Lost In A Masquerade

Excuse me, what kind of madness is this, and why weren't you invited?

It was young people only, that's why. Well, except the two aging boomers in the kitchen. Last night, the masked millennials descended on the Palatial Estate to celebrate the second anniversary of Billy & Chloé. The reason for the masks was never fully explained, other than, "It's fun, Ma."

So longtime hubby and I played along. He kept his mask on practically the whole evening. I wore mine for approximately two minutes before I ripped it from my face and said, "I can't eff'n stand this thing." Subtlety, not my strong suit.

These two lovelies, Meg and Chlo-Chlo, rescued what will now go down in family history as Le Croque-En-Botch. Or if you prefer, The Towering Cream Puff Disaster. You see, the lovebirds wanted a replica of their wedding Croque-en-bouche, and whatever they want, we fully endorse. Alas, the trouble began when the caterer's assistant arrived and realized les choux weren't staying put. It was the kind of moment that would've received huge scorn on any of your favorite baking shows. "Call 911," someone short said. Someone else said, "I'm calling the baker." Tout de suite, an unhappy baker arrived with a blow torch. "Who did this?" she asked. "It was perfect when I made it this morning." Dead silence. "Did you refrigerate it?" Nothing. "You have to refrigerate it!" And then, finally, "I need sugar, I need water, I need a pot, STAT!" Then she started in with the caramelizing and the surgical reattachment of the tumbled cream puffs. Forty-five minutes later, she declared the operation a success. She forgot to add "brief." Five minutes after she left, the cream puffs once again started plopping on the table. 

"It's a Croque-En-Botch," Billy said. "It's a Pièce de Catastrophe," I echoed. Meg told us all to calm down. She knew what to do, and did she ever. The only solution was the deconstruction, one cream puff at a time. Yet plastic plates of choux would not do!

I stood back, stopped my croque-en-bitching and watched in awe as Chloé and Meg made this totally-repurposed dessert happen, as if by magic. It was totally delish and no one would've known about the near-debacle if we hadn't pointed it out to anyone who'd listen. There were a lot glazed over, why are you telling me this, croque-en-what-now? expressions, but we knew a miracle had occurred, and that's all that mattered. In conclusion, happy 2nd wedding anniversary, Billy and Chlo. Who knows what next year will bring?