Hana meaning “flower” in English. It was a name that conjured visions of hot petaled flowers of every color.  It also brought images of sun-warmed meadows and naps in the shade.  It suited her.

As she stood, hands poised, body tensed, eyes alert, there wasn’t a sound in the room.  No one, absolutely took their eyes off her.  All attention, all concentration was riveted upon that one slim, solitary figure.  The light slanted and shot through her neatly bound hair – rich, warm brown.  Her skin was a bit flushed so that a rose tinge accented already prominent cheekbones and the elegant bone structure.  Excitement, intense concentration deepened her amber flecks that were sprinkled in her brown eyes. 

With infinite care she lifted the final diamond-shape and pressed the angelica onto the Savarin to complete the design she had created.  The hours she’d already spent preparing and baking the huge, elaborate dessert were forgotten, as was the heat, the tired leg muscles, the aching arms. The final touch, the appearance of a Kim Hana creation, was of the utmost importance.  Yes, it would taste perfect, smell perfect and even slice perfectly. 

With the care of an artist completing a masterpiece, she lifted her brush to give the fruits and almonds a light, delicate coating of apricot glaze.  Asking no assistance – indeed, she wouldn’t have tolerated any – Hana began to fill the center of the Savarin with the rich cream whose recipe she guarded jealously.  Hands steady and erect, Hana stepped back to give her creation one last critical study. 

Slowly her lips curved, her eyes glittered.  Success. Hana lifted one arm and gestured rather dramatically. “Take it away”. As two assistants began to roll the glittering concoction from the room, applause broke out. Magnificence was what the Italian duke had wanted for his daughter’s engagement party, and magnificence was what he’d paid for.  Hana had simply delivered.

In the enormous marble-floored chandeliered dining room, her  Savarin was even now being served and admired.  Her last though before leaving was – thank God someone else had to clean up the mess. 

Two hours later, she had her shoes off and her eyes closed.  A flower arranging magazine lay open on her lap as her plane cruised over the Atlantic.  She was going home. She’d spent almost three full days in Milan for the sole purpose of creating that one dish.  It wasn’t an unusual experience for her.  Hana had baked all sorts of creations around the world for a stunning fee.  She made desserts that would live in the memory long after the last bit was consumed. 

At the young age of 23 she had achieved so much in an art she loved very much.  She considered herself a specialist, not unlike a skilled surgeon. Indeed, she’d studied, apprenticed and practiced long as many respected members of the medical profession. Five years after passing the stringent requirements to become a cordon bleu chef in Paris, the city where cooking is its own art, Hana had a reputation for being a temperamental as any artist, for having the mind of a computer when it came to remembering recipes and for having the hands of an angel. 

Coming back home to New York and finally pulling her bags into her large condo overlooking the ocean shores she plopped down on the couch with relief.  Reaching over to the phone she checked her voicemail – there were already offers in California for her help.  With a sigh, she walked over to the windows and watched the horizon on the ocean.  She was happy, well she should be happy.  By acting as a freelancer she got to explore almost all of the U.S and Europe. But a mouth pressed into a straight line and then slipped into a frown not from annoyance but from concentration.  Perhaps it was just the travel weariness from her trip back from Italy, she’d begun to grow a bit tired – bored? – with the constant demands of flying to any given country to make one dish.  The idea of concentrating on one place, and one kitchen for a span of time seemed like a refreshing idea. 

At that moment the phone rang, “Hello, oh hi mom” Hana said happily. Having gotten a scholarship to Cordon Blue in her teens she left her hometown in the northwestern part of Seoul, South Korea. Her parents had proudly supported her decision – they ran a cafe themselves in Seodaemun-gu but were overjoyed when their daughter was given an opportunity to take her love of cooking to another level.  Hana frequently heard from her parents but today was a very different conversation.

“HUH?! You want to go on a vacation and have me run the shop?!! Mom you know my schedule is really …..”

Hana stopped mid way and realization hit her – this was her opportunity to take a break, to commit to one task and take it easy. 

“Actually, yes I’d be happy to fill in. When can I start?”