A Matter of Taste Chapter Six: Tarte Tatin avec Bananes For the very first time since the

day he collapsed at work, Max was actually able to get a good nights sleep eight solid hours of it. At the moment, he chalked it all up to the change of scenery, his current lack of responsibilities, and the fact that his cousin-in-law had prudently sprayed the incredibly comfortably mattress and fluffy pillows with pure lavender essence. Whatever the reason, Max woke up feeling happy and somewhat content. He sat up in bed and, though never really the religious sort, crossed himself and murmured a small prayer, thankful for the rest. Anglia had slept on a fat cushion at the foot of the bed and was still curled up into a tiny orange-and-white ball. Max leaned forward and stroked the little kittens back, causing her to purr most contentedly. The door squeaked open and one of the younger twins poked his head into the room, grinning hugely. Monin, Unca Max! the little boy chirped as he toddled into the room. Hi, there, Max greeted him, helping him up onto the bed next to him. He smiled when he saw that the wee lad carried the stuffed bunny hed been given the day before. Seeing that it was the brown and white bunny, Max knew that the little boy was Alec. Did you sleep well last night, Alec? Yesh, the little one replied, snuggling into his uncles embrace. He solemnly held up his stuffed bunny. Carrots an I sleep well. Is that your bunnys name? Carrots? Its a nice name. Whats the name of Alfies bunny? Alfies bunny Muji! Alec declared. Thats nice, too. So, is Alf up now? Since the door had been left ajar, Alf came trotting in with a stuffed white and gray bunny in his arms and clambered up the bed with Maxs help. Muji an me say monin now, he piped up. Good morning, Alfie. Max hugged both the boys who nestled against him as if he were one of their plush animals.

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Mammy say you hep make betfus, Alf informed his uncle in a matter of fact way that was beyond his eighteen months. Mammy say we have bacons! The way little Alecs brown eyes sparkled at that statement led Max to think that the little boy was certainly fond of bacon. Sure enough the scent of frying bacon wafted into the room, prompting Max to scoop the little ones up in his arms and carry them out. They found Ginger and the older twins in the living room, laughing uproariously at the Sunday comics. Looks like someone slept well, Ginger remarked as Max deposited the babies onto the nearest armchair. The bed was super-comfy, Max admitted with a grin. Gmorning, Ginge. Morning, piglets. He went behind the couch to ruffle the older twins hair. Wheres your Da? Making breakfast, Mack replied, grinning toothily. Hes waiting for you, Pepper informed him. In which case, Id better head over, Max declared, jogging off to the kitchen. Alas, in the process of rushing over, he ran headlong into a doorpost with a loud thud that pretty much knocked the young man to the floor, groaning in pain. Everyone in the flat ran to his aid and, as Ginger and the older twins helped him up, Puck poked his head out of the kitchen and sighed. Dinna ye be such a twit, Max! he exclaimed. Put your damned glasses on!

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Melaine raised an eyebrow as the Henstridges arrived at their parish church later that morning. Max Balfour brought up the rear with the little twins, sporting a massive bandage on his forehead. Currently bespectacled, the normally cocky chef looked suitably cowed. What happened to him? Melaine asked Puck, jerking a thumb at his injured cousin. Puck smirked wickedly at Max who was quietly ushering the kids into a pew. Vanity got in his way, he informed Melaine. The lad actually fancied goin about the house wiout either specs or contacts. Melaine raised an eyebrow at that. I didnt know he had bad eyesight! she exclaimed. -6.0, Max grumbled.

