Week 2 – Pastry

Pastry

Barely 21, I had a “yellow Corvette” adventure. As summer dusk settled upon the central piazza in Sulmona, Italy, an utterly machismo, brand-spanking new, canary yellow, convertible Corvette came to abrupt halt near my friends and me. The man offered one of us a ride. I stood up. Finally, this was my chance to befriend a true Mafioso. Yes. I left my friends and the swarm of ragazzi playing soccer on the cobblestones and got in the car. We sped off. The wind rustled my hair. This man was a Sicilian, even more Mafioso. Yes. The city melted away. We drove through the countryside, smelling of hay. I looked up at the stars, and realized with dread, I might have just done the stupidest thing in my life. Who was this man? Not only could I not understand a word of his Sicilian dialect, but he was a very large Sicilian. Fifteen minutes turned into thirty. I did not enjoy going 100 miles an hour anymore. We pulled into a very dark factory-ish warehouse. Oh shit. Ohhhhhhhh shit. He gestured for me to go in. Okay. By then I surrendered myself to this situation. I followed him into this building. He turned on the lights. The space was enormous, filled with shiny stainless steel tables and equipment. On a shelf was some Sambucca. He offered me some. Dear God yes, the bottle please. While I poured Sambucca down my throat, the Sicilian left my side to open a large walk-in refrigerator, and pulled out an enormous cake box. He came towards me, raised the lid, and inside was the most dazzling array of pastries. I was in a pastry factory. He offered me some. I was tasting angels. Is there a patron saint of pastry? If so, that is my saint. We got into the yellow Corvette, and raced back to town, to share this box of goodness with my friends. Those little tarts would be the best desserts of my life.

When I sat at the table in the Chef Studio and slid the velvet of this beautiful custard across my tongue, I thought of those “yellow corvette” tarts. That is the first time that this recollection, this connection has ever happened. I think the patron saint of pastry has visited once again . . .

- Blake