Bouquets of Chocolate (manxman)

One

My fingers work quickly but precisely as I pipe the fresh raspberry and mint coulis on the bottom of the small, oat and hazelnut flavoured tart shell in an even layer. When I'm happy, I store the remaining coulis in the fridge, along with the half finished tartlet.

I prepared all my lemons and eggs ahead of time, so now all I have to do is get my bain-marie going and gently whisk it all. It's quite therapeutic, this part.

By the time my lemon curd is coming together and the butter's given it a nice shine, I manage to check the clock. I have about another hour or so, just enough time to let it set properly.

When my lemon curd is a bit cooler, I grab my second piping bag and fill it with the gooey goodness. I twist a couple of times at the top to make sure nothing is gonna squeeze out through there, get a firm hold on it, and then slowly pipe the curd over the layer of coulis into my tart shell. I move in a circular pattern, making sure to cover every little bit of surface area. For a moment, I contemplate evening it out with my mini spatula, but the spiral going inwards is neat and meets right in the dead centre, so I decide against it. It might look quite nice.

With my almost ready tart setting in the fridge and my plan at break time, I clean up my kitchen as much as I can. I'm generally not a messy cook, but there's always cleaning to do when dealing with pastry making.

When it hits 17:50 I get the sugar on the heat and start the sugar syrup for my Italian meringue. One of my absolute favourites to make.

The last drop of the syrup hits my fluffy egg whites just as I hear the front door open. Perfect timing as always.

Jordie walks into the kitchen with his wooly hat still on; his ears are probably super cold again.

"Italian meringue?" he asks, after taking one look around the counter tops.

"Yep," I nod.

I go to check on the temperature of my bowl while he takes a seat at the bar, watching me work. We've been like this so often, one of us working while the other watches, it feels like second nature. It's actually quite rare that we ever work on anything together.

The meringue temperature feels perfect, so I quickly grab my tart from the fridge, then fill my piping bag up with the meringue and move it all onto the bar where Jordie is waiting.

He hums in appreciation when he sees what I've made.

I gently move the chair out of the way so that I can stand right by the bar, then get my piping bag in the right position, slanted, so that the flat piping tip overlaps when piped, then apply pressure. I start with big, bold strokes, getting smaller and smaller as I work my way around one side of the tart, then turn the whole thing around and do the same thing again, but in a smaller scale, and at a slight angle, further inside. It will leave the impression of a teardrop shape without actually producing that shape anywhere. Plus, it looks elegant due to the gentle slope that the flat piping tip produces. I would usually use a turn table for this, but this is only a little tester tartlet for me and Jordie, no need to go overboard.

"Your piping is gorgeous." He tells me with a small smile on his face, his eyes never leaving my hands creating patterns on the tart. I smile back. "Thank you."

My thanks is not only for the compliment, but actually more the fact that he hasn't added any quantifier. Every time he sees me with a piping bag in hand, he tells me, but he'll never add 'still' or 'as usual' or anything, it's always just an appreciation of the moment and I love him for it.

When I'm happy with the amount and pattern of my meringue, I grab my trusty torch and start giving it some colour. I make sure to leave the deepest parts a brilliant white, while the tops need to be ever so slightly burnt, the bitter flavour helping to carry the sweetness. After, I get my coulis from earlier out of the fridge, change the piping tip to the smallest round one I have, and then follow the indentations of the meringue, piping it in all the deepest parts I left white. Due to the small piping tip, the line of coulis is delicately thin, simply there to add visual depth and pronounce the pattern further.