“Our candidates will present their overnight brainstorms about a Key West wedding, and the judges will have the opportunity to sample their cakes and signature cocktails to determine whether they are or are not a Topped Chef. First up, chef Henri Stentzel.” He stepped back and the cameras closed in on Henri. She forced a smile, smoothed a few tendrils of hair into her toque, and tucked her hands behind her back.
“In my mind,” she said, “the bride and groom shouldn’t allow themselves to be overly influenced by our island. Our tropical setting should enhance the classic nature of the wedding vows, not steal their thunder.”
I snuck a look at the other two judges. Toby’s expression was noncommittal, Chef Adam’s, bored.
“I’m suggesting that the bridal couple should consider going for something classic and classy. And what is more classy than a historical museum? The sense of history grounds the couple in what’s come before so they don’t set out on their voyage feeling alone. One such venue in Key West is the Lighthouse and Keeper’s Quarters Museum. A happy and successful marriage involves two people who look out for each other and remain committed through all the ups and downs of life. What better to symbolize the promise of a wedding than the searching beam of the lighthouse?”
Henri paused for a breath and seemed to assess her audience. Behind her, Peter pretended to fall asleep. Chef Adam looked positively catatonic. Henri smiled brightly and made eye contact with Toby.
“For the wedding cake, I’ve chosen to spotlight key lime cupcakes: They are light, they are lovely, they sidestep the saccharine sweetness and staleness of so many wedding desserts.”
Cupcakes. Now she’d caught my interest.
She opened a white bakery box, placed miniature cupcakes on three plates, and delivered them to us. I nibbled at mine—the cream cheese icing had flecks of lime zest in it, as did the pale green cake. Utterly delicious.
“Did you use food coloring in this?” Toby asked.
“Just a drop—to emphasize the lime. Wouldn’t this look lovely with green hydrangeas in the bouquet and centerpieces?”
Since no one else was bothering to answer her, I nodded briskly.
“Often signature cocktails are heavy and sweet,” Henri continued, “and they can result in drunken and boorish guests that night and queasiness the next morning.” She popped the cork on a bottle of prosecco and poured the bubbly liquid into four flutes with raspberries nestled at the bottom. She brought each of us a glass, and clinked hers against ours as she talked.
“Classic setting, light and lovely cake, prosecco. That’s my recipe for an elegant wedding.”
I wished Connie had been here to listen to all this firsthand. She might not have loved the lighthouse idea, but she would have adored those pale green cupcakes. I’d have to try replicating them at home so she could sample. We hadn’t discussed one thing about what kind of reception she wanted or what she wanted served.
Henri bowed and moved out of the kitchen so Buddy Higgs could take center stage. He nearly knocked her over as he pushed past her and leaned his hands on the counter.
“I couldn’t disagree more,” he said, staring in turn at each of us. “People choose to get married in Key West because it’s Key West!” He straightened and threw his arms out wide. “To not take advantage of the magnificent setting is criminal! Let’s be honest here: A wedding is a show—the most important party of your lifetime.” He ticked off his points on his fingers. “You definitely want a spectacular, showy backdrop, like a glorious sunset on the Westin pier. And then you enhance that magic with the food and drink. The wedding planners should provide refreshments that haven’t been done for a million other brides.” He bared his teeth in Henri’s direction and then leaned across the counter to look intently at Chef Adam.
“Cupcakes,” he said in a scornful voice, “are so 2010.”
He rummaged in the refrigerator and reappeared with little chocolate cakes on plates decorated with a lighter-colored chocolate powder and tiny clear spheres that looked like bath beads.
“My presentation includes individual flourless chocolate-hazelnut cakes, garnished with Nutella powder and Frangelico caviar. Some chefs grind their hazelnuts finely and add them to the chocolate batter, but I find this distorts the texture. The secret”—he winked—“is hazelnut flour.”
He brought us each a plate and continued to expound on his methods for making the Frangelico beads. I was too busy sinking into the decadence of the chocolate to pay close attention.
“As the signature cocktail, I recommend a mojito from the tradition of molecular gastronomy,” he added. “The ingredients are simple enough—rum, mint, club soda, lime juice. But the presentation takes the drink from ordinary to spectacular.” He delivered large spoons containing egg-sized gelatinous spheres with mint leaves suspended in them.