- 1 -
A MATTER OF TASTECHAPTER ONE:
Dark Ale Birthday Cake With Citrus Cream-cheese Frosting
Waking up the next morning, Max Balfour sat up in bed and sighed.
Thirty
, he thought miserably, hugging his blanketed knees.
Thirty and nothing to showfor it.
It was September 27
th
, his thirtieth birthday.It was six in the morning.Normally, he’d be up and running by now. Bed made, breakfast done, coffee brewedand all that. But today was different: he didn’t have the energy to move.
You should stop working for a year, perhaps even longer
…The doctor’s words broke Max’s heart.
Stop working… Stop working…
It was a waking nightmare, truth be told. Max had been working in kitchens orbutchers’ shops since he was fifteen when he volunteered to help out at the tiny shop inDrumchapel where his mother, grandmothers, and aunts bought meat. He’d spent everysummer during university at that shop or clerking over in the family business. Even during thoserare times he went on vacation, he would ask to help over at his cousin-in-law’s
patisserie
inManila where he willingly worked as a confectioner. With all that said, the idea of
not
workingwas enough to scare him to death.
What am I going to tell my mother and dad?
he thought worriedly, resting his chin onhis knees, teal-green eyes widening in fear and dread.As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Pulling on his dressing-robe and smoothing back histousled hair, Max scrambled out to see who it was.“Surprise!”He opened the door to find his parents there. Yelping in horror, Max slammed the doorand put his back to it, trembling in every nerve.
Oh, God… Oh, God…
Oh, God…!
He drew a deep breath to steady himself, then turnedto open the door. He smiled rather shakily and hugged his parents.“Sorry about that,” he apologized meekly. “I just woke up.”His mother smiled and smoothed back his hair as she stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.“Happy birthday, Max,” she greeted him.
- 2 -“Thanks,
Maman
,” he replied gratefully.Graham Balfour grabbed his son in a bear hug and beamed proudly down at him, beingquite taller than the young man.“Happy birthday, lad.”“Thanks, Dad.”He ushered them into the flat, mentally thanking God that he’d taken the time to cleanit up the day before.“Have you had breakfast?” he asked his parents, scrambling nervously to the small butwell-appointed kitchen. “I can whip something up…”“Nae need for that, Max,” his father assured him as he settled on the sofa, grinning athis son. “Though tea would be nice.”“I’m on it.”“Mam’s got you something, by the way.”Max turned and saw his mother place a large white box on the kitchen island. He threwher a hopeful look.
She couldn’t have!
he thought, heart racing in anticipation.
She didn’t…
Lydie Balfour opened the box to reveal a large, magnificent chocolate cake topped witha massive cloud of pale yellow frosting that smelled deliciously of fresh lemon.“
Maman,
you shouldn’t have!” Max exclaimed.“Don’t I always bake you one for your birthday?” Lydie reminded him. “This is bigenough for you to share with your mates at work, you know.”
Uh-oh…
Max went pale and sat down on the nearest stool.“Um, I’m not going to work today,
Maman
,” he replied in a tense, quiet voice.Lydie turned to him, surprised. “That’s a first!” she exclaimed.“Um…”
God,
Max thought,
how am I going to tell them?
He drew a deep breath andthe words just spilled out. “The doctor wants me to stop working for a year.”Both his parents stared at him uncomprehendingly for a moment. Then his motherpulled up a chair close to him and sat down. His father came up and stood behind her, one handresting on her left shoulder.“What happened?” his father asked worriedly.“I’m burned out,” Max replied in a tremulous voice. “He ran all sorts of tests yesterdayafter I fainted at work. I’m okay – just tired and anemic is all, the doctor says.”“Oh, Max!” his father exclaimed, crouching next to him.
- 3 -Max turned to him, eyes brimming with tears. “Dad, I’m scared,” he admitted, tearsbeginning to roll down his pale face. “I’m not used to not working. I wouldn’t know what to do.I think I’ll
die
if I stop working!”“Hush,” his father said, holding him close as if he were a small child – and, frankly, Max
did
feel like a small child at that point. “Ye should no’ worry, lad. Ye’ll only make things worse.”Max began to cry in earnest. The idea of doing nothing frightened him to the very coreof his being. The thought of being idle for a year…!His mother got up and took him in her arms, murmuring wordless comfort into his ear.“I don’t know how to tell my boss,” he told them between sobs.“You’re going to have to tell him soon,” his mother said. “But you’d better tell himfrankly.” Her lips pressed into a thin, tight line. “He’s worked you too hard.”“Oh,
Maman
! It’s not Chef Ville-Valmont’s fault – well, not entirely, but…”“
Non!
” his mother declared, green eyes flashing angrily. “That… That
loubard
, that
salope,
that
batard
does not treat his people well! Look at you, look at poor Melaine! I don’tblame that dear girl for leaving.”
Neither do I
, Max admitted to himself.
Though you’ll
never
catch me saying it aloud!
“
Maman
, Valeriano left because her folks needed her home in the Philippines,” hecorrected his mother. “But, yeah: she
was
tired. She was always fighting it out with the chef and…”“An’ so do
ye
,” his father reminded him bluntly. “Dinna ye think that I’ve not taken noteo’ the times you’d write me ‘bout how you and Ville-Valmont clashed o’er one thing or another,Max.” He eyed the young man sternly. “
Ye
and Melaine were the
real
forces in that kitchen –not that perfumed prancer who makes the round of the talk-show circuit. All he’s ever lent tothat establishment is his name;
remember that.
”Max sighed and frowned at the prospect of facing his boss, of bearding the lion in hisden.“You deserve the break, son,” his mother murmured soothingly as she rubbed his back.“But what if he says no?”“Then ye turn an’ walk away,” his father replied wisely. “I know ye’re not short onmoney – far from it as a matter o’ fact! And, even then, your mither and I are here to back yeup.” He clasped his son’s hands and looked him candidly in the eye. “Sometimes, ye hae to justdrop everythin’ an’ move on wi’ your life, lad.”
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