Béchamel's Dream - by Katherine

Ever since Béchamel was little, she wanted to move to Paris. It was her dream to live there where fashion is famous and you can smell fresh croissants around every corner. But she knew that if you wanted to do something, it would involve work. Hard work, that is. So she waited until she had gratuated from Chef School, then started working as a waitress in a little café down the street. It wasn't until one year of serving, when she finally got to be one of the chefs and work in the kitchen. Whisking the batter, throwing in a bit of this, a bit of that, felt good. But still, her dream was not complete, let alone started. She had gotten this far, became a chef, but that has gotten her nowhere close to reaching Paris. Money was tight, and she barely got anything at the café. "What should i do?" she asked her older brother, Veloutè, over the phone. "You need a bigger business", he replied. "Work in a restaurant!" He sent her links of job applicationsfor very posh restaurants with good salaries. Béchamel was very grateful for her brother was a very successful businessman and he usually didn't have enough time for his little siblings. So she began to look at the applications, and eventually found a good job as a chef in a popular, highly rated restaurant in New York.She packed up her stuff, sold her original home, and moved into a little flat close by the restaurant with part of the money she had gotten for her old house. The rest she saved for a ticket to Paris. The next day, Béchamel started her job at the restaurant. Unlike the tiny café she used to work at, the restaurant was bustling with people, so it was a big rush when preparing the food. But she liked that. First of all, there were better tips, second of all, it was good fun grabbing spices, throwing herbs in the soup, holding the pan and yelling "hot!!", and just plain cooking. She worked there for many weeks, and she was so close to achieving her dream. Just a few hundred dollars, and she would be on a plane, flying to Paris. But then one day, a surprise came at the door. Béchamel was roasting chicken, when one of the waiters burst into the kitchen. "Luxurious Lover Alert!", he gasped. "Table 15!" A rich customer! Everyone dashed to the door, Béchamel in the front. Sure enough, a spiffy man in a very posh suit was sitting down at table 15. There were lots of golden rings on his fingers, and when he grinned, a golden tooth flashed under the light. "Wow!", Béchamel's friend, Marie, said. "This is going to take some serious skills!" "Chefs!", with one clap from the waiter, everyone was back in place. "Béchamel, I assign you to his dish. Since you are new, let's see how you do." Béchanel gasped. Cooking for the rich was a high honor, and if you did well, you were paid twice the salary for a week. Béchamel could earn enough for a plane ticket! This was perfect! The rich customer, Herbert von Knufflemacher, had ordered a steak, rice and a glass of Champagne. Béchamelgot started on the steak first. Shge chose the juiciest looking one in the package. Then she unwrapped it, cleaned it, and prepared it. Finally she sprinkled on spices and popped it in the oven. Next, she measured the rice and put it in the rice cooker with a dash of salt. She had just found the Champagne, when she realized that the steak was ready. Taking it out, she noticed it was crisp and smelled wonderful. Perfect. The Cjampagne was poured. the steak was put on a fancy tray surrounded by fresh sauce covered rice. the waiter took it out and Béchameldrummed her fingers on the table, nervously waiting. Would he like it? Around two minutes later, the waiter burst in again. "He wants a word with the chef!", he said. Béchamel slowly stepped out of the kitchen, and walked over to the rich customer. "Hello, you wanted to see me?" The tall man leaned back and looked her in the eye in a way that made her heart race. "That..." he said slowly, "this is the best dish I've ever tasted." "It is?" "Yes." He took a bite and closed his eyes. "Mmh. How did you make it?" "Well, I just took a steak, threw on some spices, you know...a dash of salt or pepper..." "Well, you did a good job." He swallowed and grinned at her. "I'm Jack. Jack Smith. I own the mall down the street." "Luxury Lover Mall?", Béchamel blurted out. "Sorry, I love that place!" "Well", Jack said, pausing to take another bite. "Here's a tip. Use it wisely!" Then he put his hand in his pocket and took out a bundle of money. He placed it in one of Béchamel's hands. Béchamel was taken aback. "What? Oh, I can't possobly accept this! And anyway, only the waitresses get tipped, not me!" Jack shook his head. "I insist!" "Well, okay. Thank you!" Béchamel walked away, staring at the money in her hand. This was it. She could buy the plane ticket. She could go to Paris! This was everything she had dreamed of. Now was her chance!

Without finishing her job, Béchamel grabbed her bag and coat and ran home. She ordered aticket, packed her bags, and left for the airport the next morning.

1 day later...

Béchamel stepped out of the doors of the airport. She looked around. People mached past in flashy clothes and sunglasses. The sun shone upon the windows of bakeries. She was finally in Paris, the city of light.

She bought a chic house and moved in. Sitting in a comfy chair, she smiled. All that hard work had paid off. Her dream was achieved. Now it was time for some shopping!

End.