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That bad? Yes, its that bad, he snapped back, glaring at her. And His eyes widened when he realized what she was wearing, and grinned wickedly. Good Lord, Valeriano! Have you gone on a real bender?! Melaine looked down at the latte-brown uniform that was standard for the ministry she was in, then shot Max a withering glare. And whats wrong about being in ministry? she demanded in challenging tones. Well, it doesnt suit you, Max teased her. Behind him, Ginger was clad in the same uniform. I understand if married women like Ginger do it, but you? He narrowed his eyes speculatively at her. Unless, of course, youve resigned yourself to becoming an old maid. Melaine would have cuffed him if Ginger hadnt eyed them both sternly. Knock it off, you two, she chided them. Youre in church, for goodnesss sake. She turned to Melaine. Whos celebrant for the 9:00? Your big brother, Melaine replied, pointing to a massive clergyman who was making his way out of the sacristy with a couple of elderly members of the ministry fussing over him. Monsignor Henry, Gingers eldest brother, grinned hugely as his niece and nephews scrambled excitedly out of the pew much to Maxs consternation and Melaines amusement to hug him. Heres the lot! he rumbled merrily as he stooped down to hug both of the older twins and then scoop up the little ones up into his arms. Alf, who even now at just eighteen months was already thinking of being a priest like his uncle, cooed and cuddled against him while his twin burbled happily. Gmorning, Ginge! Affectionately, he kissed his sisters cheek and grinned hugely at his brother-in-law. Milord Henstridge! he teased. Whats this hubbub Ive been hearing that young Lord Balfours in town? Aye, that he is, Puck replied with a faint smirk. He slid a rather sly sidelong glance at Melaine. And Chef Valeriano heres been spoilin for a fight since he showed up. Melaine grimaced at that and Max snickered evilly. Monsignor Henry grunted somewhat indecorously and shot them a stern look that shut them both up. Play nicely, children, he admonished them in his ominously deep voice. I dont want to have to hold funeral masses for either of you nor have I ever been fond of visiting people in hospital or in prison! He grinned somewhat viciously at the two. Do I make myself clear?

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Yes, sir, Max mumbled, abashed. No prob here, Monsi, Melaine assured him. The monsignor narrowed his eyes suspiciously at them, and seemed to notice something. However, he said nothing. Instead, he handed the little ones back to their parents; little Alf, however, whimpered in protest and clung to his stole with a rather firm grip. Ginger carefully unclenched the little fingers and separated the little boy from his uncle. You two mind those two, Monsignor Henry murmured to Puck and Ginger. Whatd we do? both Max and Melaine exclaimed in indignant protest. As the choir struck up the processional hymn and the sacristans began their stately march to the altar, the monsignor murmured something insistently to the Henstridges something that raised Gingers eyebrows and caused Puck to smirk somewhat nefariously. Behave, you two, Monsignor Henry rumbled at the confounded duo even as he clasped his hands prayerfully and followed the procession down the center aisle. What was that all about? Melaine hissed to Ginger as the two of them took their places in the pew nearest the entrance. Ginger, alas, merely smiled enigmatically at her.

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She took a deep breath as she surveyed the worktable at the bookshop, taking mental inventory of the ingredients presented to her. White granulated sugar check. Butter She had to double-check if it was unsalted and sighed in relief when it was. Check. In the small refrigerator to the side of the worktable was a packet of puff pastry half a kilo of the stuff. There was a small dish of cinnamon and, thank goodness, a bunch of fresh latundan bananas. In Melaine Valerianos opinion, the starchy saba bananas were like plantains: best for sugary banana-cue or battered fritters, for boiling down with brown sugar for minatamis na saging, chopped up for things like ginataan or halo-halo, or for adding just a hint of sweetness to savory dishes like paksiw na pata or cocido (which was how her family referred to pocherong Kastila). The sweet, orange-fleshed lacatans, on the other hand, were perfect for banana splits,

