I’d Dish Him

Last night at work, we had a French pastry cooking class with Fabrice Bendano, 1789 Restaurant’s Executive Pastry Chef. He was sweet, no pun intended. This food lovin’ friend o’ mine would have been in heaven.

Fabrice had visited the office days before the class to check out our kitchen supplies (a mish mosh due to the crazy world of Kashrut). Upon first glance, I decided that I wanted to be his special helper come class time. So when I went into the kitchen last night as Fabrice was getting organized (measuring cacao chips), I said, “Hi. I can help if you need it. You know, like be your sous chef.”

Fabrice smiled and then we were in business. I was a good little helper until he told me to measure out sugar – “5 times, 2 cups” for the five groups the class was divided into. I was making my third measurement of regular sugar when Fabrice said (read with your best French accent), “Ohhh, no no no. The con-feCK-shu-nurr’s shoo-gawr.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I said. When am I ever that quick to apologize (especially to a guy)? When there’s a lovely French man – Paris born – wearing a becoming chef’s jacket and proving that he can satisfy my most dire need in life – varied styles for chocolate consumption.

Fabrice moved slowly and wasn’t the least bit concerned that he was ½ hour late starting the class. Man I love me a European hedonist with no sense of urgency.

Class began and instead of teaching everyone at once, Fabrice went around and taught each of the five groups separately. Completely impractical, but the man can do no wrong in my eyes.

He came back into the kitchen at one point, where I was melting chocolate in a microwave (only for a French man would I stand in front of a microwave for an extended period of time) and said, “Ahhh, do you have any vA-tir…I’m sir-stee.”

Fabrice, I’m sir-stee for your love (I did not just write that).

I quenched his thirst.

The aftermath of crunchy chocolate truffle cake and diamond butter cookies? Me and my co-workers washing countless dishes until 10:00 pm. A 9:00 am – evening day, story of my life.

“I don’t wash dishes at home. I have a dishwasher,” I said for no purpose to my co-workers who were distracted, licking remnants of chocolate off of spatulas and out of mixing bowls. Overtime brings out the hungry in people, I suppose.

My farewell with Fabrice was bittersweet (again, no pun), because the chocolate king is married. Of course he is.