A Princely Perspective

Chapter Two: A Baker's Life

   As I made my way down the path, I took in the sights around me. The front lawn of the palace was absolutely astonishing. The hedges were cleanly trimmed and some even in the shapes of animals. There were also various types of flowers that caught my eye—multicolored and in full bloom! The only ones I could pick out were the roses and lilies. All the others were so exotic, I'd never seen them before. Even though the lawn was breathtaking, I wondered how? I thought it was February.

I continued to move forward to the palace's front door despite my  thoughts. Before I could reach the door, I had to cross through a huge plaza and climb up a flight of stairs. Oddly enough it seemed eerily quiet for what I thought was a royal palace. I saw a few passerby but none seemed to noticed me in the sightest.

By the time I was actually to the door, I was warm and a little bit out of breath. The palace doors were huge, decorated with golden lion knockers. I reached out for one of them and gave a swift three knocks. I then waited patiently.

Not even a few seconds after I knocked, the looming doors swept inward. A slender bulter with slicked black hair and polish suit answered. He scanned me with a face of no expression.

"I presume you're here for the pastry chef job?" He asked in a voice so posh. I simply nodded my head. He swung open the doors, allowing more room for me to enter. Once I was inside, he briskly began to walk away, ushering me to follow. I was lead down several long hallways that all had objects and decor that boggled my mind. Everything was so clean and polished they sparkled from tip to end. I could almost see my reflection wherever I looked. The butler then stopped at room and pulled open its door. Snapping myself back to reality, I thanked him and went inside foolishly unbenounced to my senses.

   As I entered, my eyes immediately grew wide. First of all, it wasn't simply a room. It was an auditorium. I didn't know the exact number but almost all the seats were filled with women. I assumed it had to be at least two hundred but even that coulda been a lie. The thought of more than myself applying for the job never even crossed my mind. I forgot that there were probably others who wanted it as badly as I did. I gulped as the door shut behind me.

   Apparently I'd made it just in time. It was the 28th of February, the day of the application. After I found a seat, a man wearing a chef uniform walked out onto the stage. He gave a short announcement welcoming everyone and then began to explain how the job application was going to proceed. Since there were hundreds of ladies applying for this job, it wouldn't be a normal interview. In the room to his right was a huge banquet hall with over five hundred identical cooking stations. Each lady was allowed one station and were to make a dessert that they'd deem worthy for royalty. The catch though was there were no recipes and you had to make it under an hour. Once time was up, the royal pastry chefs would come around and judge the deserts. Only twenty applicants were to be accepted.

   After he concluded his speech, the mob of dresses gradually filtered its way into the banquet hall, myself included. I had never been surrounded by that many women before in my life. It was uncomfortable.. Eventually I did make it to a station and to be fair, it wasn't very big. I'd have to say it was two arm lengths long—including the oven and sink. I ducked underneath the table eyeing a shelf of several different types of ingredients, and cookware. On the corner of my station was also a number. It read 263. Before I could even get myself situated, someone in the front of the room declared that it was about time to start. He pointed up above him to a giant mechanical clock. Once it struck five and the horn sounded, everyone furiously began.

   Some would say this entire thing was crazy. Who in there right mind would participate in something so unorthodox? Well.. even if the whole situation was a bit hectic, I knew I couldn't just give up without throwing my hat in the ring. Sure, I was nervous but I had my plan, my raspberry cake.