OBSESSION WITH
CREAM PUFFS
1
His grandmother, adoring and indulging, as many are,
often dropped off left over cream puffs on her way home from Patterson’s cake
shop, where she worked three days a week, as assistant to the pastry chef.
There were different flavours; coffee, strawberry, vanilla and on special
occasions berry and even lemon citrus.
He peeled back the icing and felt the sweetness smother his taste buds.
Then he proceeded to tear apart the shoestring pastry revealing the scented
cream whipped to perfection.
This was the beginning of his love affair with the
cream puff.
2
The aspiring pastry chef didn’t like to play outside
with other boys his own age but preferred to observe his mother and Gran
cooking and baking. He particularly admired the desserts they assembled with
what looked like minimal effort. Layered cakes with cream and decorative icing
on top, ornate biscuits that resembled oriental tiles. He often heard his name
being called from the street but retreated to his room until the culprits had disappeared.
He would then emerge in his white apron readying himself for the minor tasks
his mum and Gran delegated i.e. licking the cake mixing bowl, taste testing the
finished products and washing up. He felt energised by the activity that was
taking place in the kitchen.
3
His mother often yelled at him to stop eating the
biscuits she had prepared for the numerous tea parties held in the afternoon
for ladies in the neighbourhood. These were often premeditated events conjured
up to raise money for projects his mother thought worthwhile. The selection of
biscuits, sandwiches and sweets, usually determined the amount of money raised.
Of course when cream puffs were on the menu, depending on how quickly Gran
could get them to the house after work (Saturday was their busiest day and the
preferred day for tea parties in Prahran) the donations exceeded everybody’s
expectations.
4
He quickly learned the value of a cream puff,
especially one that had texture, subtle flavour and pastry that was not too
stringy.
5
Whilst studying for his pastry chef qualification he
met Louise, an aspiring Chocolatier who couldn’t understand how cream could
consume his every thought. ‘Chocolate is a passion’, she patronised him
constantly, ‘the cocoa bean, its rarity, its ability to alter perception, the
sharing of a stimulating substance. What does the cream puff excel in? Its an
antiquated sweet used to deflect from the progress man has made’
6
She was one of many who refused to understand him and
his passion. He had no problem attracting the opposite sex, most of which
purported to loving desserts. However, it was not enough. He and his cream
puffs always fell short of satisfying their needs, and they, his. His lovers
often found him in the kitchen at three in the morning whipping cream and
testing flavours. In his boxer shorts he was obviously aroused. ‘You’re more interested in making cream
for these silly balls’, was the outcry he frequently had to endure, and ‘I
always come second’. He resolved that once he perfected the cream puff he would
be ready for an equal relationship (though even then he had his doubts).
7
Travelling the world he sought wisdom and guidance on
cream perfection and flavour enhancing revelations.
London beckoned, as did Paris and New York, the
centres of gastronomy. He worked with the masters. He was a sponge, soaking up
the methodology and technique unique to each. In Paris he secured a position as
assistant pastry chef at Angelina’s, an old world establishment dedicated to
extraordinary dessert making. His achievement was to assist in creating the
Mont Blanc, the most sought after chocolate extravagance.
As he and Louise were no longer in contact he could
not experience the envy she would surely have felt, although he often relished
the thought.
At Laduree he achieved unprecedented fame by whipping
cream to perfection, adding sublime essences and using a shoestring pastry
never before witnessed in Parisian circles.
8
New York presented additional challenges, which, he
tackled like a true professional. Giving master classes, workshops, book talks
and television appearances. These were difficult times; the pastry chef felt
lonely and was often alone, especially away from the kitchen. The critics were
particularly harsh, ridiculing his use of essences as superfluous and labelling
his whipped cream as too airy.
He rang his mother back in Australia at least twice a
week. He would often ask her about his childhood and the cooking that had
inspired him. He wondered whether he had always been interested in cream puffs,
quickly reassuring himself that indeed he had.
9
He grew despondent. He tired of travelling. He longed
to return to Australia and inspire pastry chefs in his home country.
10
Travelling through his own hometown he felt more alone
than ever. He worked at a number of patisseries in Melbourne and Sydney, hoping
to encourage the younger generation of chefs passing through. He was not
appreciated for his skill and unprecedented talent and soon became depressed
and disillusioned. He started drinking vodka in the evenings and then, during
the day as well.
11
He left the cities and travelled through the country
confronted by the ‘giant’ in everything. A giant sheep, the giant pineapple up
north, the largest beer can in the world. This manifestation was overwhelming
and increasingly he became exhausted by the mediocrity in anything so enormous.
At every giant object he cursed the idea that bigger is better.
12
Eventually, his alienation led him to conjure up the
unimaginable. He started working on a giant cream puff, to be displayed at the
food and wine festival, as a tribute to Australian pastry chefs.
His mother and Gran came to admire his skill and
progress and were very proud of his achievement. They did not see the irony in
his work, or failed to mention it.
13
On his final night, before the exhibit was due to open
to the public, he had consumed a bottle of Smirnoff vodka (his favourite) and
was contemplating whether or not he should add more vanilla essence to the
cream. The cream had already been whipped, encased in the giant shoestring
pastry shell and ready to be iced. But the cream DID need more essence, it did.
And so he tore apart the pastry case and walked in
with the eyedropper full. It only needed a drop or two, that’s all. He felt
intoxicated by the smell and texture, and probably the vodka.
14
The following morning the organisers had to announce
the strange and mysterious death of the famous pastry chef, who had perished
accidently finishing his greatest creation, the giant cream puff.
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