Jackson, who thankfully had her hands full keeping a couple pimply-faced sophomore boys from using their kitchen torches as light-sabers. “I don’t know!” With panicky fingers I turned off the torch and set it down. “Ack!” I yanked the torch away so abruptly I almost burned Bridget, who hovered at my side.īridget spoke softly, almost reverently. At first I could only make out a faint outline, but then it sprang out at me, eyes and nose and mouth bulging up from the custard like a swimmer emerging from the depths of an opaque sea. The darkened sugar gave way as the pale features took shape. Gradually, beneath the steady kiss of my blue flame, a face began to take form. The yellowish custard roiled under the layer of At first I thought it was just bubbling slightly from the heat, but then I felt my stomach clench in fear and I knew something bizarre was happening. Mesmerized, I watched the sugar transform into something else, something molten.įrom under the surface of the custard, a slow movement began. Soon the whole surface started to darken, oozing a rich satiny brown. White powder became dark, bubbling beads. Sugar quickly transformed as I touched the flame to it. Bending over the nearest custard, I focused my attention, letting the room disappear around me. The flame sprang to life when I pushed the button I adjusted the intensity with the dial, turning it up just slightly. “Your turn.” Bridget handed me the torch. Watched, the memory of her happy face morphed, her mouth opening in a scream, her eyes going wide with horror. She was the one who taught me to use a culinary torch back when I could barely see over the counter. We’d baked together a lot over the years. The perfume of scorched sugar conjured my Mom’s face again, her eyes bright, her lips curved into a proud smile.
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