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smoothies, or allowed to get overripe and mashed for banana bread. Latundans, however, with their ivory flesh and delicately sweet taste with just a hint of tartness were best for eating fresh never to be used in cooking unless one wanted to approximate a tarte Tatin with a tropical twist. The taste of those sweet little bananas was akin to that of fresh apples but, texture-wise, had a more appealing softness that went very well with butter and sugar to make a topping that was simple but oh-so-decadent. Banana tarte Tatin always brought Melaines mind back to late nights at LEtoile de Angleterre. It reminded her of those terrible, bone-jarring, throat-parching days and nights when Vincent Ville-Valmont gunned for a second Michelin star but left the actual work to Melaine with Max Balfour to back her up. On the nights when the young chefs peeked out into the front of the house and found professional critics among the patrons, hell seemed to break loose in the kitchen and nothing seemed to go right though in the end, of course, things actually did work out for best. On those harrowing nights at the end of service, those warm, caramelized banana tarts were a soothing, comforting sight for the frazzled staff; they were food for both aching bodies and battered souls. For Melaine, those days were now over. But she felt a pang of guilt whenever she thought of those left behind; she felt bad when she thought about how shed run away and left them to Vincents bad behavior. And now From the corner of her eye, she spied Max herding the Henstridge kids into the section of childrens books which also had a small play area. He still had the bandage on his forehead and was rather geekily pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. There was a rather harried look on his face and Melaine took note of the purplish circles under the young mans eyes. She murmured to her publicist that she was taking a break for a bit, then promptly marched over to where Max stood watching over the playing children. Hey, she called by way of greeting. Hey, he replied, somewhat startled. You guys are here early. Melaine checked her watch. The launch isnt till five, you know. Its only four PM. Puck and Ginger are downstairs, Max informed her. Gone to look at that new Zafon novel; The Midnight Palace, I think. I loved The Shadow of the Wind, Melaine admitted.

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I liked it, too, Max agreed. He smiled somewhat ruefully. Only, I end up hungry after reading it: all that talk about cinnamon milkshakes and white coffees and spicy potatoes! Dont forget the Sugus sweets! Melaine chuckled. Ah, yes: those infamous lemon Sugus sweets! They laughed, then suddenly stopped and stared at each other in bewilderment. Then they laughed again. This is actually the first time weve been around each other for more than two minutes that you havent yelled at me, Max told her, grinning cheekily. Melaine grinned back and shrugged. What the heck? she said. Then again, I havent got a cleaver anywhere around here. You could borrow one from any of the restaurants here, you know. Yeah, but call times in thirty minutes that isnt time enough for me to gut you properly. Playfully, she yanked his ear. Knowing you, youd yell at me for not filleting you right. Get all the goddamned meat off the bones, woman! Max laughed. Rather sheepishly, he turned his face away for a bit and gulped. Youll hate me for saying this. Say what? Max looked up; his pale face had taken the color of a very ripe peach. I actually missed you, he blurted nervously. The restaurant didnt feel the same without you snapping and snarling at me. Melaine blinked at that and stared at him, quite unsure as to what to say. She merely grimaced and patted his shoulder rather awkwardly. Thanks, I think, she said. She drew a deep breath to steady herself. Then, So, hows your stay been so far? Pretty good, Max replied, leaning against a nearby shelf while keeping an eye out for the younger twins; the older ones had their heads together as they pored over a shelf full of Enid Blyton storybooks. I actually got to sleep for a full eight hours last night. Its going to take ages for those circles to disappear, just so you know, Melaine advised him. She fished a small yellow tube out of the pocket of her jeans and handed it to him. Give the undersides of your eyes a swipe of that; its supposed to cut down the puffiness. Seriously? Max exclaimed incredulously even as he unscrewed the cap off the tube and applied the roller to the dark circles beneath his eyes. Jeez, its cold! Whats in it?

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Caffeine, Melaine replied with a shrug as he handed back the tube. Had fun eating yet? Oh, heck yes! We went to this place just over the way; um, Kanin Club, I think. There was something that was like blood pudding, only it was a stew and there were all these crunchy chunks of pork in it. Max seemed to glow as he talked about food. Melaines heart skipped a beat at seeing him like this: so uplifted despite the fact that he was burned-out, worn out. And, gods: that rice! You had the one with smoked fish? she asked him. Max shook his head. No, he replied. Um, it was like the rice was cooked in sinigang broth and there were slices of really soft pork belly and tempura-fried veg God! It was ambrosial, chef! He sighed and there was a dreamy look on his face. I think I stand to gain more than a few pounds while Im here. You? Melaine raised an eyebrow in disbelief. I doubt it, kid. Ive seen you eat; even if you wolf down a whole hotel buffet for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, I dont think youll gain a single ounce. Max managed a slight smile at that. Well, a bloke can dream, he said with a shrug. Amazing! they heard Ginger say, prompting them both to turn and see the senior Henstridges approaching them, arm in arm. You havent killed each other yet. No knives available, Melaine explained, grinning. And rolling pins dont usually work, Max chimed in. Im still fast enough to duck when she throws em. Mam, lookie! Pepper came scrambling up, a stack of books in her small arms. What do you have there, Pep? Ginger asked her. More Blyton books! the little girl declared enthusiastically. Puck checked the titles on the spines and grinned. Its the St. Clares series, love! he exclaimed to his wife. We loved those when we were kids. Ginger smiled. Yeah, I remember, she said. Though all that talk about midnight feasts and tuck-hampers made us hungry! You ever have a midnight feast, Balfour? Melaine asked Max. Glumly, he shook his head. Thats the problem with being an only child, he said by way of explanation. I was never sent to boarding school; I didnt board till uni! So, no: Ive never had a midnight feast.

