The next time Madeline visited Wang's was during Sunday, when she arrived at the restaurant at six in the morning to find it completely empty. Apparently, Ling had wandered down to get her pencil bag while still wearing her nightclothes and found her waiting outside the door, staring right at her.
She'd immediately raced back upstairs, face red, and yelled for Vicente. She was loud enough that he woke up immediately, sat up so quickly he hit his head on the ceiling and half-fell off his bunk while seeing stars.
After having some leftover winter melon soup (the first thing he could salvage in their kitchen) for breakfast, Vicente ran down to the restaurant, his head still throbbing with pain, to meet with her.
They sat down at a table that was right in the middle of the restaurant and also the furthest away from the kitchens and the register, where two of his siblings would be working. Vicente placed two saucers of still-warm pineapple pastries and cups of his favourite jasmine tea down and wondered how on earth Madeline looked so pretty so early in the morning. She woke up at four in the morning every day to help at the Boulangerie and still managed to look impeccable, honey-golden hair perfectly braided and looking alert as ever. No sleepiness clouded those brilliant blue eyes.
He was snapped out of his reverie when he heard Ling shout in frustration. She'd changed into a denim jacket, and the logo of one of her favourite bands was stencilled in black glitter on the T-shirt underneath. The jacket was half-falling off as she jostled the register, trying in vain to pull out the drawer.
"Will she be all right?"
He shrugged and pulled a saucer towards his side of the table. "She'll figure it out."
At the register, Ling let loose an impressive string of curse words.
Madeline took a sip of her tea, the steam clouding her glasses for a moment. "Sorry for showing up so early, I should've checked your opening hours beforehand. Poor Ling looked like she was about to pass out when she saw me."
Ling kicked the register. "JUST OPEN ALREADY, YOU USELESS PIECE OF SH — "
"It's fine," Vicente said. "You'll always be welcome here. I just hope the sight of Ling in her pyjamas wasn't enough to traumatise you."
She laughed. "I've walked in on Francis having a shower, and I don't think anything could be worse than that. And speaking of Francis…" she pulled out a plastic box from her bag. "He insisted I bring something over to give you." The transparent box held an impressive Mont Blanc tart. It was slightly lopsided, but the beautiful little mountain of sweetened chestnut cream still looked okay, and the golden-brown tart shell perfectly intact. The layer of powdered sugar over the cream looked like fine snow.
"Another chestnut dessert." Madeline placed the box on the table and opened it. "I like working with them, since their flavour is so versatile. If I'd had the time, I would've tried to smoke the chestnuts before blending them, just to see how they'd taste."
"It looks…" he could barely find the words to say. "Wow."
"Give it a taste," she prompted. "I made them just this morning."
He pushed his fork through the pale-brown cream, watching the mountain collapse slightly as he pushed through the crunchy meringue and exposed the creamy off-white centre of the tart. Powdered sugar scattered onto the table as he brought the fork away and tasted the tart.
The tart was even better than the one he'd tasted before, the chestnut mingling with hints of vanilla and white chocolate, the meringue crisp and sweet. The cream combined all the contrasting tastes and textures together into one smooth masterpiece that went down easily, leaving nothing but a fleeting, fragrant aftertaste.
"Wow," Vicente said again. It had to be one of the best desserts he'd ever had.
His friend was observing him with a slight smile. "Is it good?"
"Perfect. I can't think of any other word to describe it."
"Thank you." Madeline looked at the remaining part of the Mont Blanc, at the crumbs of meringue that crumbled like fine white sand and the tiny smear of chestnut cream at the edge of the box. "I'm glad you like it."
"You're really good at baking, you know." Vicente placed his fork down on his saucer. "Even if your brother doesn't think so."
"Only because baking mostly consists of waiting next to an oven. If I actually have to cook with a stove, I'm terrible. The one time I tried to make crêpes ended in disaster."
"Is that the time it turned black because it was burnt?"
"Yes, that's the one. When I tried to flip the crêpe, I was so nervous I accidentally threw it into the sink." She picked up her fork and cut off a corner of the pineapple pastry. "Francis is the only person I know who can make crêpes without getting frustrated."
"I should try making one," Vicente mused. "I've made pancakes a few times before, but never something as thin and delicate as a crêpe."
"I'm sure that it won't be a challenge to you, and I'd love to try a crêpe you make." Madeline brushed away a crumb of pastry from the corner of her mouth, flicking it back onto the saucer in one swift, elegant move.
Entranced, he watched as she picked up the teapot and poured a steady stream of tea into her cup, then fanned away the steam that began to rise up. "I'll make them," he said absently. "I'll bring them to the Boulangerie next… Wednesday?"
"That sounds good." She slid the teapot over to him, and it was then that Vicente noticed she had a burn mark on her right hand, already half-faded and stretching from the base of her thumb to her wrist bone. It stood out from the rest of her hand, which was so porcelain and perfect it might as well be from a statue.
He shook his head quickly and tried to clear his head, once again feeling rather heated.
…
Once the restaurant was closed for the day, and the siblings had finished their dinner, Vicente went back down to the restaurant with his cell phone. He'd found a recipe for basic crêpes online, and Wang's already had all of the ingredients he'd need. He went into the kitchen, switched the lights on and got to work.
The batter wasn't difficult to make, and in minutes he had a bowl full of the smooth, thin liquid ready to be fried up. Vicente took out a small frying pan and placed it on the stove, all while looking for a spoon large enough to scoop the batter onto the pan.
A few moments later, he flicked a handful of water onto the pan. It sizzled, bubbling and rising, and once all the water evaporated he dropped a knob of butter into the now-hot surface.
The butter melted quickly, and all that was left to make the crêpes.
He poured a spoonful of batter onto the pan and quickly smoothed it out with the back of his spoon, doing his best to shape it into a circle. It was so thin that one side was already cooked when he managed to grab a spatula and flip it over, accidentally folding a corner in the process. Just to be safe, Vicente kept the crêpe on the pan for a few more seconds before roughly shaking it onto a plate.
The crêpe looked like a shapeless blob, some parts thinner than the rest, and there was a tear right in the middle. There were splotches of brown where it had burned, too. He tore off a part of it and popped it into his mouth. At least it tasted all right.
Vicente polished off the rest of the failed crêpe and turned the stove on again, ready to make another.
The next crêpe he made was more even and didn't tear, but it still wasn't round enough. He shook it out and tried his best to smooth out the creases so that it wouldn't look like a misshapen, wrinkled sheet and looked at it.
"Hey."
Leon was standing in the kitchen's doorway, his dark-brown hair still wet from his shower. He eyed the crêpe on the plate curiously and asked, "you're still working?"
"I want to get these right." Vicente gestured towards the pan. "I don't think I'll be able to sleep until I do."
"You mean, you want to give some to Madeline so you're going to stay up making these until they're flawless." He walked into the kitchen, yellow slippers clapping against the cold tiles. "You've got a long way to go."
"I know."
He pointed at the plate. "That looks like Australia."
"It what?"
"See, that part down there looks like South Australia." Leon poked the bottom of the crêpe. "And that weird detached bit can be Tasmania." He proceeded to pick up the Tasmania-shaped piece and eat it. "It tastes good, though."
Vicente let his brother eat the rest of the crêpe and got to work making a third. Leon was right; he had a long way to go until the crêpes were good enough to give to Madeline. He had three days, and by the end of them he had to be perfect at it.