High-priced French cookies

During lunch I had a strange itching to cook, bake, anything. Literally anything. I just want to be in a kitchen, covered in flour and with a giant mixing spoon in hand.

Throughout the rest of the day, the itching didn't go away, not even slightly.

I mean we were watching people miserably fail at Just Dance, I was dying laughing, yet I so rathered be in the kitchen.

Which reminds me, independence to women and all, but WHO IN THE HELL made it alright for females to work? Hm?

I mean seriously, I'd only have certain classes like home ed hell, that'd probably be the only class I needed to take.

But yes, I would like all men and women to be treated equally and I know that also means working so…

But UGH, I'd like to be at home right now burning a quiche.

"King," I drew out in an annoying voice.

"Perky," He said the same way.

"I wanna make something," I said, we are on our way home at this point.

"Something? Like a friendship bracelet? We have a room full of craft items," King told me.

"Of course you do, but not like that. Like I wanna bake," I said.

"Bake something?" King asked.

"Cool, but don't say that out loud at home," King said.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because once a girl decided she wanted to bake her own brownies and she burned herself and half the kitchen, now kids aren't allowed to bake in the kitchen," King stifled a laugh.

"Well, then how are we gonna do it?" I asked.

"Cooks don't come in until 5, two hours before dinner," King said.

"So we have two hours to bake?" I asked.

"We?" King jerked his head.

"What? Hasn't His Majesty baked before?" I asked teasingly.

"Well, um… once I- no," He admitted.

"Well, this'll be fun," I laughed to myself.

"Who said I was helping?" King retorted.

"Please?" I asked.

"No." He answered.

"Please?"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Please?"

"No.

"Please?"

"No."

"Alright," I said sadly, "guess I'll have to eat everything myself." I shrugged and pulled up macaron recipes on my phone. I heard that they sell for a lot of money but honestly, they aren't that hard to make. I tried once before, they didn't come out looking perfect but they were absolutely delicious.

"Yea, no that you aren't doing," King said.

"Yea, no I am. Unless you're helping?" I question/stated.

"Alright, alright, I'll help. What are we making anyway?" He asked.

"Macarons," I replied.

"Macarons?" He asked in turn.

"French cookies that are really pricey here," I gave a quick explanation.

"That's something I haven't tried yet," King murmured.

"Good." I smiled.

We arrived at home and we snuck to the kitchen.

Only after we washed our hands of course.

"So what do we need?" King asked.

"Uh, we need eggs, butter, vanilla extract, cream of tartar, granulated sugar, powdered sugar, and almond flour," I said. It sounded like it'd probably taste good except the cream of tartar. Also I'm not too sure what the difference between granulated sugar and powdered sugar is, I don't even know how sugar can be powdered, but okay.

"I don't know what half that stuff is, but aye aye," King said.

We gathered all the ingredients then got started.

"Okay, so first separate the egg whites from the yolk and because we don't have days to dehydrate them, put 'em in the freezer," I said. King looked at me oddly so I took liberty of showing him how to crack an egg open, pick up the yolk with the eggshell, and drop any surrounding egg white back into the bowl by pouring it back and forth between eggshells then dump them into a different bowl.

"How many?" He asked.

"It doesn't say but do three more, I think that should be enough," I said and King nodded.

"Okay, you do that while I sift the almond flour a couple of times," I said and went to do just that.

It told me to sieve the flour and I had no idea what sieve meant, but then when it talked about being 'finer' I knew sieve meant to sift.

I sifted the flour 4 times to make sure it was as fine as it needed to be, by the time I finished, King was done with the eggs and had freezered them.

"Now you sift the powdered sugar and almond flour together into a bowl then whisk them," I handed him a whisk, "then put 'em through this thing," I pointed to a food processor near me, "then sift again. I hope those eggs are dehydrated 'cause I'm 'bout to whisk 'em with the cream of tartar." I said and went to the freezer to pull out the cold but not frozen eggs.

Then I pulled out the cream of tartar and put it in the bowl and mixed them. Then I added some salt and sugar.

"King," I called for his attention. I wasn't sure if I added a good ratio of sugar and salt, maybe it was too salty or too sweet (although honestly there's no such thing), so I dipped my finger in and scooped some of the mixture out. I wasn't sure what I thought I'd see, but it didn't smell sour, it did smell a little sweet.

"Do you think this needs more sugar? Or salt?" I asked.

"Let's find out," before I had a chance to question what he meant by that, he licked my finger. I could only hope my cheeks weren't as red as they felt warm.

"Tastes fine, but more sugar wouldn't hurt," He informed me.

"King! That had raw egg in it! You might get salmonella, did you swallow it?!" I asked.

"Nah, there wasn't enough to swallow," he said.

"Good," I rushed to get a glass and filled it with water, "rinse your mouth out and don't swallow any of the water," I told him.