Stella woke at four AM. She had a feast to prepare, and if it were to be done by noon, she had to ignore the screams of her body and get busy. She had to have the ham baking before the sun peaked over the eastern horizon on this glorious Easter morning.
Stella was a chef de cuisine. She’d devoted her life to studying the finer culinary artists in the villas of Italy and the bistros of Paris and even the best bed and breakfasts Vermont had to offer.
Since she was six years old and added a half of a jar of processed parmesan cheese to her blue box of macaroni and called it gourmet, she was hooked on creating foods and delicacies and juicy morsels.
When she served the gourmet macaroni and cheese to her grandmother who said, “This is delicious, Stella!”, she was hooked on the feeling she got when people ate her food and rolled their eyes and made sounds like, “mmmm” and “ooohhh” and “ahhhhh.”
Stella broke her parents’ hearts when she opted to go to technology school instead of following the college-track in high school. Because of the scheduling, she could not attend the college-prep courses that she needed to be eligible for scholarships. Because she went to technology school and studied culinary arts, though, she qualified for an apprenticeship at one of the finest dining establishments Chicago had to offer. From there, she was sent to study under a master chef in Boston and then New York City and then London and after that, she couldn’t remember the order of events that led her to where she stood today.
The only disheartening bump in her long and savory road had been the lack of appreciation for good food. She knew that in a restaurant, she would hear more complaints than compliments. She knew that in her own professional kitchen, she would hear more questioning of her authority than wonderment over her technique. But, the one thing that had driven her love for culinary creation for others had been the genuine appreciation the diners had expressed in her masterpieces.
And it was the one thing she never experienced even in the finest kitchens around the world.
As Stella dropped the last blueberry onto whipped cream-topped tarts, she hurried to place the forty tarts into their carrier and loaded her car with the pineapple glazed ham, the au gratin potatoes, the creamed peas with pearl onions and, of course, the blueberry and lemon tarts.
She loved the way her car smelled. She inhaled deeply and delighted at the beautiful life she had created for herself. Free from fear and trepidation, her life was everything she wanted.
At a quarter to noon, Stella pulled her car into the circle drive at the shelter and breathed a silent prayer that one day, the women and children in the shelter that she cooked for every Sunday would also know delight in their own beautiful lives.