1.

- PO-VA-RA! PO-VA-RA !! PO-VA-RA !!! - our “unmarked” girl group chanted together, rattling on the table and clapping in the rhythm of “We Will Rock You”. The administrator was stunned, spreading out in a wide smile, with the importance of a beefy cat went to the kitchen for the cause of the commotion. We were in a pastry ecstasy - a delicate, fragrant dessert with whipped cream and slices of exotic fruit melted on the tongue, carrying it into a gastronomic tale. Visitors to the restaurant frankly watched our noisy company in anticipation of a denouement.

Finally, the administrator slipped back into the hall. Behind him, the door swung wide and on the threshold of the kitchen a tall, lean figure appeared in a snow-white chef, air cap, effectively twisted side armor, and a long apron. As soon as he approached our table, we sincerely redeemed the culinary genius in a stormy three-minute applause, which the other guests supported not without pleasure. The handsome blond gazed at the merry company of the pinched young ladies through the round glasses of the John Lennon-style glasses and smiled politely, playing a little bit slightly nagging. Who would only pay attention to this then ...

“Dear ladies, we are always glad to see you in our restaurant,” the administrator cried so much, “but let's release our master already, great things await him ...”

- Just a minute, please! - My friend Svetka rose from the table. “He is simply obliged to be present at the same time ... Girls, I ask for attention, for the crucial moment, and I worry so much! ...” rummaging in the immense bag, Svetka fished out a red envelope and, pressing it to her luxurious chest, with a front caravel unfolded to me: “Our beloved Tanechka,” she began solemnly, “we, your devoted comrades and companions, have a truly cherished dream - to taste a cake for your birthday, baked by our dearest friend’s tender and talented hands. - I tensed in anticipation of a trick, the girls are well aware that I am absolutely not friends with the kitchen. Simply put, I am the culinary rukozhop. “Mindful of your lack of cooking skills,” Sveta continued in her heartfelt way, “we consulted with the girls and decided to give you a certificate to attend a master class of one of the best confectioners in our city!” - her hand majestically stretched out in the direction of the blond standing at the table. I looked at him, our eyes met: the aquamarine blue of his eyes that slashed me over his glasses, clearly warned me that there was no desire to contact the kitchen amateur. That is because the infection is starchy! ... At that moment I decided to use the certificate by all means, simply from the principle.

2.

Somewhere a week before my birthday, I dialed the number indicated on the certificate and reported the date and time when I want to attend the master class promised to me.

- ... No, restaurant cuisine is not the most suitable place for this, - a pleasant, albeit rather reserved male tenor informed me from the speaker, - come to my studio, this is the old part of the city ... - I wrote down the address, we said goodbye and I hung up.

It is curious, - I thought, - I heard about the studios of photographers and artists, and even saw on TV, but what was the confectioner's studio like?

At the agreed time, I stood in front of a high porch with ornate wrought iron railing under an elegant awning awning. On both sides of the entrance were set impressive tubs with lush geraniums. The so-called studio was located in the building of the former kindergarten that had undergone renovation in time to suit the needs of the new owners. Well, in principle, it is logical that, by definition, there should be a large spacious kitchen with all the necessary communications.

Pressing the call button, I waited until they opened it for me. After a couple of minutes, the door with a melodious ringing opened wide, and a tall, lean subject appeared in front of me, whose appearance with cakes and cream roses didn’t bind completely - no way at all, at least for the last week I had time to think a lot of things out ... Dirty jeans, black shirt - wrestling with a print of the grinded muzzle of Stafford in the whole chest, a bandana with skulls tied on her head ...

- Tatyana? He asked, just in case, unceremoniously scanning me from head to toe over his round glasses.

“Hello,” I confirmed with a nod, staring at this miracle.

“Come in,” after letting me in, he closed the door again and went forward, gesturing for me to follow him. From under the bandana knot along his neck he stretched the tail of blonde hair that curled up into a tight curl.

Following the narrow corridor, we really found ourselves in a spacious bright kitchen. Here it really was everything you need to create culinary masterpieces: from a comfortable table and sinks, and ending with all sorts of equipment.

“Things can be hung here,” he pointed out at the coat rack, “wash your hands — there,” finger poked in the direction of the sink.

- And your name? - not without malice I clarified.

- What? - he did not understand. Obviously, my question knocked him out of the established order of thoughts.

“You didn't introduce yourself,” I reminded. - How can I contact you?

“Stefan,” he answered, without even looking in my direction. Pulling out a clean long apron from the locker, he handed me: - Here, put it on.

Hanging up my bag, I took off my jacket, tied my apron and went to wash my hands.

3.

- What are planning to surprise guests? - Stefan busily inquired, fitting the edge of a large waffle towel instead of an apron behind the jeans belt.

“I don’t even know,” I honestly admitted. - I would like, of course, to depict something spectacular, but I am afraid that my talents for large-scale projects will not be enough ...

- Is that so? He grinned. - Well, then I propose to sculpt on the principle of "simple and angry." How do you look at the version of the Pavlova cake?

- Pavlova? - I was genuinely surprised. - And what is he, besides dogs, he was interested in cakes?

“Actually, Anna Pavlova,” snarled Stephen, “the cake was named after the ballerina. - I, like a schoolgirl, instantly drenched in heat - but she was embarrassed! He noticed my embarrassment and decided to smooth out the awkwardness: - But I can assure you that the abundant salivation of your guests will also be guaranteed.

- Yes? - I smiled, looking away. - Then I rely on your experience.

Getting dishes and foodstuffs, Stefan at the same time gave me an improvised minilection:

- ... The basis of the cake consists of meringue, which in turn is covered with a layer of whipped cream and decorated with fresh fruit ... You can bake the cake, but in our case I suggest making a batch version ...

- Meringue? - I recalled how my mother once baked lumps of tightly beaten protein with sugar in the oven. Sweet, of course, but somehow too simple, I thought. Apparently, my voice still gave a note of doubt ...

“Meringue,” the confectionary guru continued, without batting an eye, “translated from French means“ kiss. ” By the way, which fruit do you prefer? - without turning around said Stefan, squatting in front of the open refrigerator.

For some reason, his stubborn reluctance to look in my direction began to slowly irritate:

“Cherry,” I snapped, glancing at his back, “drunk! ...” The latter somehow escaped, but it was too late to retreat.

“Drunk,” he echoed, plunging into the womb of the refrigerator. Strangely enough, but he managed to find cursed berries in his bins!

4.

“The most important thing for getting the perfect result is to strictly follow the technology,” Stefan said, with short, precise strokes, punching the eggshell on the edge of a deep bowl and releasing squirrels. The yolks were sent to a separate container. Having dealt with three eggs in this way, the guru handed the baton to me.I never succeeded in bashing eggs on a bowl, with the very first blow I almost turned over the container and, in addition, managed to make it so that it was protein ...