Lucy was tired and found her mind wandering, reviewing the incident at the market, while Chef Larry demonstrated the correct way to cut the apples. He began by peeling and coring them, then divided them into perfectly smooth hemispheres. When the demonstration was complete, he distributed the apples and set the students to work. Lucy yielded the knife to Bill and let him handle the slicing. Chef Larry circled the room, checking on the students’ progress. He corrected Bill’s technique and then went on to observe Sue and Sid.

“Très bien, madame,” he told Sue, giving her neat paring job an approving nod.

“Thanks.” Sue put down her knife. “I make a similar tart at home, you know. I hope we’ll be trying some more advanced recipes.”

“Absolutely. Tomorrow we will advance to pâte à choux, and on Wednesday I will teach my foolproof method for classic pastry dough, pâte brisée.”

“But don’t we need pâte brisée for the tarte tatin?” asked Sue as Chef Larry pulled his cell phone from his pocket and gave it a glance. “And I’m really eager to learn your method for puff pastry.”

Chef Larry furrowed his brow and replaced his phone in his pocket. “Not today, madame. I have adapted the classic tarte tatin for my students. We will see how far we get, but pâte feuilletée may be a bit ambitious for this group.”

“But you will teach us pâte brisée?” persisted Sue.

Chef Larry reached for his phone once again, giving it only a quick glance before slipping it once again in his pocket. “As I already mentioned, madame, pâte brisée will be taught on Wednesday.”

“Terrific,” said Sue. “And maybe you could demonstrate pâte feuilletée?”

“You are perhaps ahead of the other students,” said Chef Larry, with a nod at Pam, whose attempt to core an apple had resulted in shattering it. “I will be with you in a minute, madame.”

“How come you’re teaching?” asked Sue as he started toward Pam. “I’d expect a young chef like yourself to be working at a top restaurant, apprenticing with a master chef.”

“I like to be my own boss,” replied Chef Larry, reaching into his pocket for the phone, which he glanced at and then turned off. “I don’t want to chop carrots and onions for fourteen hours a day, getting yelled at by some petty tyrant and getting paid only peanuts for doing it.” He stowed the phone in a drawer. “Besides, pastry is my true love.”

“I don’t blame you,” said Sid. “I wouldn’t work for anyone but myself.” He paused. “I’ve heard the taxes are real high here. Is that true?”