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Remember that retreat in sophomore year? Melaine asked Ginger. Gods, dont remind me! Ginger cried, clapping a hand over her face. I was bruised for a damned week thanks to all that derring-do you proposed, you nutcase! Whats this? Max asked, intrigued. Dont bother findin out, Puck intoned warningly. What happened in Tagaytay, stays in Tagaytay. Oh, okay. What are you baking for the demo, by the way? Ginger now asked Melaine as the two of them walked back to the worktable. A banana tarte Tatin, Melaine replied, seeing the hopeful look on Maxs face when he heard the words. With caramel ice cream.

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The title of the book was Common Tables: Food and Tales for Sharing. It was, essentially, partcookbook and part-autobiography. At first, Max planned to stay and watch over the kids in the play area while his cousins were at the launch. He personally believed that he would just be a fly in the ointment of Valerianos most recent success and, as such, was better off away. But the kids came running up to their parents when the time of the launch drew near and went to sit with them. This meant, of course, that Max had to be there, too. He tried to beg off, seeing how he didnt really have an invitation, until Puck showed him what was written on the card in his hand: Mr. and Mrs. Robin and Ginger Henstridge and Family / Mr. Maximilian Balfour. After seeing that, he had no choice but to sit down with the rest of his family. While Valerianos publisher and editor gave their little speeches, Puck pointed out members of her family out to Max. See that gentleman out front wi the salt-an-pepper hair an beard? Puck murmured to his cousin. Thats Laines dad: Pocholo Valeriano, really big man in food processin in this part o the world. His company produces snacks and bottled drinks. I think yeve met him before?

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Aye, Max murmured back. Twice at LEtoile, I think; and then at your wedding. He was principal sponsor, right? Puck nodded. Him and his wife, he said, pointing out a magnificent Castillian beauty who sat next to Mr. Valeriano. You remember the senior Chef Valeriano, then? How can I forget! Max exclaimed. He remembered how the stately lady came barging into the kitchen one evening, surprising Valeriano and everyone else. Shed been quite critical of the way they did things at LEtoile, but smiled and congratulated them on excellent work in the end. She scared me half to death! Puck laughed at that bit. Tita Pura scared ye? Och, lad: the ladys bark is worse than her bite. Kindness personified, she is, so dinna ye let that stern face o hers spook ye. He went on to point out three young men. The eldest of them sat beside a radiant beauty with bronzed skin and classic Filipina features whose arm was linked with his. The younger two had their heads together and seemed to be cracking jokes, seeing how their faces barely seemed to hide the laughter shining in their eyes. Three o Melaines brothers, Puck explained. The one wi the beauty on his arm is X; older than us by a couple o years, great cronies wi ma twin brothers-in-law since grade school. He an his wife Nina oer there are both doctors; stress specialists at Makati Med. Im thinkin o referrin ye to em one o these days. I think they can help ye. The two younger lads are Eric an Jink. Eric is their mams sous-chef oer at Casa Palmera; hes three years younger than us. Jinks the youngest. Hes your age five years younger than us an hes a food critic for one of the big broadsheets; well, thats when hes nae helpin out at Casa Palmera or playin test chef for his big sister. You said theyre three of her brothers, Max noted. You mean there are more? Just one. Max looked up sharply at the sudden flat tone in his cousins voice and saw a grim look on his face. They dinna talk about the man an neither do we. Older? Much; eldest, as a matter o fact. Melaines the middle one an the only lass in the brood. Max wondered what the eldest of the Valerianos did to warrant such silent treatment from both his family and their friends. He figured it must have been something heinous, seeing the grim twist of Pucks lips and his furrowed brows. He dared not ask any more questions along those lines.

