“You knew and let me finish yours,” she said.
“I didn’t know.” He laughed.
“Alfie!”
“Hey,” the boy named Jacques said. “Who ate all the Brie?”
“And the olive spread is more than half gone,” said Dillon, a boy with neatly trimmed hair and a shirt and tie.
Alfie looked down at his plate. The Brie must have been the ooey-gooey cheese he’d had three tastes of with that soft, crusty bread, topped with two scoopfuls of the olive spread.
Jacques saw the leftover evidence on Alfie’s plate and said, “It’s for all of us. We’re supposed to share.”
“Oops, sorry,” Alfie said. But how was he supposed to help himself with all this amazing food?
The rest of the dinner was full of more great food, presented on gleaming white plates and artfully arranged with meats, sides, and sauces that resembled small paintings. Alfie had chosen—or pointed to—a beef dish with a burgundy-colored sauce that was slightly sweet and incredibly rich. Emilia and Madeline had a roasted chicken that looked nothing like the ones their mom sometimes picked up in the heated display in the grocery store.
By the time they got back to the school, Alfie’s mind was as full with the day’s adventures as his belly was with food. But now they’d been here almost a full day, just like in Naples. That time they’d made their way back before it was time for bed, so already Alfie was confused. They didn’t know how this whole thing worked, but they couldn’t stay overnight. Surely something would happen at any moment that would take them home.
Alfie opened his eyes. The room was dark and cold. As he sat up in bed, he knew where he was but still crept to the window to double-check. Five stories below him was a Paris street, cobblestoned and curved slightly at the base of the building. He was going to miss his soccer game. But if he was only going to sit on the bench, what did it matter? The bigger problem was what his mom and dad would do when they realized he and Emilia had disappeared. Zia would have to confess that she’d worked some crazy magic into those mugs of hot chocolate. Alfie took in a deep breath and something wonderful filled his nose—the scent of freshly baked bread. He immediately thought of the homemade pizza dough he’d learned to make in Naples. Alfie decided to take this as a sign to try and stay positive. Another comforting sign was Lardon, rubbing his soft fur on Alfie’s leg. Alfie reached down to pet his head, which Lardon only allowed for a moment. The cat soon turned away and headed out of the room.
The other boys were just waking up and everyone walked sleepily to the bathrooms to brush their teeth and wash their faces.
“Breakfast is in the café downstairs,” Andre said to Alfie with a yawn. “Then class is in the kitchen.”
All Alfie could do was get dressed in yesterday’s clothes and hope no one noticed—except they did.
“Isn’t that the same shirt you wore yesterday?” Andre asked.
“Um, yeah,” Alfie said. Remembering Emilia’s fib, he said, “The airline lost our luggage. But I’m pretty sure we’ll get it back today.” He hoped they wouldn’t be here more than two days. They definitely couldn’t stay all week—Alfie couldn’t even begin to think about that.
He followed Andre and Jacques downstairs and directly next door to the café, where the smell of fresh bread engulfed Alfie’s senses. The café was full of customers, and not just from the Young Chefs School. Activity filled the small space where people sat at round tables, sipping from steaming mugs that were topped with swirls of white from warm milk. Alfie searched for Emilia and spotted her at a table in the corner with Madeline, Claudette, and Natalie.
“I’ll grab us a table,” Andre said.
“We can just go to the counter to order,” said Jacques, who was dressed for the day in a green button-down, which strained over his round belly. Alfie followed him but kept an eye on Emilia. “Everything is very good. Of course Paris pastries are legendary, so you have to try one: brioche, apple turnover, cinnamon roll, and the king of all pastries, the croissant. Mother calls them empty calories, but I call them”—he patted his round belly—“part of my job as an aspiring chef. Then you get your drink—coffee or hot chocolate. Have you ever had a café au lait?”
Alfie was overwhelmed at the sight of all the pastries, but when Jacques said hot chocolate, Alfie focused.
