Word: Croquembouche

croquembouche

 [kroh-kuhm-boosh, kraw-kahn-boosh] / ˌkroʊ kəmˈbuʃ, krɔ kɑ̃ˈbuʃ /

noun

French Cooking.

• croquembouches

1. a pyramid of bite-size cream puffs coated and held in place with caramelized sugar.

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                Mary felt it. Something stupid was about to happen.

                “Hey, Mary!”

                She winced. She knew it was going to be something stupid. Brad hadn’t even asked her anything yet, and she knew it. Her day had instantly gotten dumber, just with his presence. Still, she put on her best fake smile and turned to face the guy.

                “Hi Brad.” She purposely did not give him any opening to keep talking. It would not work, of course, but she would be damned if she gave him any excuse.

                “So, you might have heard that my nephew is having a very special birthday on Saturday.”

                “That’s…nice.” A pit formed in her stomach. A birthday could only mean one thing.

                “Yup, sure is. Kid’s going far in life, you know? Anyway, I heard you do a bit of baking and was wondering if you can whip something up.”

                “I’ll…think about it and let you know. Probably by the end of the day.” She would, of course, politely refuse. There was still plenty of time to get the kid a store-bought cake.

                “That’s cool. Just know he would love to have a home-made dessert for his big seven.”

                “He’s turning seven?”

                Brad nodded enthusiastically. Now she wanted to bake for this party even less. A kid would be perfectly fine with a normal cake. An ice cream cake if his parents wanted to get a bit “fancy” with it. She was about to reply when something Brad had said started ringing alarm bells.

                “So, Brad, what kind of cake were you thinking?”

                “So you’ll do it? That’s awesome! I can’t wait to tell—”

                “I didn’t say that. I asked what kind of cake your nephew wants. That’s going to play a big part in whether I agree to do this.”

                “Well, my little sister wants something a little different for his party. Cakes are overdone. Anyone can make a cake.”

                Mary resisted an eye roll.

                “She wants something fancy. Uh, what did she call it? Croak…something.”

                “Croak…something?” That feeling of dread grew. “

                “Yeah. Big tower of cream puffs.”

                “Croquembouche?”

                “Yeah! You know what it is?”

                She took a deep breath. “Brad, did you seriously just ask me to make a croquembouche for a seven-year old’s birthday party?”

                “Well, he’s six and turning seven, but yeah. Is that a problem?”

                “Oh, I don’t know. How do I feel about making one of the most technically difficult and precise French desserts in less than three days? How do you think I feel?” She made sure to add in as much of her frustration and lack of interest enter her voice as she possibly could.

                “Oh, it can’t be that bad. It’s just a bunch of cream puffs.”

                “A very specific type of puff pastry, arranged in a very precise way, and intricately decorated with very fine caramel threads. I could go into all the reasons why this is a difficult dessert. And I could tell you what it’s normally reserved for and why. What I will tell you is that no baker will make a full croquembouche for a kid’s birthday party. Especially not so close to said birthday party. You can ask around at any bakery in town. They’ll all say the same thing.”

                “Come on, Mary. Be nice.”

                “No, Brad. My answer to your request is no. Especially since I’m guessing you’d hope I would do this for free.”

                Brad recoiled in shock. “Free? Absolutely not! You would be given an exclusive invitation to the greatest birthday celebration in town.”

                “This party wouldn’t happen to be the one for your nephew, would it?”

                “Obviously.”

                “So…you want me to do a highly technical, intricate bake with very little time to spare, and the only compensation is to attend a child’s birthday party. Yeah, no. I’m not doing that. Go buy him an ice cream cake. He’ll be thrilled.”

                Mary did not give Brad more time to say anything. She turned around and walked away. Hopefully by the time she got back his attention would be locked on someone else. Probably another person to try and sucker into his ridiculous baking request.

Word: Lagan

lagan

 [lag-uhn] / ˈlæg ən /

noun

Law.

1. anything sunk in the sea, but attached to a buoy or the like so that it may be recovered.

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                Ben could feel his body going cold. The would on his side pulsed and the red color bled through the white cloth distressingly quickly. He wished he could have gone to a hospital, any kind of doctor’s office, really. But he did not have a choice. He had to get to the drop point before he passed out. Or likely worse.

                What really sucked was that the drop point was in the middle of the ocean. Which meant the only medical supplies he currently had access to was what first-aid kit was on the boat he had “borrowed”. He gritted his teeth as he regretted not having time to get it treated properly before having to get away.

                He winced as a particularly choppy set of waves made the boat lurch and jump, agitating his wound even more. He glanced at the package. It bounced a bit, but stayed put. That was good. If it went overboard before he got to the right place, everything would get a lot worse for the others.

                Luckily Ben was getting close. His vision was getting blurry and fading, but he could hold on just long enough to get to the right place. Sure enough, he saw it. A small reflector bobbing just above the water. The kind of thing that most people would just ignore. But for Ben, it represented the end of his current mission.

