Wedding Paper- WA 5 Draft 1

1 Hour before the Reception:
Everyone is at the ceremony. A quiet blanket of love covered the wide, varied patchwork of the friends and family. The ceremony kindled fond memories for the to- be newly- weds. While serenity coats the chapel, chaos is wired throughout the kitchen. As the caterer, we get the length of the wedding to set up. My staff is obediently following my commands. My stress level is rising, my blood boiling like water in the pasta pot on the stove. The food was prepared ahead of time, but it has to be finalized and made presentable. The life of a caterer is hectic- the available resources at different venues are unknown until our arrival, so we hope the kitchen will have what we need.
45 Minutes before the Reception:
The soufflé burnt. Each oven’s internal temperature is different, even when it reads the same. Unknowingly, the once beautifully crafted soufflé is now a horrendously tragic pile of ash. As the head caterer, it is my responsibility to make sure that the wedding party never finds out about all of the inevitable mishaps that occur in the kitchen as the reception looms. My staff also must never sense my racing, accelerating adrenaline. In forty-five minutes, I must recreate a major dish with what was in the kitchen. There wasn’t enough time for a trip to the grocery store. The smells of the different dishes being heated are vigorously swirling around the little kitchen with such force that I was worried that it might knock over the pièce- de- renaissance: the four tiered, alternating chocolate- vanilla level wedding cake. The icing was created from a family recipe that has been in my family for one hundred years. Intricate rosettes and individual sugar snowflakes dance around the cake. The bride and groom on the tope were crafted to look identical to the almost newlyweds down to the details of the bride’s dress and the scuff on the right side of the heel of groom’s left, black loafer. My masterpiece sat, perched on the counter. Merely looking at it gives me the energy to recreate the ruined soufflé. Making and preparing dinner for two hundred and fifty guests can be stressful. With the time clicking downwards, the steep incline of preparing and getting the food ready immediately comes to a halt when the hungry guests arrive. The end is in sight, with 44 minutes left, and I shake off the anxiety and start scavenging around the kitchen for ingredients to make a replacement dish.
15 Minutes before the Reception:
I managed to create chicken morengo with chicken breasts, white wine, olives, garlic and tomatoes that were in the pantry. As the timer approaches single digits, the waitressing staff frantically lines up the appetizer plates, yelling and screaming for the lack of certain plates distracted me from the real issue at hand until the reception was already underway.
90 Minutes after the Reception Began:
The meal had gone according to plan, regardless of the different gradations of setbacks along the way. When it was time for me to bring out my prized wedding cake, I noticed a broken snowflake lying in the middle of a trail of white icing leading in no particular direction other than disaster. I followed the path away from the now dilapidated cake on the counter. In it I found a waiter nursing one mother mouse and five, furless, pink baby mice.
‘Sir, look at these adorable baby mice I found. They can’t be more than six hours old! I’ve already named them. The mother is Shaniqua Shanéné, this baby mouse is Hanschen Ernst, this is Quashan Scarface, for the cute little scar right here. Do you see it, Sir?’
‘Yes I see it!’ I screamed. Tears began flowing like a sink faucet. I felt like a little kid again.
‘Do you realize what these mice have done? My cake is ruined.’
All of the waiters and cooks, all two hundred and fifty guests looked at me and the cake. It was then how pointless this job was. Spending hours of careful, affectionate deliberation on something that would be destroyed anyway. That cake was full of my life that I had poured into it, as well as my family’s history. Just because it wasn’t the guests of the party that had enjoyed it the outcome was the same.
I never baked another cake again.