The Ingredients of Love (30 page)

I wandered through the streets like a prisoner on parole, I admired the displays in the brightly lit store windows, I inhaled the tempting smell of the freshly made crêpes from the little stall behind the Church of Saint-Germain, but then decided on a waffle, which I smeared thickly with cream of chestnut.

The snowflakes fell softly, little white points in the dark, and I thought about the manuscript, wrapped in brown paper, which Aurélie would find at her door that evening.

By the time it was finished there were 280 pages, and I'd thought long and hard about what title I was going to give the story, the novel that I hoped would win me back the girl with the green eyes forever.

I wrote down many sentimental, romantic, even kitschy titles, but I deleted them all from my list. And then I named the book, simply and poignantly,
The End of the Story.

No matter how a story begins, no matter what convoluted turns and paths it takes, in the end only the ending is important.

My profession entails reading a lot of books and manuscripts, and I must admit that I have been most fascinated by novels that have an open or even a tragic ending. Well, you think about books like that for quite a while, whereas you forget those with a happy ending quite quickly.

But there has to be some difference between literature and reality, and I confess that as I laid the little brown package on the cold stone floor outside Aurélie's door I abandoned all intellectual pretensions. I addressed a quick prayer to the heavens, asking for a
happy
ending.

An open letter was included with the manuscript, in which I wrote:

Dear Aurélie,

I know that you have banished me from your life and do not wish to have anything further to do with me, and I respect that wish.

Today I lay your favorite author's new book at your door.

It is a completely brand-new, unedited manuscript, and it has as yet no proper ending, but I know that it will interest you, because it contains the answers to all your questions about Robert Miller's first novel. I hope that this will make at least some amends for the things I have done.

I miss you,

André

That night I slept deeply and well for the first time in weeks. I woke up with the feeling that I'd done everything I possibly could. Now all that was left was to wait.

*   *   *

I wrapped up a copy of the novel for Monsieur Monsignac and then made my way after more than five weeks to the publishing house. It was still snowing, snow lay on the roofs of the houses and the sounds of the city were muffled. The cars on the boulevards were not driving as fast as usual and even the people on the streets slowed their pace somewhat. The world, it seemed to me, was in a way holding its breath, and I myself was strangely filled with great calm. My heart was as white as if it were the first day of creation.

In the office I was welcomed extravagantly. Madame Petit did not just bring my mail (there were heaps of it) but a coffee as well; a red-cheeked Mademoiselle Mirabeau popped her head round the door and wished me a Happy New Year (I noticed a ring glinting on her finger); Michelle Auteuil greeted me regally when we met in the lobby and even condescended to offer a
“Ça va, André?”
; Gabrielle Mercier sighed with relief, saying it was good that I was back because the boss was driving her crazy; and Jean-Paul Monsignac pulled the door shut behind us as we went into my office and said I looked like an author who had just finished a book.

“What do they look like, then?” I asked.

“Completely wasted, but with that very special glint in their eyes,” said Monsignac. Then he looked at me searchingly. “And?” he asked.

I handed him the copy of the manuscript. “No idea if it's any good,” I said. “But it contains a lot of my heart's blood.”

Monsignac smiled. “Heart's blood is always good. I've got my fingers crossed for you, my friend.”

“Oh well,” I said. “I only finished it last night, so nothing's going to happen that quickly … if at all.”

“You might just be wrong there, André,” said Monsignac. “I'm looking forward to reading this anyway.”

The afternoon crept by. I looked through my mail, and answered my e-mail. I looked out of the window, where thick flakes of snow were still falling from the sky. And then I closed my eyes and thought of Aurélie and hoped that my thoughts would reach their goal even with closed eyes.

It was half past four and already dark outside when the telephone rang and Jean-Paul Monsignac asked me to come into his office.

As I went in he was standing by the window staring out at the street. My manuscript was lying on his desk.

