The tension only got worse, so with a quick hot shower, Jake’s favorite yellow sundress, and a little makeup on the face, I was ready for the day. Comfortable in this lap of luxury, I started flipping through French TV and patiently waited for Jake.
Within minutes of turning on the TV, I heard the door be-beep and in walked Jake with a crepe and a cup of coffee.
“Where did you get this? There couldn’t be a crepe vendor in this tony neighborhood.”
“I stopped by the boulangerie.”
“Thank you. I was getting hungry.”
He smiled and handed me my snack.
“Emily, tell me some of the things you want to do in Paris. We can go out of Paris as well if you like. Give me your list.”
“Well, last time I was here, I never got to go to the Bastille opera house or Palais Garnier and watch an opera. I’d love to do that this time.”
“You’ve been here before? It’s not your first time?”
“Sarah and I were in Europe for a month after undergrad. I assume you have been here many times before?” I knew this was an obvious question, as I couldn’t imagine the Reids not having traveled to France.
“My mom loves Paris. When we were younger, we used to stay at the Ritz every spring for a month. After we started school, we came during the summertime. Since I was little, they’ve had the same hotel manager here. I’ll introduce you to him when we go to the Escoffier school.”
Jake spoke beautiful French to the driver as well as the hotel staff when we first arrived. It only made sense that he lived and perfected his French here.
“Anything else you want to do? I promised you that this week would be your world. Whatever you like, I’ll oblige.”
“There’s not too much else. You know, the usual…the Louvre, Musee d’Orsay, maybe a flea market. You’re the expert in this city. You lead, I’ll follow.”
“I like this attitude,” he answered, pleased. “I’ll have the concierge send a list of what’s playing. Right now, we need to go downstairs. We have an appointment with the chef.”
My questions ceased, and as promised, I followed his lead. There was one thing that made me pause. It surprised me that Jake hadn’t touched me since I got to Paris. Aside from my attack at the airport, we hadn’t embraced. He had been tame for his standards. It made me curious, as well as a bit nervous.
We met Francois Garcon, the general manager of Hotel Ritz, at the Escoffier school. It looked to be a cooking school of some sort but I thought I’d wait for an explanation before asking any questions.
“Bonjour, Monsieur Reid. Ca va?”
“Oui, ca va, Francois.”
“Bonjour, Madamoiselle” Francois said turning to me, “Je suis Francois, le directeur de l’hotel. C’est un plaisir de vous rencontrer.”
I decided to use my decrepit French and tell Francois that I too was happy to make his acquaintance.
“Bonjour, Je suis Emily Logan. Il est très agréable de vous rencontrer aussi,” I proudly uttered.
“Ah, vous parlez Francaises?” Francois asked.
“You speak French?” Jake asked, quite surprised.
“Oui, je parle un peu.”
Telling Francois and Jake that I spoke a little was about the extent of our conversation in French. I couldn’t keep up with the two of them as they conversed the entire time in French. Here and there, Jake would break the flow of his conversation and ask me what kind of lesson I would prefer. My choices were basic French cooking, pastry making, and even flower arranging. I chose to work with the chef de patisserie and learn dessert.
We spent four hours making French baguettes from scratch, croissants, creme brulee, strawberry savarin, mocha pot de creme, apple tarte tatin, lemon souffle, crepes, and even profiteroles. I was so in my element in the kitchen. I loved it, and Jake enjoyed watching me have fun. What was even better than making the desserts was of course eating them. The school set up a table for us in the kitchen and we ate every dessert we made. The pastry chef packed up what we did not finish and we walked out to the square hoping to relieve our distended stomach.
We walked quietly, hand in hand, toward the Tuileries Garden.
Jake turned to me and asked, “What are you thinking right now?”
“I was thinking that our private lesson at the Escoffier was about the coolest thing I’ve ever done in my life!”
“You liked it that much?” Jake seemed quite surprised that a cooking school would make such an impression on me.
“If life would have turned out differently for me when I was younger, I probably would’ve gone to cooking school after undergrad. I feel most comfortable in a kitchen. Maybe one day when I’m retired, I’ll enroll in a cooking school just for fun. Thanks to you, I’ve checked off another thing I’ve always wanted to do. Thank you.”