Chapter 2 - Pour
Sheldon Lee Cooper found himself back in front of the same kitschy bakery a week later.
What was he doing back here?
He was the head baker at the prestigious Gateau Affairs, a bakery he had hired onto and, over the years, had singlehandedly raised its reputation within a few short years. With his meticulous instructions, the privileged and humble alike could enjoy his delectable delicacies.
But baking the same cakes could get stale after a while, pardon the pun. Besides a yummy confection, creativity not just with the design on the icing but the entire cake was also a main factor in attracting repeat customers. The man often went anonymously to local bakeries scoping out the latest ideas, or to be inspired himself. Just one month ago, he was motivated to create a pirate boat cake for boys' birthday parties after seeing a poorly constructed attempt down on South Madison Avenue.
Was he stealing other's ideas? Probably. But he had justification! He was taking a poor product and molding it into perfection!
This mediocre shop brought nothing of benefit to him. Her chocolate cake was dry and not particularly noteworthy in taste.
So why was he here again?
He remembered the baker's quiet chatter in the silence of her empty shop.
"I want to make cakes to make people happy, Momma, and everyone has a smile when they get one. You always see cakes during happy events – birthdays, graduations. Never at funerals. Well, except the time crazy Aunt Lola brought one…"
Didn't he used to be like that? "Cakes were for happy occasions. Everyone smiles." Had he ever sounded like that? Where had his sense of wonder and naiveté gone to?
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Sheldon could remember exactly when he had discovered his talent in baking. He had been taking part in the rite of passage for all siblings - stealing his sister's precious Easy Bake oven out of jealousy. His bratty twin had insisted on using that contraption to make a treat for their beloved Meemaw. Sibling rivalry had risen up, and at first, he wanted to utilize the bulb to bake substrates for the circuit that went into his homemade robot. Instead he had found himself surprisingly observing the device, and even more so following the instructions to make what was essentially a chocolate brownie.
His Meemaw had smiled declaring that her Moon Pie could make moon pies of his own now.
And he would do anything for Meemaw's approving smile. That was the start of the beginning, baking more and more complex items as he grew. Mary Cooper had plenty of delights to sell for church fundraisers, and soon Sheldon Cooper found himself as one of the youngest students enrolled in Europe's top culinary institute. After graduation he found his sights set on the loftiest goal. His aim: the Stevenson Award, the highest accolade for the best baker in the country. As head baker of Gateau Affairs, he got his first shot at the elusive prize last year.
It had ended in disaster.
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A shake of his head dismissed the errant thought. He needed to stop reminiscing in the past! The present was what was important. He had recipes to review and inventory to take stock of.
And yet he couldn't find himself to turn away from the blonde's bakery. Her words ran over and over again in his mind.
The tall man entered the shop again. The same proprietress with her sun kissed locks and perfectly symmetrical features gave him a ferocious scowl, but with a smirk he noticed she was the only one there.
Beggars couldn't be choosers.
He set his items down warily guarding the delicate areas an irate female could hit (Thank you, Missy!). He perused the menu again, despite his eidetic memory already memorizing the sparse selection.
"Lemon cake, please."
The owner came back with a slice, along with tea perfectly doctored to his preferences.
He gave her a surprised look. She had only served him once before, but then again he had been her only customer. Nevertheless, it was a welcomed positive to a subpar establishment.
Sheldon lingered for a half hour in silence, finishing the last sentences of his latest idea of a new fondant when the gentle tap of the bill landed by his elbow. The same yellow comment card he had written his scathing critique on had the addition of another sentence scribbled beneath in flowery purple pen:
Why are my cakes so terrible?
He raised his eyes to meet her sorrowful green orbs. Sheldon panicked slightly. Please don't cry, please don't cry! He couldn't handle a female in distress! His fight or flight response was kicking in, but he didn't know what was in control as the following words slipped from his mouth.
"Show me."
"What?"
"Show me how you bake a cake."
Penny blinked owlishly. It was a health code violation to let a customer bake in her kitchen, and this was a complete neurotic head case to boot! Still, she nibbled her lower lip, glancing around her empty shop.
Desperate times called for desperate measures.
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"No, no no! Good lord, what are you doing woman?!"
"The recipe says to mix the beaten egg whites in!"
