#WEP August Challenge - my #flashfiction using the movie, Chocolat as the prompt.

Hello there! I'm glad you came by to read my #flashfiction based on the movie prompt - Chocolat. Those who have read my novel, Paris Dreams, will recognise the restaurant where I set the two main characters' first break up. My follow up book, still in the works, is also set in Paris, and is based on a traditional French cookery school. I've incorporated some ideas from that as well. And even the service overseas is in my new book, so I had several ideas to play with for this story. 

Please enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing this.

Tastes of Love

 

The restaurant, with itssilky red walls and black chandeliers, wrapped its dark arms around me,welcomed me home to Paris after a long absence. As a war correspondent in theMiddle East, food, any food was a bonus eaten on the run, but I can’t recallthe taste, but I recall much else I’d rather forget.

“Concentrate on the joys you’veexperienced, not the tragedies,” my therapist, Celeste, advised during  our session today.

“What do you know of tragedy?”I couldn’t help saying, raw from my latest loss.

“Pardon. You’re right ofcourse.” She smoothed her perfect chignon, freshened her bright red lipstickthen cooed to her pet birds in the covered courtyard of her luxuriousapartment. “But try.”

I’m trying. 

Immersing myselfin what has always brought me joy – traditional French food. Traditional Frenchfood never changes and tonight I relished that. I’ve had enough change for now.The meals at Le Chocolat (pronounced show-ko-lah, don’t you love it!) are typically French – plain, tasty,inexpensive peasant's food which is what I love best. It’s never fussy with modern twists and miniscule servings which don’twork for me. I rarely choose my restaurants by Michelin stars – I choose thosewith hearty, old-fashioned meals like Maman and Grand’Mere used to cook.

Waiters here are as traditionalas the food. My favorite, Maurice, caught my eye, hurried to my table, pulledout my chair, flicked a crisp white napkin and placed it on my lap. “Shall I bringthe mussels, Cara?” He scanned the room. “But where is your friend?”

Oh my heart. “He couldn’t make it, désolé.Mais oui to the mussels, s’il te plait, Maurice.”

I dealt with those rattlylittle mouthfuls of joy quickly, relishing the white wine and cream sauce, nectarof the gods. I struggled to stay in the moment, sorry Celeste; I shake my headand instead anticipate the rich onion soup, Le Chocolat's signature dish.

Maurice was already whippingaway my plate and placing a huge white bowl before me. Ooh la la. What couldbeat the shot of sweet onion fragrance on a bitter winter's night?  Hmm. Concentrate, Cara. That soakedgarlicky bread and long, stringy toasted cheese always sticks to my chin. Let’sface it; there is no elegant way to eat this dense soup, but tonight no one dabsmy messy face with a napkin. But the soup; I wanted to live in the bowl, berevived by the nourishing juices, build myself up for my next assignment,Ukraine. Where will I find food over there?

Maurice offered me a free cocktail. I held the tiny, jeweled glass againstthe light, mesmerized by the play of diamonds and rich red liquid. I held it close tomy nose, hesitated, sipped. It tasted of rose perfume, a sweet flavor thatclashed with my morbid thoughts. Guilt crept over me; I try to push itaway, but it refuses to leave. Why should I survive to live another day, eatanother joyous meal, while my fellow correspondent, Benoit, ate his last mealthen stepped onto an IB outside the restaurant? 

I will visit his parents inMontmartre after dinner which is why my stomach is taut and I’m forcing myselfto enjoy every mouthful. For Benoit. Benoit. We shared so many meals at LeChocolat and Maurice always gave us that tiny cocktail. He was performing anact of kindness, but memories turned my taste to dust.

I pushed it aside andordered a rich red to accompany the Beef Bourguignon which Maurice has delivered to my table. The sharp aromas of tiny roasted onions, carrot,and rich, red, melt-in-your-mouth beef...my stomach danced, relaxed a little.How Benoit loved this dish and always reached across the table to finish mine! 

I lifted my fork, speared a cube of tendermeat. The flavor of red wine mixed with onion and herbs revealed to me, ifthe mussels and onion soup hadn't already convinced me, that I was back in Paris.

It was pleasant beyond words to be drinking good wine and eating excellentfood - a bottle of wine and a plate of comforting food is always good company,tonight, my only company.

Maurice saw I was immersed in my food and drink and left me to my joys andsorrows, only coming by to top up my wine at regular intervals. I saw inhis doleful eyes that he’d realized Benoit wasn’t coming back, and he offeredsuccor in the way he knew best. 

He raised his eyebrows.

I nodded. Yes, please.

Chocolat.

We always finished our mealwith a platter of perfectly-created chocolat in all shapes, sizes and colors.

I reached for a dark star-shapedchocolate with golden hearts and placed it on my tongue.

“Au revoir, Benoit,” Iwhispered. “I hope you’re somewhere enjoying plentiful food, my love.”

TAGLINE: Food is a memory trigger extraordinaire!

~*~

WORDS: 817

FCA

BIG NEWS! A FLASH FICTION ANTHOLOGY!

Mock up cover only created on Canva

If you enjoy writing flash fiction, please go HERE to read about WEP's upcoming Anthology. If you've ever written to a WEP challenge, or do so before December '23, you are invited to submit.

If you like the idea of writing to prompts, October is our next, run by our very own thriller queen, Yolanda Renee. Please think about what you could do with the Phantom of the Opera prompt. Go HERE for ideas to get your creative juices flowing.

Thanks again for reading! I'll visit as soon as I can.

Denise