“Sorry, Jacques,” Alfie said. “I was going to eat breakfast with my sister.”
Jacques looked over Alfie’s shoulder at Emilia sitting with the girls. “Really?”
“She forgot, I guess,” Alfie said. “Wait for me afterward and we’ll go to class together, okay?”
“Sure, okay,” he said. “I’ll tell Andre.”
Alfie took his sister by the arm and pulled her aside. “We’re still here!” he hissed. “Zia is going to have to explain everything to Mom and Dad. Even if they believe her, they are going to freak out. I’m hoping hot chocolate will get us back. We need to get some for breakfast—now!”
“I don’t know why you’re obsessed with going home,” Emilia complained as Alfie pulled her away from the table.
“Uh, because it’s where we live?” he said. “And I’m not obsessed—I’m just trying to be responsible. Plus, we stayed overnight. That’s huge and kind of scary, don’t you think?”
“I guess,” Emilia said. “Okay, I’ll try, but only because I was going to have it for breakfast anyway.”
At the counter he held up two fingers and pointed to the chocolate croissants behind the glass case and asked for two hot chocolates as well. The man behind the counter nodded and prepared their order. Since they were part of the cooking school, their meals were supposed to be included in their tuition—even though Alfie and Emilia weren’t actually enrolled.
They found a table way in the back. Alfie insisted on thinking of a memory together and then taking a sip at the same time.
Alfie said, “Remember how Zia got so mad when Mom brought out the powdered hot chocolate? It was like she’d totally offended Zia.”
Emilia cracked a small smile. “I had no idea Zia had a stash of good chocolate in the pantry. I’m going to look for the rest of it when we get home.”
They both took a sip of their hot chocolate.
It was beyond rich, maybe even richer than Zia Donatella’s. It was like drinking a cake, and they couldn’t get enough. This hot chocolate didn’t have that tiny bit of heat that Zia’s had, but it was still velvety and yummy and tasted like total heaven. Also, it was completely not working.
“Try again,” Alfie insisted.
Emilia was already taking another sip. With a chocolate mustache she said, “It’s not working, but maybe we should just keep drinking until it does.” Alfie noticed that the other students dunked their croissants into their hot chocolate.
“Let’s try dunking,” Alfie said.
“Hurry up, then, I’m starving,” Emilia said.
They dunked their croissants and took big bites, but nothing happened.
“Time for class!” Andre called out to Alfie and Emilia from across the café. The other students were quickly finishing up breakfast.
“I could sit and sip this all day,” Emilia said, cramming the croissant into her mouth and slurping the hot chocolate. “Come on,” she said, standing up. “We don’t want to be late.”
Alfie walked out of the café to face whatever was coming next. One thing was sure—drinking the same thing that had brought them to Paris wasn’t working. He and Emilia would have to figure out just what it was that would take them back.
When they got to the kitchen, the students were given chef’s jackets, pants, and hats that they were to wear anytime they were in the kitchen or out on a school assignment. Alfie felt very official in his tall white hat, while Emilia posed like she was wearing some fancy Parisian fashions.
“Stand up straight, now. Line up. Come on!” Monsieur DuBois clapped his hand
s to get the students to simmer down after their excitement over the uniforms. Everyone scrambled into position, as if they were getting ready for a military inspection, with Alfie and Emilia directly in the middle.
“Now!” Monsieur DuBois continued. “Every moment in Paris is a chance to learn about our culinary history. Everything goes back to food. So that is what our next exercise is all about. Madame Rousseau! Tell the children!”
Madame Rousseau gave Monsieur DuBois a weary look. Then she turned to the class, a smile spreading across her face. “We have something very special planned,” she began. “I would call it less an exercise and more of a . . . scavenger hunt!”
The class began to cheer.
“So,” Madame Rousseau said. “There will be two teams. Each will get three clues. This is all about the food of Paris, and it’s meant to be fun, but—”
“But it is also a lesson of the food we have here in our fine city,” Monsieur DuBois said. “Do not eat the food you collect, as you will need to bring it all back here for a lesson.”
