intrigued, looked at his watch and said, “Okay Bill, give me about twenty- minutes.” Cake changed out of his baker whites and drove into town.
He went into the Rising Sun and over to Bill, who smiled and told him about the customer. “He ate your gourmet sandwich with a slice of Gateau on the first day, and today he ordered several of your sandwiches and slices of cakes. I saw him take a bite from each, savour them, wrap them in a napkin, and place them into a holdall.” Bill scratched his chin and continued, “Today, he asked me who supplied my bakery products and when I told him it was a local baker, he introduced himself and insisted that he spoke to you. I wouldn’t have bothered, but he claimed to be famous, although I have never heard of him.”
“That’s strange,” said Cake and puckered his brow, “what’s his name?”
Bill thought and said, “Jimmy, something… I’ve forgotten his surname, but he is sitting over there,” and he pointed to the man sitting in the lounge reading a newspaper.
Cake went over to the man, who peered over his newspaper and smiled. He placed the paper down on a table and asked Cake to sit. Cake gasped and looked surprised when he recognised the man. He had read articles about him in British Bakery magazines, and well aware of the prestige surrounding the small, round-faced individual, with a receding hairline.
“I’m Jimmy Constable, the head pâtissier at Harrods bakery,”
Cake shook Jimmy’s hand and with a tremble in his voice said. “Yes, I know who you are, everyone calls me Cake.”
“I am pleased to meet you Cake,” said Jimmy, “What can I do for you, was there something wrong with the food?” asked Cake looking concerned.
Jimmy smiled and said, “No, the food’s perfect.” He then told him, “A few days ago, while I was travelling to Hull to interview a candidate for a position at Harrods I stopped here for a snack. I expected bland, dry, roadside food.” He leant forward and said, “Instead, the flavours and textures of the roll and Gateaux blew me away; I could not believe the taste sensations. I came back the next day to sample other items on the menu and again delighted with the unique, distinctive flavours.” He looked over at Bill smiling, and he whispered. “It tasted a lot better than the awful beer.”
Cake, thrilled to hear Jimmy Constable sing his praises, explained how he got his nickname, told him about his family’s bakery, and invited him to visit. Jimmy agreed, they left the Rising Sun and went to the Bakewell farm.
Jimmy looked around the farm's bakery and sampled a few more of Cake’s products, a look of pleasure spreading across his face with every bite.
“Have you any baking qualifications Cake?” asked Jimmy.
“No,” replied Cake “Sorry.”
Jimmy smiled. “Never mind, I have tasted nothing this good for a long time, so we can get around the paperwork. I would like you to do something for me.”
Cake, looking confused, asked, “Get around paperwork for what?”
Jimmy ignored his question and took a magazine from his bag. He showed Cake a glossy photograph of a white icing topped custard slice and asked, “Can you make one of these?”
Cake looked at the photograph. ‘Why would a top pâtissier want me to make a simple custard slice?’ he thought, looking puzzled and replied, “Sure,”
“Please make me one,” said Jimmy and smiled.
“Only one?” asked Cake.
“Yes, Just one,” replied Jimmy.
Jimmy sat and watched as Cake, who, like a whirling dervish, went through his jars and containers of ingredients. Using no weighing scales, he dolloped, sifted, folded, spooned, and mixed ingredients together, smelling and tasting it until he appeared satisfied and looked a perfect match to the one on the glossy page, he placed it into an oven. They spoke for a while about London and baking until Cake knew that the custard slice was ready. He removed it from the oven and spread icing across the top.
Jimmy inhaled the delicious aroma and smiled.
While waiting for the icing to harden, he asked Jimmy, “Why did you want me to bake you a simple custard slice?”
Jimmy looked at Cake and smiled, “They aren’t so simple and can taste bland. I always look for someone who can produce a unique flavour and turn a bland item into something special,” Jimmy replied.
“Look for what?” asked Cake, sounding confused.
Jimmy looked at Cake, and said, “An assistant.”
It dumbfounded Cake when Jimmy then told him, “There’s a position at Harrods for an assistant head pâtissier, but so far I haven’t been able to find a suitable candidate.”
Confused, Cake handed the warm custard slice to Jimmy, who took a bite of the sweet, crispy, pastry. The flavours exploded in his mouth with a blend of subtle tastes that enhanced the vanilla custard and icing.
‘This kid's talent’s phenomenal,’ thought Jimmy before announcing, “The job as my assistant is yours young Cake.”
Cakes heart pounded, he knew he would never get another opportunity like this. It was his dream, but he knew one thing stood in his way. He then sighed and said. “I would love to come to London and work for you Jimmy, but I have to run the bakery for the family.”
Jimmy, sounding disappointed, looked at Cake, and said, “If you want the job, I will speak with your family,” he smirked, “I can be very persuasive.”
Cake smiled and looking like an excited puppy said. “Thanks Jimmy,” he looked at his watch, “the family are upstairs.”
Jimmy and Cake walked into the large bakery section of Harrods a week later after Cakes family, knowing it had always been his dream, agreed. Jimmy gave Cake a tour of the prestigious store. Cake gazed at the contents of the glass display cases in Harrods pâtisserie section, which looked like works of art. Jimmy showed him to his room in the staff quarters at the rear of the building and issued him several sets of chefs’ whites with the small gold Harrods motif.
Cake felt like a million dollars as he changed into his whites and went into the pristine, well-organised, efficient bakery, with each pâtissier knowing their routine. Cake felt overawed as he wandered around looking at the modern ovens and equipment.
“Okay Cake,” said Jimmy, “Have a look around and get your bearings, then I need you to make two dozen chocolate éclairs.”
“Yes Chef!” replied a happy Cake, setting to work.
It took a short while for Cake to settle into his new life. Harrods bakery staff at first was cold towards him. They were jealous and could not understand why a young farm boy with no qualifications had landed the enviable position as the head pâtissier’s assistant. However, once they tasted his cakes and pastries, they realised that he was special and deserved the post. Cake worked hard and spent most of his time at the bakery.
Cake’s reputation spread throughout the culinary world around London. Harrods bakery sales increased and Cake was soon in demand by competitors. He earned good money and was doing what he loved, baking.
Jimmy
