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Today was the fateful day, hopefully the first of many such to come. His driver had instructions to pick up Echizen, arrangements had been made at Hyoutei to secure the use of the plum grove, and all that remained was for him to prepare his gift. Naturally, Atobe had made several attempts at cooking the perfect chocolates over the past week, but molds for creating shaped delectables never seemed to come out cleanly, petit-fours failed to have the richness of flavor he wanted to present, and dipping candied fruits in chocolate required too little effort to satisfy his need to express his affections. Thus, he came to the final moment. How convenient to have a free period after his lunch hour today. The helicopter was able to pick him up at school and bring him home to work in his own, well-stocked kitchen, where he would be able to make a batch of the most magnificent fudge the world had ever known -- with plenty of time to return to school for afternoon classes and see that his gift for Echizen, which would be freshly cooked and in the prime of its flavor, was safely stowed.
And although the process of making fudge was not as easily accomplished as the directions had made it seem, the heat of the stove would not defeat him, nor would the ache of stirring thick, boiling chocolate weaken his arm. He would be victorious, as the headband he'd tied around his forehead proclaimed! Even now, he approached the moment of complete triumph. This time, unlike his first attempt burned to a pot in the corner, he had successfully heated the cocoa, cream, and sugar to that magic point where it became a soft ball when dropped in water -- thermometers, he maintained, were for those who refused to feel the energy of cooking, and this dish above all others demanded his full measure of feeling. Stirring in the proper ratio of vanilla and butter could hardly be more difficult than that! Now, the moment when his Valentine's chocolate would be perfectly mixed grew near, and he could set it in the pan to cool.
His family's chefs, Auguste and Heinrich, had ceded this corner of the kitchen to him for the week, and had claimed when they followed him into the kitchen that they would be discussing the menu for the family's dinner at the larger stove, but now Atobe could feel their eyes on his back. He sensed their intentions a breath before they spoke.
"Voulez-vous ajouter des noix écrasées, Monsieur Keigo?"
"Nein, nein, junger Herr! Pekannüsse besser sind."
They had, of course, offered to make his chocolate for him when he first raised his plans with the staff, and had continued to offer suggestions throughout the exercise. They meant well, and only wished him to succeed -- which of course, he would. But those suggestions would never do. Without missing a stroke of the spoon in his bowl, Atobe lifted his now perfect fudge to pour into the pan he'd prepared, and likewise lifted his voice.
"It will have neither walnuts nor pecans. This chocolate will be as pure and as unmixed as my own affections!"
And with that, he pushed the last of the fudge into the--
"Tun Sie das nicht!"
"Arrêtez! Arrêtez!"
With a chef holding each of his arms, Atobe had no choice but to stop as he was bid.
"Is there a problem?" he asked. Obviously there was, but both men had nothing but pained looks on their faces. He couldn't begin to guess what the problem was.
At last, Auguste spoke. "The sugar in the fudge... it's suspension is... delicate?"
"You scrape the bowl," Heinrich finished, "and the texture is ruined. The whole batch of fudge becomes grainy. Very bad."
"Ah," Atobe replied, staring down at the bowl. He could see miniscule crystals forming, just as the chefs had said. That would never do as a gift for his beloved. There was no choice but to start from the beginning.
Again.