Page 4 of Unexpected Pickle

JEANNIE AND THE CREPE CAPER

T en students is just the right amount.

The cooking stations are perfectly arranged, spread throughout the room. The counters can hold up to twenty, but with ten, there is space to arrange all the ingredients, and the intervals between the griddles are pleasing to look at.

Crepes are fun. There are so many options. Tonight, I’m going to teach my students to make both sweet and savory. I’m not a natural instructor, as my patience is thin.

But with preparation and a plan, I find teaching regular cooks how to make something extraordinary is good practice for me.

The first student enters, an older gentleman who has taken my classes before. Jeff? Jarod? John? I realize I’m doing what Hex did at his commercial last week and bite back a smile. Areola. Aphid .

He’s funny, even if he’s trying to stir the wrong pot. I will not resume dating while I’m contemplating my next career move, and certainly not someone who has women at his beck and call. I have too much to figure out to add that complication to the mix.

“Hello,” I say to the man in my default, possibly too-dark tone, then remember I should try to be friendly. “Welcome!”

“Good to see you again, Jeannie,” he says. “I’m Jasper. I take all your classes.”

“Of course, Jasper! I remember!” Too bright. Overdid it. His eyes light up like he thinks I’m interested, even though he’s seventy if he’s a day.

I’m not good at this. Never was. Which is why teaching is helpful. I can be nice and practice not scaring children.

And one is entering right now.

My entire body tenses. This is an adult class.

“Are you lost?” I ask the woman who shoos her barely school-aged daughter into the room. “This is crepe making for adults.”

The woman flashes a bright smile. “Yes, I’m signed up. Sonya Wright. This is Sunshine.”

Sunshine. Of course, she named her ankle biter after the natural world. “But this is an adult class,” I say again.

“Sunshine won’t cause any trouble. She’s a real angel.”

The child, as if to instantly prove her mother a complete liar, begins emptying the carefully pre-measured bowls of salt and flour onto the table.

“No!” I shout and rush forward.

“Don’t yell at Sunshine,” Sonya says. “You’ll traumatize her.”

“I’ll have to fix this station,” I say, righting the bowls.

“We’ll take this one down here.” Sonya directs her child to the next griddle.

“But someone needs this one!” I quickly slide the spilled flour and salt off the counter into a compost pot. The station isn’t sanitary. The child touched the bowls with her dirty hands.

This is why I teach adults.

“Sunshine, you need to make better choices.” Sonya kisses the unruly hair of her demon spawn.

I can’t deal with her at the moment. I need clean bowls, more flour and salt, and my disinfectant.

More students come in, and I can’t even greet them like I want. I have to deal with this emergency.

Sunshine picks up an egg and tosses it into the bowl.

My anger rises. “You’ll have shells in your batter.”

The mom picks up her bag as if to move again. “We’ll move?—”

I’m perilously close to snapping. “Stay right there. That is your station.” There’s that dark tone again.

“Oh!” the mom says. “I won’t be giving this class a very good review!”

I want to tell her she’s welcome to rate it as one star and leave, but then I have a new problem.

Hex has walked in.

Why is he here? This is a big distraction.

I set the compost pot back in place and rush to the supply cabinet to fetch more supplies and a cleaner.

When I return, Hex has taken the station that needs prep, which I suppose is good. Better him than to explain things to a stranger.

But Sonya tucks her hair behind her ear and says, “Well, hello, neighbor.”

Awesome. She’s flirting.

I scoot in between the two of them, moving the bowls aside and squirting the table.

“What are you doing here?” I ask as I wipe down the area and measure out new flour and salt bowls.

“Learning to make crepes.” He frowns. “Is everything okay?”

“Just resetting this station. It got spilled.” My eyes dart to the woman next to me. Sunshine is dumping all the ingredients into a mix, bowls and all.

“I thought this was an adult class,” he whispers.

“It is!” It comes out more like a wail than I like.

Hex looks over at the mother-daughter pair. Sunshine is trying to crawl beneath the table, no doubt to wreck other stations. “Hey, I’ve got this.”

“Got what?”

He waves his hand at the room. “This. You go teach.”

I hesitate, but it’s already a minute past the hour, and all the stations are full other than one latecomer. There’s always one.

I take the dirty bowls and nod. Hex is playing the hero again, but I can’t do much about it. “Don’t let her destroy anyone else’s station.”

He nods.

I dump the bowls in the sink and walk to the front. “Hello, everyone, I’m Chef Jeannie, and tonight we’ll be learning something that is easy and fun to do at home: sweet and savory crepes.”

Jasper raises his hand. “What are crepes, exactly?”

This is better. “They are in the same family as pancakes, but without the rising agent, they are thin and flat, which makes them perfect for either filling or folding with toppings.”

He winks at me like he’s aced an exam.

Oh, this night is gonna be a doozy.

Sonya is making goo-goo eyes at Hex. And her daughter is on the loose.

Sunshine has made it to the empty station, but right as she climbs the stool to upend the bowls, Hex leans over the counter and swoops her into the air. “Back to Mom!” he says, and returns her to her place.

He really is going to help.

I try to calm my jitters. “All stations are taken tonight. I’m sure our last student will arrive shortly.” I say this directly to Sonya, but she’s not paying any attention, helping Sunshine make finger prints in the spilled flour on the counter.

This will be okay. Totally okay. Hex will make sure of it.

“We’ll begin by cracking our eggs into the bowl.”

“How do I keep from getting shells in it?” Jasper asks.

“Breaking the egg on a flat surface rather than the edge of the bowl can help. It keeps the shell from shattering into the mix.”

Jasper nods, and the room fills with the sounds of cracking eggs.

“There’s a small compost pot on each table for your shells,” I tell them, trying not to grimace at the strings of egg whites stretching across the stations. It’s the hardest part of teaching these classes. The mess. The cross contamination.

I can handle it. It’s good for me. Helps me be more casual about food prep in real-world settings.

But Sunshine is sneaking away from her mother again. Sonya is focused on digging out eggshells.

I glance at Hex in alarm, but he’s on it. He ducks beneath the counter and snags the girl. “Can you help me since you did such a good job with your mom?”

The girl crawls up onto his stool. She snatches up an egg and is about to throw it into his bowl when he takes it. “Gentle. Gentle.”

I’m not sure who beams at him more brightly. Sunshine’s mom.

Or me.

God help me.