July, 2022. We were on the pastry chapter at school. Cakes, mousses, brioche, puff pastry, pâte-a-choux, you name it. Calorie haven. Have I ever imagined I'd be in contact with so much butter I'd started a dairy farm long ago (heck, if I knew how expensive butter would be, I would've bought a couple kilos a few months before). Now, for the week we were to learn how to make a wedding cake, and the recipe called for a spatula we couldn't find
June 2021. Tennis had just gotten into my bloodstream, and I had a deep necessity to hold a racket and be at the courts every living second I had in my life. Now, the challenge was that there was nobody to play with. Javier, an exotic feller I had hailed myself to play with me, had gone away to work for MSC Cruises to prepare the MSC World Europa for her maiden voyage. Rodrigo, a hard-headed full-on tennis pro I went to school with, was too fast-paced for the baby steps I was taking at the time, so that companion was discarded as well. Monsieur Marcel Jeanpierre, a charming old gentleman, and father of three tennis pros was my last resource, but his free time and my free time did not coincide (we played a delightful match later on that year). So I was left to my own devices, but behold! One day, walking around the tennis courts (which I must add, were charmingly dilapidated), I found a training wall––those high walls that have a net painted on them and a mock tennis court in front, so ...
Comments
Post a Comment