Food Court

He called himself “sugar daddy,” and had the assembled guest hanging on to every word he uttered. On the rooftop of the Oberoi Hotel,tucked in the quiet of the Mountbatten Room a culinary workshop was under way. Leading the lecture was master chef Christian Faure of Le Cordon Bleu,France. In front of him was a hot plate and a pan,and a lot of sugar; not the ordinary kind,but rather isomalt,“or the sugar you find in your Diet Coke,” explained Faure. “In weather like Delhi,normal sugar melts with humidity. This sugar stretches like a dream,and voila,it does not turn brown,it remains white,” he added.

Rows of eager women watched in rapt attention,as Faure explained the dynamics of pastry making. “It’s not something you need to have,it is what you want to have. That’s why it must be perfect,” he chimed,as he proceeded to pull on the sugar. His aim was simple: to take the deformed lump of hot sugar and mould it into a flower — much like a child would do with play dough. That is,if you can handle the heat. As the sugar cooled from the 160 degree heat,and got harder and harder,Faure yanked at it,slammed chunks on a marble board,and pressed upon it. An eager lady from the audience queried: “Is this a man’s job then?” Faure only smiled in response. Soon,he had made a ribbon out of sugar,and a perfect flower after that. The audience clapped in appreciation,while a guest leapt up and asked for a taste. Naturally sugar daddy obliged.