Stressed Backwards Desserts Novels & Stories

"How many desserts do you have to make again?" "Three of our best signature desserts, I already have brown butter pecan cake and the Creème brûlée in mind, but I'm still debating whether to complete it with this torte," "This is perfect Tilda, no debate needed," Julia insisted, biting down on her lip. "If you're done practicing, maybe you can wrap it up for me," I scoffed, rolling my eyes as I pushed the torte aside. "You can have it with all pleasure, and don't come complaining about gaining weight,"

St Just spoke from the table drily, “Come back here, Bianca. She’s prepared dessert and if you leave without tasting it, I imagine Martha is going to be very upset.” I returned half-heartedly for I had truly never eaten as much in all my life. Sinking down, I looked around me discreetly. Alfred re-appeared. This time, it was with dessert. First a plate of crispy, chewy, soft and light-as-air macarons, pink in colour. Then there were tender crepes and finally, a plate of something I had never seen in my life. St Just, who had been watching my animated expressions, gave a laugh as he said,

“All the other main dishes are either on the grill or already cooked... except dessert.” “What's dessert?” I racked my brain, but I had finalized the menu months ago and couldn't remember what Bastian and I had settled on. I just remembered that it had been delicious and the reason we had picked her to cater the meal. “Baked Alaska and crème brulee.” Of course. Two dishes that required fire. “Are you up for it?” I asked, taking in her scorched appearance. She seemed to be calming down and getting herself back together, but I could imagine that she would want to be a little leery of fire after the chicken incident.

There’s powdered sugar on top like fresh snow. “These aren’t in the case,” she says, placing them gently on the counter in front of Theo. “They’re from my special menu.” Theo’s eyes nearly pop out of his head. “Special like… secret?” She nods. “Very exclusive. Kiddie-tested, adult-approved.” “What kind are they?” She taps each one. “Blueberry lemon zest. Banana-chocolate chip. Strawberry shortcake.” “I want all of them,” he whispers. “Start with one, buddy,” I say, though I can’t help smiling.

I saved the holes from the classic to make some bites out of them. I let them rest as I prepped the oil for frying. Once they were fried and the classic glazed while they were warm, I let the others cool off. The twists I dusted with cinnamon and sugar. The filled I put a vanilla custard in the center and topped them with leftover caramel icing from the cupcakes Saturday. After all was said and done, I had two dozen to bring with me to the pack house.

Gregor pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something that sounded like prayer—or a death threat. Sugar leaned in behind me, whispering, “Don’t forget to chew those salty disappointments properly, Your Highness.” I shot her a glare, spoon halfway to my mouth. “Thank you, assistant. Your dedication to my digestive health is inspiring.” Next came dessert: a tall, delicate confection that looked like a cake but was more air than substance. I cut into it, and the fork literally slid through nothing. “Oh, how marvelous,” I cooed, eyes wide. “They’ve served us flavored clouds. How revolutionary.”

“Henry! My son! You’re finally back! I was wrong, I was really wrong! Please forgive me!” I stepped back, expressionless, avoiding her embrace. She held her arms out, caught in an awkward pause. I walked to the coffee table and slammed a file down. “From the day I was born until I turned eighteen, I calculated every cent you spent on me — food, clothing, tuition, and tutoring. “The total comes to two hundred thirteen thousand six hundred dollars.” I pulled a check from my pocket and placed it next to the statement. “This is three hundred thousand dollars. Keep the change.

Isabella said smiling. "C'Mon girls, what are we making?" "Hmm.,.." Sophia walked over to the counter and pick up a piece of papper "Honey cakes, Smoked Salmon ,Mini pies , Dumplings, Borscht , Porridge , Pelmeni and Beff stroganoff" Sofia listed. "O My God, we are mankind eight dishes again! That's so unfair. I wonder why Therase have to always give us the hard side of the job" Isabella whined sitting down.

She huffed, crossing her tiny arms and tilting her head, “I’m only worried about you two getting caught and me getting blamed for it. Last time, Mom thought I was the one eating all the biscuits in the pantry and then throwing all the crumbs on the floor!” “So what are you suggesting, dear sister?” He said, emphasising his words. Elara glanced sideways at Killian, then leaned closer, dropping her voice to a whisper that both Jared and Ethan had to strain to hear, “If I promise not to tell, you have to promise to bring me back something, too. Not just any sweet, but the Tarte Tropézienne and the Pain au Lait. Also, bring back some strawberry eclairs and I won't say a word. I'll even distract

I grinned and reached for another jar. “This one is chamomile, honey blossom, and dried apple.” “And the third?” I lifted the last one carefully. “Lavender, citrus peel, and frost mint.” Mel’s eyes widened slightly. “Fancy.” “I’m trying things,” I said. She nodded approvingly. “That’s how the best recipes happen.” We spent most of the morning testing them. Some were better than others. One batch of pastries came out slightly too sweet. Another was perfect. Mel declared them dangerously addictive and immediately set them aside for the shop counter.