Wedding Paper- WA 5- Final Draft

The setting was lovely. The wedding was set under a flowered canopy along the Seine, facing the Eiffel Tower at sunset. Two hundred and fifty guests gazed lovingly at me in the night I have dreamed about for years. The ceremony was flawless. I couldn’t be happier. Throughout the ceremony, I fantasized about the beautiful cake that would be awaiting the boat on which our reception was being held. This was how I always imagined it.
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 party at the banks of the Seine, 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. 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.
As smoothly as the wedding was going, all I was focused on was the cake. I dreamt about the cake since I was little girl. I had hired the best chef in Paris, who also happened to be a great caterer in general. Throughout the ceremony, the cake is all I could think about.
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 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. In forty-five minutes, I must recreate a major dish with what was in the kitchen. 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- resistance: the four tiered, alternating chocolate- vanilla level wedding cake.
I managed to create chicken morengo with ingredients I found 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.

The ride along the Seine was smooth and peaceful. The sun had set. In its place was a luminous moon. The Eiffel Tower slowly tiptoed towards the awed guests. The dinner had been brilliant.
The meal had gone smoothly, regardless of the different 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 to a corner of the kitchen. At the end of the path, I found a waiter nursing one mother mouse and five, furless, pink baby mice. The mice were sitting in a pile of icing and crumbs.
Determined screaming came from the kitchen where all of the delicious food has been streaming out consistently for the past two hours. Suddenly, all two hundred and fifty heads turned, five hundred eyes glazed over in amazement.
‘Sir, look at these adorable baby mice I found. They can’t be more than six hours old! I’ve already named them. Tears began flowing like a sink faucet.
All five hundred ears heard:
‘Do you realize what these mice have done? My cake is ruined.’
It was then I started to cry, tears flowing down my face, my makeup ruined. I looked at the caterer, anguish his over ruined creation filled the worn creases around his eyes.
The guests quickly lost interest, hoping for more food by the fantastic chef.
The ceremony finished without any further dilemmas. In the same spirit as the chicken dish was made, the catering staff and I whipped together some more minor desserts. The guests seemed pleased.
And desserts they got. While the wedding’s end was not the one I had anticipated, nor the I had dreamed about. In the end, the guests seemed to enjoy themselves anyways. In the end, that’s better than the perfect wedding cake.