I couldn't leave you hanging with Francis, so I decided to wrap things up. Francis fan's don't worry, his turn will come. The recipe for the scones is at the end. Please enjoy and thank you for reading.
Kuro.
Part 6: The Chef's Muse
There was silence in the house, the smell of all the baking which had been done by the lonesome Frenchman was gone. He sighed as he walked over to the wine cooler and pulled out a bottle of Merlot. His fingers caressed the green bottle, it was cold, and he admired the label, "1924," he whispered as he looked at the yellowing label. "An end to the war between us as Napoleon challenged you from across the channel," he muttered as he placed the bottle on the counter. He could remember the day Arthur entered dressed in the bright red coat and medals across his chest. He could be mistaken as a pirate if it weren't for the fact he was carrying an order from her majesty. His boots clicked against the floor, and he stood proud for a nation which was so small.
Francis reached into the drawer and pulled out the silver bottle opener, his fingers wrapped around the hand turn as he pierced the cork with the screw. That bold red jacket and determined green eyes, it was then he had fallen in love with the man. He popped the cork out of the bottle and placed both the cork screw and the cork on the counter before pouring the dark red liquid in the glass. "That's the day I fell in love with you," he whispered as he swirled the wine in the short red wine glass and took a sniff of the bouquet. It was fragrant and sweet, yet there was a bitterness to it, "This bottle," he muttered before taking a sip. He could taste the sweetness disappear into bitterness, "A gift from you, my prize for trying," he commented as he laughed sadly. The bottle had been given to him during the signing of the Treaty of Paris, it was an olive branch. He never opened it, he refused to, he would only do so if he had Arthur in his arms. He picked the bottle up by the neck and wandered through the house with the glass in hand.
That moment that Arthur had confessed his feelings for Alfred nearly shattered him. Sure he had flirted with others, however most of it was an act for attention. The one he cared for was the one who fell in love with the young man he saw as a son. Francis sighed as he took a seat on the back wall outside. The bottle rested on the wall as he jumped up and took a seat. His feet brushed against the soft carpet of green bellow. The sun was going down, and he had a feeling Arthur and Alfred had not only made up but had a wonderful round of sex. It hurt. He was there when Arthur stopped eating and had entered the realm of Punks. He was there during the Industrial Revolution as the nation boomed at an alarming rate, but left most of its people in a state of poverty. Holding the trembling man after the disaster of the Titanic, he had felt responsible for all the pain he had caused. Francis could remember the pain in his eyes as he read about the number of losses. He spent his afternoon comforting him as he blamed himself for their deaths.
His head hung and long blond hair fell in his eyes as Francis looked at the liquor resting in the glass. "Rouge(1)," he whispered as he looked at it, "comme passion(2)," he commented before taking a sip. His eyes closed for a moment, "Comme l'amour(3)," he mused as he lowered the glass and rubbed his fingers around the rim. The glass hummed under his fingers as his blue eyes fell on his own reflection in the glass. His hands tightened their grasp, and without thinking he threw the glass against the wall. The sound echoed in his ears as it shattered, splintering in every direction. "Merde," he grumbled. Francis sighed as he looked at the clear shards now on the ground, he carefully leapt off the wall and bent down to grab one, only to nick his finger. A hiss left his lips, and he looked at the bright red ribbon now flowing down the tip of his finger. The bright red fluid flowered down the side and slowly fell to the patio. He laughed sadly as he looked at the red stain on the wood; tears which he had fought finally fell as the levies were breached. He could remember the blood shed, "Comme le sang que nous versons (4)," he whispered as he tasted the spices on his tongue. His eyes stung as he looked at the mess he had made, "Even now you have drawn my blood," he mused in sadness.
Francis finally gave into his instinct and began to sob, "Do you know why I chose cranberries, Arthur?" he asked. Knowing that the other person would never reply, he had no reason to be there. He closed his eyes and fell to his knees, without a thought Arthur had cut Francis down at the knee. "The color and their nature, fresh they are tart and rather sour, but when baked or dried," he whipped his eves with the back of his hand, "They become sweet." He bowed his head as he looked at the pain he was in, once again Arthur had cut him down mercilessly and not even realized it. "Rouge, c'est votre coleur(5)," he whispered before slowly rising and heading to the kitchen to grab the broom.
He opened the doors and walked across the kitchen to grab the wooden handle of the broom when his eyes fell on a white recipe card. He paused and looked at it sadly, he had crafted it for the Englishman in hopes that one day he would show up and reciprocate his love. "It appears that I was the one who waited too long," he whispered as he abandoned the card and walked out onto the patio to clean up the glass.
Cranberry Orange Scones:
Yields: 14 - 16
Ingredients:
4 cups of all purpose flour, plus
¼ cup of all purpose flour
¼ cup of refined sugar
2 tablespoons of baking powder
2 tablespoons of Kosher Salt
1 tablespoons of fresh grated orange zest
¾ lb of unsalted butter
4 extra large, lightly beaten eggs
1 cup of cold heavy cream
1 cup of dried cranberries
Egg wash:
1 egg, beaten
2 tablespoons of water
Sprinkle Sugar in the Raw on top of Scones to taste
Directions:
1.) Pre-heat the oven to 400 degrees F.
2.) In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with a paddle attachment, mix 4 cups of flour, 1/4 cup sugar, the baking powder, salt and orange zest. Add the cold butter and mix at the lowest speed until the butter is the size of peas. Combine the eggs and heavy cream and, with the mixer on low speed, slowly pour into the flour and butter mixture. Mix until just blended. The dough will look lumpy! Combine the dried cranberries and 1/4 cup of flour, add to the dough, and mix on low speed until blended.
3.) Dump the dough onto a well-floured surface and knead it into a ball. Flour your hands and a rolling pin and roll the dough 3/4-inch thick. You should see small bits of butter in the dough. Keep moving the dough on the floured board so it doesn't stick. Flour a 3-inch round plain or fluted cutter and cut circles of dough. Place the scones on a baking pan lined with parchment paper. Collect the scraps neatly, roll them out, and cut more circles.
4.) Brush the tops of the scones with egg wash, sprinkle with sugar, and bake for 20 to 25 minutes, until the tops are browned and the insides are fully baked. The scones will be firm to the touch.
* Remember to take humidity into account; it will produce a heavier scone.
Translation:
Rouge: Red
comme passion: like passion
Comme l'amour: like love
Comme le sang que nous versons: Like the blood we shed.
Rouge, c'est votre coleur: Red, that is your color.
Merde: shit (just in case you didn't know)
Please Note: Recipe is from the Food Network Show, Barefoot Contessa. Please note the glaze has been cut, it was too sweet for my taste, and Francis agreed. So it was cut.