The art of french pastry phần 5
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momcheerfullychurned
throughoneorderafter
another,hercashregistera
padofpaperonwhichshe
quicklytalliedupthe
totals.Iworkedintheshop
oneSaturdaymorning
whenIwasaboutfourteen
yearsoldonadaywhen
mysisterElisabeth,who
usuallyhelpedouton
Saturdays,couldn’t.Punk
thatIwas,Ithoughtit
wouldbeeasy;whatcould
besodifficultabout
grabbingaloafofbread
andgivingittoa
customer?Mymom
smiled,knowinghowlittle
Iknewabouther
customers,whoexpected
metoknowexactlywhat
theywanted.Icouldfeel
themlookingovermy
shouldertomakesureI
madenoerrorsasIadded
uptheirorders(luckily,I
wasgoodatmath).Bythe
endofthatmorningIwas
sostressedthatIbegged
mymothernevertomake
meworkthereagain.“I’ll
scrubfloors,cleanevery
potandpaninDad’s
kitchen,anything,but
pleasedon’tmakemework
thefrontagain!”She
smiledandsaid,“Now
you’vehadasliceofmy
dailylife.”
Afterschool,on
weekends,andduring
schoolvacationsmytwo
sisters,mybrother,andI
wereoftenrequiredto
workinthebakery(butnot
inthefrontoftheshop).
We’dtrytohideasmuch
aswecould,escapingto
playinthenearbyhillsor
inthecourtyardandbarn
ofourconvertedfarm,but
eventuallymyparents
wouldfindus.Myfather
wasverystrict,andthere
wasalwayssomethingthat
neededtobedone—greasy
sheetpansandkougelhof
moldstoclean,applesto
peelforchaussons,
mirabelles,andquetsches
tocutupfortarts.On
Thursdaystherewere
onionstopeelformy
mom,whoslicedthemthin
