The mallows and brownies have all had their turn, still cheering those meringues and that buttercream swirl.
The bundts have returned like a long lost relation, to amaze and excite a new generation.
'Les Macarons' glide past, they've nothing to fear, their style imitated their presence revered.
Out in the crowd many faces are familiar, there's Peggy and Mitch and Nigel and Delia.
Mary and Paul are enjoying the show, with Nigella and Eric seated in the front row.
Their books have delighted, shown many the way, a feast of experience, a lyrical Piece Montée.
Pavlova has danced, she's a sweet inspiration, their shouting encore, there's a standing ovation.
The show's nearly over, the popcorn's been eaten, the chocolate has melted the hearts of the heathens.
The curtain will drop, soon time to go home, forgotten again, passed over, forlorn.
But wait, a commotion, a mutiny, a furore, the cronuts and duffins are invading the floor.
Careme intervenes, rushing out to the stage, 'your sort are a parody, your provenance a shame'.
He turns and he smiles 'ma cherie Antoinette, today is your turn, now let them eat cake'.
The fondant has set on this soft iced creation, the audience await, there's great expectation.
As I lift from the box my unique decoration, a 'Folie a Deux', an obsessive vocation.
A lifetime of memories, many moments of pleasure, have gone into the making of this little treasure.
On top of your cake the stage at last mine, in front of your candles I finally shine.
The audience are up, they're shouting 'hooray', for the star of this show's from the Salon Glacé!
Antoinette Satchell copyright 2014
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