The wait was finally over.
This final exam had been especially tough with Master Chef breathing over her shoulder like a fantasy dragon of yore. She was amazed that she was actually still standing “HERE”. The idiom, “slaving over a hot stove” had taken a whole new meaning this past year with forty old biddies like herself trying to show the Professor their individual gourmet skills. One by one they had fallen by the way side as Master Chef, as he liked to be called, repeatedly shouted ” Theese is cooking not creating, get out of my kitchen”. She had survived by her southern determination and her ability to ignore his prissy-French “I’m better than you ” attitude. She refused to allow him to get on her last nerve and only lapsed into a case of the vapors after class and far away from his line of sight.
Today she had done the steps correctly as taught and to give her a slight edge she had brought in her own ingredients. Just this morning she had braved the hen-house and plucked four eggs from the nest belonging to Ruby the Rhode Islander. Never chilled and still hen temperature was just the ticket. The quart of rich cream, full of fat and flavor, she had borrowed from Mabel, her buxom brown-eyed Guernsey. Fortunately, on a wish and a prayer, the Gruyère she had ordered from that catalog she had swiped borrowed from Norma Jean’s Dip and Do Hair Salon, had arrived by FedEx just in time for class. This was to be her souffle of dreams which would propel her to greatness, rubbing elbows with the top chefs of the world was her destiny. She was sure of that.
The oven ding snatched her back to reality and Master Chef hovered in anticipation. She stood, smoothed down her apron and wiped the moisture from her brow. Placing the oven mitts on her hands like a surgeon before a major slice and dice, she stepped to the oven door.
Que Sera, Sera…. rise or fall…… the wait was finally over.
http://thinkingten.ning.com/ Tuesday: The wait was finally over