“Yes,” Madame Rousseau said. “A lesson as well as a feast, so make sure you study the clues in order to get the correct foods. We’ll split into groups. Emilia and everyone to her right, you’ll go with Monsieur DuBois,” she said, touching Emilia’s head. “Alfie and those to his left, you’ll come with me,” she continued. He and Emilia were being split into separate teams, and Alfie saw panic in her eyes.
“It’ll be okay,” he told her.
“But I’m stuck with Monsieur DuBois!” she whispered, and Alfie suddenly realized she didn’t mind being separated from him.
“Let’s break into groups and go over our first clues, because time starts now!” Madame Rousseau cheered.
A mad scramble started to get into groups and grab hold of the first clue.
“Who wants to be in charge of the map?”
In that quick moment, Alfie forgot all about Emilia.
“I do!” he said, taking the map held out by Madame Rousseau.
The team gathered around: Alfie, Madeline, Jacques, and Andre.
“Okay, everyone, here we go,” said Jacques. He read the first clue out loud: “‘At the top of the hill is a sacred white dome; not far away is a taste of home. With ingredients so simple it could be made by a beginner; go where the four ingredients are made and taste the real winner.’”
“The top of Paris—the Eiffel Tower?” Alfie suggested.
“No,” said Jacques. “The top of the hill—that’s got to be Sacré-Coeur, don’t you think?”
“Yes!” Madeline agreed. “The dome. And ‘ingredients so simple’ . . . what is made near there?”
“What kinds of food carts are near Sacré-Coeur?” Andre asked.
Taste the real winner reminded Alfie of Naples and the big pizza-making contest. He’d watched the Floreano family make their own pizza dough with just a few ingredients: flour, yeast, salt, and water—four ingredients! “Hey,” he said. “Are they making, like, pizza dough or something? I was in Naples once and there was this pizza-making contest . . .”
“Perhaps something a bit more French?” Madame Rousseau said.
“Baguettes!” Andre exclaimed.
Madeline clapped her hands. “That’s it! The baguette competition! Who won this year?” She looked at Jacques.
After a beat he said, “Boulangerie Marchal. In Montmartre, which is—”
“Near Sacré-Coeur!” Andre said. “We’ll take the métro. I think there’s a station near here.”
Alfie studied the map as they raced out of the school. He quickly found the station and traced his finger up to Sacré-Coeur, leaving Emilia’s team behind.
Along with Madame Rousseau, the team headed toward the Paris métro station, with Alfie calling out directions even though Jacques seemed to know where to go. They easily spotted the red métro sign with the fancy letters and dashed down the stairs. Alfie had never ridden a subway before—he felt like he was going on a ride at an amusement park. Madame Rousseau had tickets prepared and handed one to each student.
When they emerged from the subway, Alfie’s eyes landed on a huge white basilica with three domes and several turret-like spires around it.
“It’s this way,” Jacques said. “My dad and I have been here dozens of times.”
From down the street they spotted the bakery, jutting to a point where two merging streets met, the paneling painted a rustic blue. Despite the long line, they squeezed into the tiny shop. Madeline held up the clue and said to the boy behind the counter, “We found you!”
He grinned, obviously knowing the game, and went to get the team’s second clue while Alfie let his eyes and nose become overwhelmed by the smell of the fresh bread and the rows upon rows of baguettes. When the boy came back, he gave Madeline the next clue as well as three baguettes, which Madame Rousseau paid for.
The team raced outside to read their next clue. They gathered around Madeline as she read: “‘In pinks, lilacs, yellows, and greens; this is a treat that tastes simply supreme; a delicate crunch on the outside and soft on the in; it’s not a baguette you crave but a sweet for the end.’”
“It’s dessert!” Jacques said. “I always know when it’s time for dessert. And the colors—it’s so obvious!”
