I’ve always wanted a business, because I always want so much stuff. (Yeah, I’m working on that) But I only recently found out that reward requires work. A whole lot of it. Maybe next time I’ll be more prepared. Next time… I won’t have to make 7 tart shells instead of four, and maybe next time… I won’t waste so much vanilla beans and eggs. And three days after this ordeal, when I got another order, YES! I totally wanna do it again! It was an ordeal this time, but next time it’ll be fun… I hope…

It actually started on Thanksgiving, or a little bit before. My Dad paid for Master Class, and one of the teachers on it was Pastry Chef Dominique Ansel. He taught me to make Apple Tarts, which were a complicated and precise dish MUCH better than an apple pie. I hadn’t heard of him before, but now he’s my favorite pastry chef. But he’s also the only one I’ve ever heard of. Anyway, Dad let me make two and bring them to church. I managed to make it right. Okay, I need to give 30% credit to my brother, Asher, who helped me on the tarts. (Except the last one) So for Thanksgiving, I signed up for two tarts, just like before. Just like before, I made it successfully. Well, except for a little clumsiness on my part… when moving one shell to the plate, I picked it up with one hand and… it broke. It was already 8 PM… and the dough took around an hour to make.

At the Thanksgiving party, it went great. My apple tarts, though I didn’t get paid, were a great success. My Grandmother heard all about the process, and really loved the tarts. My Great-Grandmother liked that fact that it wasn’t too sweet, but still preferred a Crème brûlée which I made for her the week before. But the most memorable compliment I got was from my Aunt Olivia. She said, while digging into her slice, “How much are you charging?” That very night as soon as we got home (which I remember was near 11 PM), I got the recipe, a calculator, a paper, and my favorite pen. I started asking Mom and Dad how much things costed, and how many cups of sugar there were in the huge bags we bought, and started calculating a price. They were tired, and it was late, so it wasn’t exactly the best time for those kinds of questions. So we all went to bed, but I took the recipe and calculator and pen and paper with me. It didn’t take long to figure out how much to charge, because I loved the idea of making money! I would charge 15$. In the morning, Dad got a text from Aunt Ollie asking how much I was charging. She knows me so well, I thought. She knew that as soon as we got home, the calculator would be hard at work.

I added it up, and replied with my price: 15 whole dollars. To my surprise, she ordered two, and my Grandmother also wanted two. 4 TARTS! That was more than I ever made at once! 60 whole dollars! But, then I reminded myself, that was also more work to be done. I hate to say it, but the first thing I thought of was the money. My mind was spinning on what I could do with 60 whole dollars. But someone (it might have been Mom, and it probably was) read my mind. I might have said something, but I don’t remember. She reminded my that it was four tarts! Twice as much as last time. I put these thoughts aside, which I now regret.

Moral in the middle: Don’t buy a horse thinking it will feed itself

Money, money, money! That’s what was one my mind from November 1st – December 13th. I had been adding to the list of things I “need” to buy, and it was pretty long. The process was three days, and if you check your calendar, the day-before the day-before was Sunday and I didn’t want to find myself working on God’s Holy Day. I REFUSED to work on God’s Day, even just to open a package on vanilla beans. (No, I still had to set the table and made my bed.) So I out figured that, if I made the pastry cream on Saturday, I could make the shells on Monday and on Tuesday assemble and make the glaze (Nappage). In your head, that would work out great! I wouldn’t have to work on Sunday. But in reality, it was terrible. First, I accidentally let the first batch of cream cook to long, making it way too thick. Secondly, I also didn’t mix the egg-yolk and cornstarch mixture well enough, making it chunky instead of smooth. Third, while cooking the second batch, I didn’t store the first batch correctly, making a disgusting skin on it. Fourth of all, I mixed the butter in while it was too warm making it melt like… well, butter. Last of all, and perhaps worst of all, I mixed the perfectly-good second batch with the first in hope that it would turn out all right. It was horrid. It wasn’t creamy or smooth, it had a skin, and there were chunks of cornstarch. So I had to make not only one more batch, but two. Each batch used nine eggs, which need to be separated so I only use the whites. AND my hand was hurting from whisking so much, and it felt as if it would fall off. I get tired and frustrated even writing about it! Luckily, the third batch turned out good. I was only making three batches, because there was always a extra cream. I only needed to separate eighteen more eggs while everybody else is watching my favorite show, Forged in Fire .

And if that was a bad day… you have NO idea what Monday was like. To start with, I needed to make FOUR TART SHELLS, which takes an entire day-and-a-half. That was more than I had ever made at once. It uses one vanilla bean (which is already expensive) and if I had been paying attention, it would need four vanilla beans. But, the only reason I’m really calling this a “bad day” is because I made a mistake. Several mistakes.

The tart shells are used to hold the pastry cream (filling), sort of like a pie crust. So if your pie crust has several big holes and part of the edge gone, you couldn’t hold the filling without it leaking. That… happened to my beautiful tart shells. I had to make four shells, and… three of them had holes and cracks and edges missing. So, I had to re-make three shells. It was SO frustrating, because I managed to get one good shell done, and the dough for the others wasn’t cooperating. It was already pretty late at night, so I had to make them in the morning of Tuesday… the day for tart-assembly… which was even more tiring and frustrating as Monday.

According to plan, I was to assemble four gorgeous tarts, make a glaze for it, and well, put it in its brown cardboard box. But it never goes, “according to plan” unless you are frightfully neat and exact. (No offense intended.) I am NOT exact, really, at all. It hurts to not add a teaspoon more nutmeg than the eggnog recipe calls for, because I LOVE nutmeg. Because of my like to “improvise”, I had to make two other tart shells. I would go into detail about frustration, but I’m too tired.