Monsignac turned round. “Ah, André, come in, come in,” he said, and swayed back and forth as his custom was. He pointed to the manuscript. “What you've written there”—he looked at me severely and I pressed my lips nervously together—“is unfortunately very good. Don't let your agent get the idea of going to other publishers and starting an auction, or you'll be out on your ear, do you understand?”

“C'est bien compris,”
I answered with a smile. “I'm really very pleased, Monsieur Monsignac.”

He turned back to the window. “I bet that what's out here will please you even more,” he said, and pointed to the street.

I looked at him inquiringly. For just one second I thought that he meant the snowflakes that were still floating around outside the window, then my heart began to beat faster, and I could have hugged old Monsignac.

Outside on the street, on the side opposite Éditions Opale's office building, a woman was walking up and down. She was wearing a red coat, and kept looking at the publishers' door as if she was waiting for someone.

I didn't even take the time to put on a coat, but just rushed down the stairs, pulled open the heavy front door, and ran across the street.

And then I was standing in front of her and for a moment I was almost unable to breathe.

“You came!” I said softly, and then I said it again and my voice was quite hoarse, I was so glad to see her.

“Aurélie…” I said, and gave her a questioning look.

The snowflakes were falling on her and catching in her hair like little white almond blossoms.

She smiled, and I reached for her hand, which was wrapped in a brightly colored woolen glove, and felt myself suddenly becoming quite lighthearted.

“You know what? I actually like Robert Miller's second book a bit better than the first one,” she said, and her green eyes gleamed.

I laughed softly and took her in my arms.

“Is that going to be the last sentence?” I asked.

Aurélie shook her head slowly. “No, I don't think so,” she said.

For a moment she looked at me so solemnly that I nervously looked for an answer in her eyes.

“I love you, you dope,” she said.

Then she put her arms around me and everything melted into a soft, carmine-colored red woolen coat and a single kiss that never wanted to end.

Of course I would have found this sentence a little conventional in a novel. But here, in real life, on this little snowy street in a great city that is also called the city of love, it made me the happiest man in Paris.

 

Author's Note

When you've finished writing a novel, you're very relieved that it's over. (Thanks for listening to me, Jean!) And for that very reason, you're also very sad. Because writing the final lines of a novel also means saying good-bye to the heroes who have been your companions for such a long time. And even if they are (more or less) invented, they are still very close to the author's heart.

And so I watch Aurélie and André; who finally found each other in spite of a thousand trials and tribulations, going on their way, and I sigh emotionally, get a little sentimental, and wish them both every happiness.

A lot that is in my book is invented; some of it is true. The cafés, bars, restaurants, and stores really exist, the
menu d'amour
is always worth a try—which is why I've included the recipes, as well as the recipe for La Coupole's
Curry d'agneau
(both the original recipe, and the way Aurélie Bredin would cook it).

But the reader will search in vain for a restaurant called Le Temps des Cerises in the Rue Princesse.

Even if I did, as I wrote, have a very particular restaurant with red-and-white-checked tablecloths in my mind, let it remain a place of the imagination. A place where wishes come true and anything is possible.

The smiles of women are a gift from heaven, they are the beginning of every love story, and if I had just one wish, this is what it would be: that my dear friend U. should wear her new winter coat for many years to come and that this book should end for any indulgent readers—men or women—as it began: with a smile.

 

Aurélie's Menu d'Amour

(SERVES TWO)

FIELD SALAD WITH AVOCADOS, MUSHROOMS, AND MACADAMIA NUTS IN POTATO VINAIGRETTE

4 ounces field salad

4 ounces small mushrooms

1 avocado

10 macadamia nuts

1 tablespoon butter

1 red onion

1 large floury potato

2 ounces bacon lardons

4 ounces vegetable stock

2 to 3 dessert spoons of apple cider vinegar

salt

pepper

1 tablespoon clear honey

3 teaspoons olive oil

Clean and wash the field salad and then spin it dry. Wash, peel, and slice the mushrooms. Peel the avocado and cut into slices. Heat the macadamia nuts in a pan with the butter until golden brown. Cut the onion in half and slice thinly. Boil the potato in its skin until soft. Fry the bacon lardons in a pan until nicely crisp. Then boil up the vegetable stock and stir in the vinegar, salt and pepper to taste, honey, and oil. Peel the potato, add it to the stock and mash with a fork, then whisk everything with an eggbeater until smooth.

