For @NYFoodGal written in the span of 10 minutes... Partly because I was bored, mostly because I adore her.
Once upon a time there lived a boy by the name of Alessandro. His friends called him Alex and his mother called him Alessio the Great, (a title he was loath but forced to accept) though in this story, we shall henceforth refer to him as simply Al. Al lived in a small cottage by himself, for at the age of eight his father passed on and his mother, a master chef, was forced to leave to find a living that would supper her and her son beyond the village borders. Luckily, young Al was an adept baker himself and so two months before his mother planned to set out, she tutored him in the intricacies of baking, always complimenting him with, "that will do" when he completed a recipe sucessfully or "yes! that will definitely do!" when he surpassed her expectations and occasionally, "no that will not do," on the rare occasion that the end result was not to her satisfaction. For sixty days she worked with Al to fine-tune and nurture his natural talents until day sixty one when, upon the complete inhalation of a divine slice of strawberry marzipan, she was finally sure that he was a much better baker than she, at which point she told him with a long kiss and tight hug that she felt confident he could survive on his own for a little while, promising to return when she could, waving as she walked out the door. Standing at the doorframe, watching his mother go, Al would forever remember how confident she appeared, smiling warmly at him from the end of their short walkway. He recalled how he smiled back then, looking at her intensely as if that would make her stay, and realizing from a brief flicker in her eyes that a deep sadness and worry overcame her as she went... but then the flicker disappeared and her loving smile radiated once more... perhaps he would be okay after all, he thought, not only at the time but also whenever he felt that he might not survive on his own. Two years later, because he heard no word from his mother nor was provided with any funds from her, he was forced to move out of his house, unable to keep up payments, and into a small abandoned cottage four villages away.
Each morning for the next eleven years, as hope for his mother's safe return dwindled, Al's baking abilities were able to sustain a sketchy outline of a half-formed existence that he came to accept as his life. Al woke up hours before he was due in to school to turn on the oven and bake something for his classmates. A little nutmeg... some brown sugar... a sprinkle of ground pepper... Al truly had a gift for combining the sweet and savory to create treats that tickled the taste buds no matter what one believed their previous preferences in cakes, cookies, breads to be. And so Al would rise before the sun, put to action his previous night's dreams about what should be mixed into his dough the following morning, and bake until golden brown his latest and greatest culinary creation. Al never complained nor minded the work but rather would not know what to do otherwise, for baking had become so ingrained in his life that he could scarce separate what he was meant to do for himself from what he was supposed to do for others.
But the recipients of Al's goodies did not deserve them, and were wicked little things, though Al only saw goodness and so did not see how unworthy they were of his daily delectables. His audience only expected his baked goods and never asked for them, knowing that just as the stars would shine, come 10am each morning, Al would appear down the path to school, hands full of baskets which in turn were full of food. "Give me 3 of the rosemary cookies Alex!" one of his classmates would order as Al happily doled out three of the desired. "Four of those!" "Bake more of these for tomorrow! And these!" Never a thank you, never a chip of appreciation for Al's hard work, (though never a sign that Al minded this treatment, because in truth, the kind-hearted Al did not.)
Then one day the ever-vibrant Al felt himself uncharacteristically sluggish by mid-afternoon, hardly able to walk home from school before falling into bed, thinking just as his upper eyelids closed upon his lowers that perhaps his aching body would come up with an especially good dream-molded recipe for the following morning. However, the next morning proved dark, and as thick thunderclouds covered Al's small house, so too did drowsiness and sickness befall his body. Al awoke, but could not lift his leaden head, instead listening blurrily to the intoxicating rhythm of rain pelting against the thatched roof... pst pst pst... pst pst pst... drip drip dip... drip drip... Al woke again hours later only to find that he had not only missed the day at school but was also still feeling terribly sick. The rain had not subsided and so, lulled back to sleep by nature's song, he slept on...
Meanwhile, the students at school grew restless, first when Alex did not appear upon the path in the morning and then throughout the day as no buttery croissants or melty scones were consumed due to Alex's absence. "What an outrage!" One cried, "An absolute inconsiderate dolt!" another declared. Though back in the comfort of his room, Al slept unaware of the turmoil his absence had caused at school.
Finally, Al opened his eyes the next morning as sunlight danced across his bedsheets. He felt renewed and refreshed and though Al wasn't sure of the time, he knew that if he hurried, he could be on time for school. Suddenly, a knock sounded at his front door and Al jumped to find out who this morning visitor could possibly be.
"Alessandro?" The woman at his door beckoned.
"Yes, I am he."
"How do you do? My name is Tuvia Gimbrelle and I have come to taste some of your delectable treats. I own a small factory a half day's walk straight down your road and if your food is half as good as I gathered it was from the complaints of those students I spoke with yesterday, then I think we may be able to work out some sort of deal."
"A deal? To sell my food?"
"Yes Alessandro, to sell your food across the land!"
"May I ask why you have not come sooner, I have been baking for years on end."
"To tell you the truth, I wish I knew. I always walk past the school on my delivery route and never got wind of your baking abilities. The only reason I am here today at your door is because as I walked past yesterday, the sound of cries and whimpers coming from the playing grounds worried me so much that I had to ask of the children what was wrong. I found out that each and every student in the school was complaining of starvation due to the absence of their self-appointed baker. I knew not from any compliments but their mere alliance to you and anger at your supposed betrayal that your food must be something extraordinary and found it strangely comforting that the cause of my hearing it was due to the callousness of these students I dare hope you do not call your friends! Had you shown up at school as you have apparently done for years, dutifully handing out your baked good silently without causing such a ruckus, I have no doubt that your talents would have gone unawares. Yet, because you missed this day and your schoolmates complained so loudly, here I am, ready to taste! Their selfishness paved the way to your selflessness, and for that, perhaps you better thank them after all!"
Stunned at the story this stranger told, Al moved noiselessly to his kitchen and sat at the small table there for a minute, day dreaming about something delicious to prepare for the spectacular stranger that was Tuvia Gimbrelle. The woman joined him at the table and then remained there, staring up in revery as Al went about setting down pots and pans, turning on and off ovens, checking doughs and going through his usual routine. Hours passed, and three batches of pink peppercorn cookies, two peanut butter banana layer cakes, and a half dozen blueberry cheese doughnuts later, Tuvia Gimbrelle looked up at Al's beaming face with a smile that surpassed his own as he asked her, "well? how was it?" The intriguing woman paused a minute, filling the air with the sweetness of the unknown soon to be discovered, and in a whisper ripe with supreme happiness replied, "Yes my son, this will do, this will most absolutely do."