“Macarons,” Andre and Madeline said together.
Alfie didn’t know what those were, but he thought he remembered Zia mentioning them. Madeline read on: “‘Go to the place they were invented, where their taste is still the most splendid; it’s on Paris’s most famous street, next to the park where people meet.’”
“Okay, where is that?” Alfie said, stretching out his map.
“Champs-Élysées, obviously. We have to get back on the métro,” Andre said. “If we head down this way, we’ll be one stop closer. But we have to run!”
“No running!” Madame Rousseau said. “It’s too much for me, and I don’t want you all to get hurt.”
Still, they walked quickly as Alfie consulted the map carefully. “Looks like we should transfer to the one line and get off at—hey! Franklin D. Roosevelt. That’s our stop. You know, he’s an American—”
“No, we should get off at George V,” Jacques said. “Trust me, it’s closer.”
“Okay, sure,” Alfie said as he folded up his map, feeling defeated.
“Don’t worry,” Madeline said, pulling him along. “It’s just because we’re from here.”
“Everyone here grew up in Paris?” Alfie asked.
“Most of us,” she said. “My family moved here when I was just five, so really, it’s all I remember. My parents have their own catering business, so I know a little about food, too.”
“Probably more than a little,” Alfie said.
“Probably.” She smiled. “I want to work with them one day. They already let me do little things to help out. They say you can never stop learning, which is why they sent me here to the school. Isn’t that why you’re here—to learn about French food?”
“Yeah,” Alfie said. “Of course.”
When they arrived at their next stop they were on a wide street called Champs-Élysées, which was lined with trees and posh stores. Everyone seemed a little more elegantly dressed—except the tourists, who Alfie easily spotted by their comfortable shoes and baseball caps.
At the shop of their next clue, Alfie saw a window display full of pastel circles the size of Oreo cookies, but definitely fancier. They looked so pretty he could hardly believe they could eat them.
Inside, the walls and ceiling were golden with honey-colored light and small dangling chandeliers. Emilia would go crazy in here!
Madeline got the attention of a lady behind the counter, who took out an empty box and said, “No clue until the box is full.” She gestured to the display case filled with rainbows of colors and flavors.
“Fine by us!” Jacque
s said. “I could fill ten boxes and it still wouldn’t be enough. Oh, macarons, how I love you so!” he said, and everyone laughed.
Alfie learned that macarons were sweet treats made from meringue and basic stuff like powdered and granulated sugar, egg whites, and ground almonds and sandwiched around a thin layer of buttercream or jam.
They chose a beautiful variety of flavors—almond, hazelnut, pistachio, raspberry, and strawberry, as well as strange flavors (to Alfie) like violet, rose, black currant, and caramel with salted butter.
Before he could take in the rainbow of macarons, their next and final clue took them to a cheese shop.
To get to Fromagerie Barthélémy, the team crossed back over the River Seine and past Les Invalides, a cluster of museums and monuments. The cheese monger’s shop was in a tiny space along a quaint side street. He proudly showed the team his huge selection of French cheeses. Some were hard, some soft, some smelled lightly fragrant, some smelled so much like rotten dirty feet that it made Alfie want to gag. If any of them tasted like that Brie cheese he had last night, though, he’d eat it no matter what it smelled like.
Bart, the owner of the shop, took them to the cave downstairs where the cheese was ripened. Down a narrow, curving staircase, they entered a room with a low brick ceiling and saw giant disks of cheese as big as car tires lined up on wooden tables and shelves. This was completely different from the mozzarella di bufala that Alfie saw made in Naples.
The students chose a mild, soft cheese called Camembert, then started back to the school. They’d circled the whole city and were able to walk back, with Jacques leading the way and Alfie paying attention to each street corner and fountain they passed.
Finally they were back in the kitchen, which they found empty. They were the first ones back!
“Can we start eating?” asked Jacques.
Paris! #2 Page 3