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Meanwhile, Valeriano was demonstrating to the audience how to make her tarte Tatin aux bananes. She placed sugar and butter in a cake tin with handles on the hob that was part of the demonstration set-up. While that bubbled down to a caramel, she sliced some delicatelooking bananas for the topping and rolled out the puff pastry. The area was soon fragrant with the buttery smell of rich caramel and she made the scent more tempting by putting the bananas into the brown syrup and sprinkled the lot with nose-tickling cinnamon; Max felt his mouth water at the delectable scents. While Valeriano tucked the puff pastry into the prepared tin, she was telling the audience about those long-ago late nights during the second Michelin star effort: how bitter tears came to be part of the standard mise en place during those awful days, how tempers boiled over faster than the cookpots simmering on every available hob, how dispositions grew sourer than the lemons, sharper than the Seville oranges in the pantry. But sharing suppers of sweet tarts like this helped ease the pain a little, she now told them, a rather sad smile on her pretty face. Maxs heart broke a little as he remembered how that face had been gaunt and ashen during that particular time pretty much as gaunt and certainly as pale as his own face was now. Over slices of pie and scoops of ice cream, we managed to make light of the challenges we were facing. It was sharing those burdens in this way that made victory taste even sweeter when we got it. Of course, even that turned bitter in the end, Max thought, his own lips twisting with bitterness at the memory. I am grateful, he now heard Valeriano say, that I had the very best chefs working with me at the time. He went pale when she looked his way, a terrible glint in her eyes.

Otherwise, I dont think we would have made it. And, tonight, amazingly enough, one of them is actually here! This statement caused a ripple of excited murmurs to spread through the throng gathered around the worktable. Maxs heart began to pound and he desperately looked for a way out. Mercifully, Valeriano said nothing more regarding the matter and went back to prattling on about baking tarte Tatin. Max sighed in serious relief at this. As Melaine Valeriano put the tart into the oven, waiters from Casa Palmera came out bearing plates of sliced tarte Tatin topped with rich caramel ice cream made from scratch and handed one each to the members of the audience.

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Max stared at the dessert in his hands and looked rather sad, remembering those awful times and how he and Valeriano managed to keep themselves from killing each other by feeding each other their best possible dishes and airing out their grievances to each other. But he remembered that the dessert was no good cold, so he sank his fork into the pie and cut himself a generous bite. He sighed most happily at that. It was every bit as good no, as magnificent as he remembered: the buttery pastry, the soft and slightly tart bananas, the sweet buttery caramel, and the glorious richness of the ice cream. He was so into his dessert that he nearly missed the slip of paper beneath the plate. It was a note from Valeriano:

Balfour, Dont leave as soon as the launch ends. Wait till the timer dings; the tart in the oven is yours. MV

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Tarte Tatin Aux Bananes Glutinous rice flour for dusting 500 grams puff pastry 75 grams salted butter 75 grams white granulated sugar 5 6 ripe latundan bananas, halved lengthwise 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon Caramel or caramel cheesecake ice cream to serve

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees / Gas Mark 6 and place a lipped cookie sheet inside. On a clean surface lightly dusted with the rice flour, roll out the pastry to barely an inchs thickness. Cut out a circle about an inch larger than the diameter of the cake tin youll be using. In an 8- or 9-inch cake tin, preferably a non-stick one with handles on the sides, melt the butter over low heat on the stovetop. Evenly sprinkle the sugar in. Stir till melted and well-

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combined. Raise the heat to medium and let the mixture bubble till it darkens into a rich caramel syrup. Place the bananas cut-side down; sprinkle the cinnamon over the fruit. Immediately drape the puff pastry over the fruit, tucking the edges down into the cake tin. Set onto the cookie sheet in the oven and bake for 20 25 minutes till golden and puffed. Invert immediately onto a serving plate. Serve each slice with a scoop or two of caramel ice cream. Serves 8 just.

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