"Yes! By folding them, not beating it half to death!"
Penny gritted her teeth. The man had the social skills of a brick! But unfortunately he knew what he was talking about. She never had formal training. Only a few internet instruction videos and cookbooks, but this whack-a-doodle knew the right techniques and described them with military command.
"Angle your wrist to 17 degrees from the horizontal plane of the bowl, and beat approximately for 1.6 minutes."
She stared flabbergasted at him. How on earth was she expected to know what to do with those kinds of instructions?
Her tall teacher huffed and nudged her hand up to the correct angle with the handle of the wooden spoon he was using.
"The human hand has an average of 150 different kinds of bacteria sitting on its surface."
Penny made a face. She definitely did not need to know that! Her phone's ring tone rang out in the silence. As she scurried across the kitchen to silence it, a voice interrupted.
"What song was that?"
"Radiohead," she shrugged apologetically. It probably wasn't his style. He probably listened to Mozart or when he was feeling really crazy, Rachmaninoff.
"Play it."
Astonished, she did as he bid, watching him counting under his breath as the voice of Thom Yorke resonated in the silent kitchen.
"There! Beat the eggs to the rhythm of this song until the end of the chorus."
Penny's face lit up. Now this she could understand!
She hummed along as she replayed the song.
Her companion frowned in annoyance. "You are a half tone lower in pitch, and 0.4 seconds off from the beat."
Penny rolled her eyes, "And this is why I never became an actress."
"Less than 1% of people succeed in reaching that goal."
"And restaurants succeed 10% of the time, so I must be a glutton for punishment."
He turned to her raising an enigmatic eyebrow, "Females are most likely to identify with masochism when compared to men."
The bakery owner's mouth dropped in wonder. Professor Whack-a-doodle was a walking encyclopedia! She had never had a conversation drift from her acting abilities to masochism before.
With surprisingly few snide comments later, they finished the cake, and soon had it decorated within the hour.
"A truly efficient baker can make a cake in an hour, including baking time," her roped-in tutor stated haughtily.
Penny couldn't help scoffing in his direction. Her instructor had his nose stuck permanently in the air!
The man's eyes narrowed and made to lecture her, but her smile had him shutting his mouth with a snap.
As she pulled out sugar for frosting, the man interjected, "A simple frosting, please. Anything more would detract from the chocolate interior."
Penny nodded in acknowledgment actually agreeing with him for once. She disliked overly sweetened cakes herself. The baker soon had a batch of homemade frosting whipped up.
She sliced two identical wedges and plated them with a flourish.
"At least you did this correctly," the man gestured to the icing with his fork.
Penny grinned triumphantly. Finally, a compliment! She would have never expected it from her mysterious stranger.
"It's an old family recipe, with real ingredients. None of that low-fat imitation crap." Both gave a shudder. Those granola health nuts could keep their low calorie abomination, thank you very much!
It was the moment of truth. The blonde baker placed a hearty bite to her lips, expecting her usual quality. Her cakes seemed off no matter what ingredients she used.
An explosion of flavor met her taste buds.
"Wow!" she exclaimed. "This is great!"
Whack-a-doodle sniffed condescendingly. "Of course. Anyone can bake given the proper instruction."
Penny's eyes narrowed. That was a slight against her, she was sure of it, but she was too full of delicious cake to complain.
It was late as the pair left for the night. Her tutor had insisted on carefully reviewing the revised recipe with her in order for the blonde to learn from her mistakes. Penny felt like she was back in school again! Both his and her notes were written into the margins and every blank space the two could find. Hole punched, and tucked away into a binder, with the promise to find a protected laminate sheet to cover it, Penny promised she would treasure it with her life.
As she locked up for the night, ecstatic for the first time since she opened the store, she exclaimed a heartfelt thank you to her unknown savior. It was on her lips to ask for his name, but the man, nodding in acknowledgment to her gratitude, turned on his heel and walked away into the night.
As he turned the corner, Sheldon made a mental note to make an appointment with his usual cardiologist.
There had to be a medical reason for his unexpected heart palpitations whenever he saw the owner's beautiful smile.
A usual, many moments in this story were taken from the original source material, the Big Bang Theory tv show.
Please review,
Grignard