Hello everyone, this will be another little series which you may enjoy. I'm a huge foodie, if you can't tell. If you want the recipes feel free to PM me. It may take a bit to respond though… there are going to be a number of them here. Anyway, I hope you enjoy, read and review. If you don't I won't continue.

Desert 1: Strawberry Mille Feuille and "Little Masters" Part I

Sebastian looked at the beautiful doors of one of the greatest restaurants in the world. Complete with a fully stocked cellar of some of the finest wines in the world, Bartenders who were the best of their classes and competitions, waiters known for elegance and grace, a kitchen which made a chef drool and topped with 4 Michelin Stars. He slipped a stray black hair behind his ear as he slowly opened the door of Ciel. The foyer was exceptionally clean, with traditional French elements and a modern feel. The walls were painted a warm cream, which was offset by a number of impressionist pieces. A large mahogany desk was in the front, with a single young man standing behind it, he had a pair of purple eyes, dark skin and his hair had a purple sheen which he had neatly tied behind his head. His eyes glanced up from the book, and he asked, "May I help you?" Sebastian nodded; he was wearing his black chef's coat, a pair of black sauté pants and carrying his knife bag. He had a thermometer sticking out of the arm pocket of the jacket as well as a pen. "Yes, I'm here for the interview for the position of head pastry chef," he responded.

The young man smiled sweetly as he glanced down at the book, "Your name?" he asked curiously as he gazed at the page, his Hindi accent was thick and it became apparent what his lineage was. He had a golden pen tucked between his fingers as he waited to hear it. "Michaelis, Sebastian Michaelis," he replied. His eyes glided to the flower arrangements, massive white and red roses had been selected. "Welcome Mr. Michaelis, he is expecting you in the dining hall," the young man commented. Sebastian nodded and glanced back at the desk to see that the young man wasn't just a waiter, "I'm Soma, by the way, I work as the general manager," he commented as he walked beside Sebastian. So that was his role, he looked rather young to be a general manager. Looks were often deceiving. He was after all very young for his trade with the amount of success he had accrued. The dinning hall was painted a warm burgundy red; it was inviting and rather traditional. There was something about the way this restaurant was set up which made him feel at home. The tables were decorated with candles and covered with fresh linens. He could smell the spices from where he stood, a bartender was working at the bar taking inventory and polishing glasses. It was a Sunday morning and yet there they were working. A massive crystal chandelier hung in the middle of the room, it sparkled and he noted it was pristine. Even the floor was elegant, a beautiful parquet floor was there, and he felt as though he were back in Paris.

Sitting alone was a gentleman in a navy blue suite, his legs were crossed, and a tea-cup was in his hands. His slate blue hair was rather short and seemed more like a mop than a hairstyle. "Sir, Mr. Michaelis," said Soma smoothly as he stood before the owner. Sebastian waited for his cue to appear, he wasn't about to stand before the man who could potentially throw him out. "Good, make something I would want to eat," he stated as he waved his hand toward the kitchen. The gesture it's self was nowhere near as refined as the rest of the restaurant, in fact he had never been treated this way in his life. Sebastian lifted an eyebrow in confusion after hearing this, usually they asked for resumes first, class ratings, training, number of years in the field, awards, and who he trained under. Yet all he wanted was something to eat, "Anything?" asked Sebastian in confusion. He heard a sigh of exasperation leave the owner, "Yes, anything," he responded harshly.

This concept frightened Sebastian more than imaginable; he had no idea what this individual was partial to. Hundreds of questions buzzed in his head pertaining to the sweetness of dishes, the presentation, elements, even the very nature of the desert was up in the air. Nothing in his training at Le Cordon Bleu prepared him for this. He nodded as he followed Soma to the kitchen, never once looking at the one who was to be tasting the desert. He opened the doors to a white and spotless stainless steel kitchen, oddly it was empty. "You have access to everything in the pantry as well as the refrigerators," said Soma before he disappeared. Before the tall raven haired chef could respond Soma had vanished, "They can never make these things easy, can they?" he asked as he placed his hands on his hips.