Arrange the field salad with the mushrooms, avocado slices, onion, and nuts on a plate. Sprinkle with the lardons and dress with the lukewarm sauce.

Serve immediately.

LAMB RAGOUT WITH POMEGRANATE SEEDS AND GRATINÉ POTATOES

1 pound boned leg of lamb

2 carrots

2 stalks celery

1 large eggplant

1 red onion

2 cloves garlic

seeds of 2 pomegranates

3 tomatoes

3 tablespoons butter

salt

pepper

1 bunch fresh thyme

2 tablespoons olive oil

1 tablespoon flour

1 cup dry white wine

For the Gratiné Potatoes

1 pound small potatoes (waxy)

1 cup cream

2 eggs

4 tablespoons butter

Remove any fat from the lamb and then cut into cubes. Peel the carrots and wash and clean the celery. Wash the eggplant and cut vegetables into small cubes. Peel the onion and garlic and chop finely. Halve the pomegranates, remove the seeds, and put them to one side. Briefly put the tomatoes into boiling water, then into cold water, and peel them. Remove the seeds and cut the flesh into cubes.

Soften the vegetables (except for the tomatoes and the pomegranate seeds) in a pan with butter. Season with salt, pepper, and the thyme.

Brown the lamb quickly in olive oil in a casserole, and season with salt and pepper. Then dust with flour, stir, and pour in the white wine. Add the vegetables, cover and braise in a low oven (300
°
F/150
°
C) for about two hours, adding more wine if necessary. Add the pomegranate seeds at the very end.

While the lamb is cooking, wash and peel the potatoes and cut into very fine slices. Grease a gratin dish with butter and arrange the potato slices in a circle in the dish, then season with salt and pepper. Whip the cream and eggs together, season, and pour over the potatoes. Dot with lumps of butter. Cook for about 40 minutes in the oven at 350
°
F/180
°
C.

GÂTEAU AU CHOCOLAT WITH BLOOD ORANGE PARFAIT

For the Gâteaux au Chocolate

4 ounces fine dark chocolate, at least 70% cocoa content

1½ ounces salted butter

2 eggs

2½ tablespoons brown sugar

1 packet vanilla sugar

¹
/
₈
cup flour

4 extra pieces of chocolate

Powdered sugar

For the Blood Orange Parfait

2 egg yolks

4 ounces powdered sugar

1 pinch of salt

3 dessert spoons of hot water

3 blood oranges

2 packets of vanilla sugar

1 cup whipping cream

Melt the chocolate and the butter in a double boiler. Whip the eggs until stiff and then add the brown sugar. Stir in the vanilla sugar. Fold in the flour and the melted chocolate.

Grease two ramekins with butter and powder with flour. Fill the ramekins two-thirds full, place two pieces of chocolate in each, then add the rest of the mixture.

Bake in a preheated oven at 420
°
F/220
°
C for 8 to 10 minutes.

The
gâteaux au chocolat
should be baked only on the outside and should be liquid in the middle. Dust them with powdered sugar and serve lukewarm, accompanied by the blood orange parfait.

Beat the egg yolk with powdered sugar, a pinch of salt, and hot water in the mixer until stiff. Then add the juice of two blood oranges. Whip the cream with the vanilla sugar until stiff and fold into the mixture.

Put into a mold and chill overnight. Decorate with slices of the third orange and serve with the
gâteaux au chocolat.

Bon appetit!

 

La Coupole's Curry d'Agneau

(1927 RECIPE)

(SERVES SIX)

 

7 pounds leg or shoulder of lamb

3½ ounces sunflower oil

3 Golden Delicious apples, sliced (Aurélie uses 5 apples)