                He slowed the boat to a stop, thankful that the weather was nice. Ben gritted his teeth and got to work. His wound throbbed and blood started to leak out from beneath the bandage, but he had to do this. The boat was low enough to the water that he was able to grab the reflector and pull. Attached to it was a ring of floatation devices, hidden by the water. And attached to those was a long rope.

                Ben let out a groan of pain as he pulled. Not for the first time he wondered why the damn thing had to be so long. But eventually the rope came out of the water. A hook was tied to the end of it. A hook that he was able to use to attach the package to the small buoy-like assembly. The other members of his team would be able to retrieve it once the heat died down enough.

                Getting the package overboard was not easy though. The thing was heavy. It pulled at his side, and he could feel his limbs starting to go cold for reasons that had nothing to do with being wet. Blood had soaked completely through the bandage, and he had no time to change it. If there was enough material left to do so.

                His arms trembled as he dumped it. The rope followed, and the reflector buoy left the boat not long after. Ben looked overboard, holding his breath that it would work. That the package was not too heavy for the small assembly to remain floating. He only breathed when he saw the reflector emerge from the water.

                Ben limped to the steering column and start the boat back up. His vision started to go dark, but thought he could hold on. Maybe just long enough to get back to land. A grin crossed his face as the boat continued on its way.

Word: Plication

plication

[plahy-key-shuhn, pli-] / plaɪˈkeɪ ʃən, plɪ- /

Also plicature

noun

1. the act or procedure of folding.

2. the state or quality of being folded; a fold.

3. Surgery.

   1. the folding in and suturing of tucks, so as to tighten weakened or stretched tissue.

   2. the folding of an organ, as a section of the intestine, and the attaching of it to another organ or tissue.

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                Leslie was folding small paper stars. She said it was for some school event for her niece and nephew. Chris wondered why she was doing that instead of their parents, but he was grateful. It gave him a rare opportunity.

                He was currently looking at his phone. More specifically, the news. The city had a super hero, and he was currently comparing the costumed heroine with his girlfriend. And the more he looked at the two of them, the more sure he was. Now he just needed some kind of proof. And those small paper stars gave him the perfect opportunity to test his idea.

                “Hey, do you need any more paper?” He asked.

                Leslie did not answer right away. She was lost in the action of folding. “Hm?”

                He chuckled at the lackluster response. Instead of asking again, he acted. He slipped an extra something into a pack of origami paper and handed the thin papers to her.

                “Thanks.” She said, more out of habit than actually acknowledging his action.

                “No problem. If you need anything else, let me know.”

                She did not say anything. Her fingers simply kept going. More and more of the tiny paper ornaments covered the table as she worked. And then she reached his little surprise. Instead of the quiet rustle of paper being folded, the room was filled with the screech of metal being bent. Leslie stopped and actually looked at what she was doing. At the sheet of metal she had casually bent without even noticing. And then at the wide grin and sparkling eyes of her boyfriend.

                “I knew it!” Chris said triumphantly.

                “I…I don’t know what you think you’re thinking, but whatever it is, it’s wrong.” Leslie said quickly.

                Chris showed her the picture on his phone. “I don’t think I am. I think this is you. Am I right? I bet I’m right. I’m right, aren’t I.”

                “Uh…No. No you are not.” Her face was getting slightly flustered. He knew Leslie could tell a lie, but not if she was put on the spot so suddenly. She needed to think about her lies before she told them.

                “Hah! I knew it!”

                “Chris…Don’t say it. Don’t say what you’re about to.”

                “I’m dating a genuine super heroine! This is awesome!”

                Leslie groaned.

                “Oh, don’t worry, Les. I’m not dumb enough to go talking to anyone.” Chris said. “If I even hinted at knowing your secret identity, it’d put a massive target on my back. That’s something I can live without. So yeah, I’m not even going to even suggest that I know who’s behind the mask.”

                “You’d better not.” She said heavily. “What gave it away?”

                “Several things, most of which only I would know. First of all, your alter ego’s figure is identical to yours. And you do have a rather…distinct figure.” He said and moved his hands in a classic hourglass gesture.

                “I really hope my hips weren’t what gave me away.” She replied, giving him a dull expression.

                “No. If it was just that, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Remember last week when you saved that cruise ship?”

                Leslie looked like she wanted to deny her involvement, but she sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, I remember. What about it?”

                “Well, when you were talking to the reporters, the way you answered the questions got my attention. It both looked and sounded like how you act when you’re forced to do something when you’re in a hurry. Which, considering that whole situation occurred about half an hour before your sister’s birthday party, was understandable.”

                Leslie did not say anything. A small smile came briefly to her face. “So it was something small that only you would know?”

                “Pretty much yeah.”

                “Well, I suppose if you were going to find out, that’s a good way for it to happen.” She took a deep breath. “So, what happens now?”

                “Well, I have about a hundred questions for you about your various deeds. And a bunch of ideas on how things will have to change.”

                She crossed her arms and gave him an amused smirk. “Oh really? And what kind of things are those?”

                “Well, for one thing, I’m definitely not opening any more pickle jars, miss ‘I can throw a school bus.’”

                Chris watched his super girlfriend burst into laughter. Yes, knowing her secret was going to make life a lot more interesting in all the best ways.