Since the young man was indisputably English there was only one thing an Englishman would drink this time of day, Earl Gray Tea, and powerful. He closed his eyes as he thought of the possible desserts which could be paired with it. He smiled after a moment and realize it would be better if he went with a traditional classic which was simple, but took skill to execute. "Well young master, let's see if I can make you crave more," he commented as he walked toward the pantry and pulled out a silver canister of flour. It was rather humid which meant the flour would be rather moist. He couldn't allow it to be flat that meant compensating was in order. In seconds the canister of salt was in his hands, another silver canister, clearly the head chef respected his ingredients. A smile curved the raven haired chef as he placed the canisters down and went in search of the scale. Scales were a pastry chef's best friend, by the mass of the flour he could determine the ratio of all the other ingredients. Once he found the silver digital scale he dashed toward the fridge and reach for the butter, "Firm and unsalted," he muttered as he located the sticks.

He paused momentarily to ogle at the sight of the walk in, clearly the head chef was spoiled by the owner, and all the ingredients were fresh and looked as though they had just been plucked from the farm. "Wow," he whispered before shaking his head and berating himself, "Admire it later, pastry first," he groaned. He looked around curiously, everything was metal, which wasn't ideal for a pastry. "Is there not a wood cutting board anywhere?" he asked in confusion. He honestly should have asked for a tour of the kitchen, he would need an un-textured glass surface later, another impossible thing. Sebastian honestly began to wonder if there was ever a pastry chef on staff at this restaurant. "Where on earth is the cutting board?" he asked in frustration. He heard a cough behind him, which nearly made him jump out of his skin. Sebastian spun around to find a massive man standing behind him, his black hair had a sheen of violet to it and a pair of cold golden eyes. He was wearing a black chef's coat as well and a tall chef's hat, "Behind you," he responded. Sebastian stared in shock; this man was the head chef. His eyes glided over his neat appearance and noted golden script on his chest, C. Faustus. "Thank you," Sebastian replied as he grabbed the board and opened his black knife bag. Nestled inside were assorted silver blades, pastry brushes, thermometers and other tools which most kitchens didn't have that pastry chefs required. His nimble fingers freed the pastry scraper.

"Liquid measuring cup," he mused as he looked on the shelves for one. The massive chef was still standing there and asked, "Are you planning on acting like a second-rate chef the entire time, or shall I gather the tools you need?" There was an edge to Claude's voice which rubbed Sebastian the wrong way, he may have looked handsome but his demeanor was horrendous. "I'm not a second-rate, and it would be helpful since no one showed me where anything was in this kitchen," he replied. Claude chuckled before sauntering off, "Oh so you do have teeth, I was beginning to wonder if you have them pulled," he commented. Sebastian's red eyes narrowed as he watched the man walk away to grab the liquid measuring cup. "Bastard," he muttered under his breath as he walked over to the scale and weight 12 ounces and then 6 of butter, he would compensate by cutting back on the water by an ounce.

His eyes were locked on the display of the scale as he measured the flour to the nearest decimal and then the butter. Resting on the cutting board was an empty glass measuring cup. "Thanks," Sebastian responded, he had brought his own rolling-pin. He sprinkled some flour on the board before unwrapping the wax paper which the butter had been snuggly wrapped in. There was a scrape in the background and Sebastian glanced up to see the head chef perched on a stool across from him. His head rested on the heel of one of his hands and his glasses slipped down his nose a little. Of course this man was going to watch him like a hawk, Sebastian was both new and he was probably the only one who could rate his skill. "Making a puff pastry with so little time is daring," commented Claude, "On top of the fact that this kitchen is humid." The pastry scraper made quick work of cutting the butter into chunks on the board, a cloud of flour appeared as Sebastian added more of it. "I'm aware, that's why I'm compensating," he stated, he was never a fan of people hovering as he worked.

The kitchen was silent as he continued to mix the flour, salt, and butter on the cutting board. Sebastian could feel Faustus' harsh gaze as he continued to make the dough. Once they were thoroughly mixed he grabbed the measuring cup and poured five ounces of water into it, he planned on not using all of it, but was aware that anymore than five ounces would be far too much. He checked the temperature of the water with his fingers to ensure it was cold enough, he didn't want to shock the pastry, that would make a mess. Sebastian gently tipped the glass measurer to slowly add water to the dry mix on the board, if he was just a bit off the pastry would fall apart and be useless. The goal was a flaky but moist pastry, something which would melt in the mouth after a bite. "Aren't you concerned the least about the time?" asked Faustus the question drew Sebastian out of his mental notes. He was known as one of the best and fastest at the Cordon Bleu for his ability to make a rough pastry. "Nope, nervous?" asked Sebastian teasingly as he finished adding water and began folding.

