques, Henry wouldn’t bet on her taking the top spot. You needed more than one judge on your side to pull that out.
Sylvia switched her gaze to the other side of the room. “Tristan, if you don’t mind?”
He nodded, then gave a tiny glance back to Henry, the smallest wink and smirk imaginable before carrying the choux pastry tower up front to the café table.
As expected, Dexter went first this time. He performed the same spoon-cracking test and it glanced off the sugar. “Nicely held together. Looks like a chocolate choux?”
Tristan nodded. “Chocolate choux with a red chili and blood orange crème pat. And then some luster dust on the outside.”