He floured the roller before beginning to flatten the dough, Sebastian knew how to work the dough, fold after fold he allowed the dough to act naturally. He was careful to apply even pressure to the pastry as he worked, ensuring that it was smooth and clean. Sebastian snatched the brush from his bag and swiftly dusted off the excess flour between folds. The once chunky and hardly dough looking substance turned into a beautifully folded white sheet. The head chef was silent as he watched the pastry chef work. "Cellophane?" asked Sebastian curiously as he put the last two folds in the pastry. Faustus vanished from the stool as he retrieved the box and placed it beside the raven haired chef. "No, you're the one looking for a job, as far as I'm concerned you're a second-rate who's fresh out of school and has no real experience," Faustus responded coldly. Every word was dripping in venom, Sebastian could tell this chef wasn't a fan of pastries or the ones who created them. He had heard a rumor that the previous chef had left the position, due to harassment from the head chef. Perhaps that rumor which he had dismissed had an ounce of truth to it.

Sebastian wrapped the dough and stowed it in the fridge to set for half an hour before pulling it out to work. "Now the filling," he commented as he looked at the bright red and succulent strawberries. They were screaming to be used in a pastry. A smirk of delight swept across his lips, "I know just what to make," he commented as he plucked the basked from the shelf of the walk in. "Cream," he mused as his fingers walked the shelves in search of the carton. He hummed after finding it and returned to where he had worked. The golden eyed chef was still perched on the stool, Sebastian washed the strawberries and noticed a confused look on the chef's face. He was making a spring combination, rather than summer. The bright red berries glistened once washed and he shook the water from their skin. Sebastian's fingers moved swiftly as he attempted to make up for lost time which was due to making the dough from scratch. His fingers caressed the soft edges of the berries as he hulled every one of them.

Crimson red eyes were locked on the fruit as the small knife slipped into each one and removed the core. Claude slipped into the background as he continued making his food. The smell of fresh strawberries reminded him of summer, it seemed to warm the sterile kitchen and made it feel like there was more to this glacier than just cold steel. Once cored, the strawberries were placed in a glass bowl which oddly the head chef had given him. Sebastian nodded as he whisked the berries off the table and placed them in the bowl, "Thanks," he commented. The head chef simply huffed and crossed his arms, "Yeah," he remarked. "Icing sugar and casting sugar," he commented, "Just a touch of vanilla to tie it together."

"Making the whipped cream from scratch as well?" asked Faustus once Sebastian had returned with the ingredients, two bowls, whisk, spoon and another carton of double cream. "Why wouldn't I?" he asked. Oddly the silver scale was resting beside him, calibrated and clean. Everything in the way this chef acted made Sebastian believe that he didn't want him to succeed, yet he still assisted him. He had a feeling this man was a Gemini. His mood swings were giving Sebastian whip-lash. "The work and time," responded Faustus sharply. Sebastian heaved a sigh as he weight the caster sugar and selecting the softer strawberries to make the purée. "I'm making a purée as well, as for time I have it, the pastry will be easy once the rest of the pieces are made," he commented. The golden eyed chef raised an eyebrow in confusion as he watched Sebastian hands.

In a flash the young chef had made a purée and was going to begin making the whipped cream. Sebastian gradually added the heavy double cream to the bowl as well as both sugar and a touch of vanilla. A medley of strawberries, vanilla and cream tangled in the air, he was certain that the chef watching was drooling for his treats. Sebastian cradled the bowl in his arms as he whipped air into the cream, it was light and fluffy white as snow and smelt sweet. Resting off to the side was a piping bag and star nozzle. "Time to work the dough," he commented as he sprinted back to the fridge and pulled out the sheet. It had stiffened up perfectly and looked like a smooth cream-colored sheet as he unwrapped the cellophane. "Now the question is will it rise properly," drawled Faustus. Sebastian hugged and smiled, it was going to rise, "Pre-heat the oven for me," he said smoothly as his fingers spread a long sheet of brown parchment.

"Now then, thin and rectangular," he commented as he rolled it out again with the pin so it was an even thickness. With the pastry scraper he cut each piece to proper size and placed them on a silver tray which Faustus had taken the liberty of lining with parchment. "8 minutes in the oven and then I can plate," he stated. He slipped the pastry sheet into the oven and watched them turn a golden brown. They were perfect, flaky, yet not dry, just what he needed. "Where did you go to college?" asked Faustus after a moment, his English accent was thick and he sounded partially bored. Sebastian hummed and crossed his arms before leaning on the counter. He had a few minutes before he officially pulled the tray, "Le Cordon Bleu in Paris, I attended their pastry school," he responded nonchalantly. A number of chefs when to Le Cordon Bleu to learn pastries, however, it didn't mean they were any good. What mattered was the taste, and skill.

The owner sat in silence, "He's been in there for over thirty minutes," moaned the young man. The bartender had returned with another pot of tea. It was steaming hot, and the slate haired 20 year old sighed. "Alois, join me," he said as he pointed to the seat beside him. The blond looked at him with large sky blue eyes and grinned before chirping, "You look like you are waiting to meet a blind date, he's certainly cute enough." He sighed and dipped his head; this was going to be the 13th pastry chef who interviewed for the position. Sadly, he couldn't go without a pastry chef, desert was one of the things which he was known for and had already devoted a great deal of money to the state of the art facilities, wines and coffees to compliment the sweets, as well as the fact that he had a major sweet tooth. "This better be the best damn pastry of the century or I'm going to toss him out on his head for making me wait," he grumbled before taking a sip of tea. The bubbly bartender sighed and looked at him, "It's ashamed he will reside in the kitchen he's so hot he would attract every man and women into your restaurant," he commented as he looked at the owner. The slate haired twenty year old groaned, and rubbed his temples. He didn't want to be known for attractive staff he wanted to be known for the food.

The doors of the kitchen opened, and the young man smiled as he watched the chef saunter over with a white plate. "I apologize for the wait," said the chef smoothly as he placed the plate on the table. His sapphire blue eye widened as he looked at the plate, it was so simple, a Mille Feuille, he had been served soufflé after soufflé, tarts, truffles, cakes, but no one served this simple classic. "A Strawberry Mille Feuille?" he asked in confusion as he looked at the sugary treat. His eyes narrowed, this had to be a joke, there wasn't much required to make a Mille Feuille, and he knew that. There was frozen dough in the back waiting to be thawed and cut. He looked up to see a slender and rather beautiful looking chef, his eyes widened as he looked at his raven black hair and high cheek bones. His features were beautiful, in fact he looked like he belonged on the cover of magazines and not the kitchen. His burgundy red eyes were welcoming, "Yes, I though it would be a welcome change," responded the chef, his voice was smooth like velvet. It caressed the young man's ears and made his heart pound. There was no way a beauty like him was a chef. His black chef's coat didn't have a speck of flour on it which made him wonder if the man had even bother to make the pastry from scratch. "I see, you are aware that you are applying for a job at a four Michelin star restaurant correct?" asked the young man curtly. Alois stared in confusion, "Ciel, you haven't even tasted it," whispered Alois in confusion.

Ciel sighed as he looked at the plate and pushed it away from him, "I don't have to, and I'm looking for a pro, not a second-rate. I could buy this in a supermarket if I wanted to," spat Ciel. He watched the chef stiffen, he wasn't sure if it was from irritation or fear, he was nearly impossible to read. "Get him out of here, clearly he just wants to waste my time," barked Ciel as he waved the man away. Sebastian gaped at him, "You haven't even tasted it," he stated with anger. Ciel hugged as he crossed his arms and glared at the young man, "I don't have to, it's not what I wanted," he responded snidely. He didn't want to be made a fool of by a man who seemed to look down on him. Sebastian's red eyes narrowed, it was clear Ciel had struck a chord in the chef. "Then perhaps you should have actually ordered me to make something," he responded harshly. Ciel laughed coolly and pointed at the door, "I told you to make something I would want to eat, I don't want this," he stated, "Get out."

Sebastian sighed and shook his head, "I get it, but you should taste it. Who knows you may actually like something that isn't smother in chocolate, or are you still a brat?" asked Sebastian with a dark grin. Faustus was staring at Sebastian, his face was composed but his golden eyes were wide with shock, what little of it he could show on his stone face. Ciel was trembling with anger; no one ever spoke to him like that. Without another word Sebastian walked back into the kitchen, "Have a good day, young master," he called before slipping into the sanctuary of the kitchen. Ciel sat there dumb founded, "Whoa, Ciel no one has ever said something like that to you," said Alois in shock.