The Curious Case of the Missing Mousse

February 15th, 2018

I spent all Saturday morning running around town shopping for the evening.  We were having a few people over, and I was trying to stop at all of my favorite markets and shops to get the best bread, pastries, cheese, rillettes, charcuterie, vegetables, olives, etc.  I decided that I would serve lemon tarts and chocolate mousse for dessert, so I headed over to Chapon, a chocolate shop that specializes in mousse.  

https://www.chocolat-chapon.com/

In fact, they have a mousse bar with five different types of mousse, all single-origin, that you can taste and purchase in any quantity.  I tasted all of them, and they were surprisingly distinct:  some fruitier, some more floral, one with a strong caramel flavor, another maltier.  I chose one made from Trinitario cacao from Ecuador and got a large bowl of it.  I finished up my shopping, picking up some tartes au citron from La Parisienne, and heading up to the fromager on Rue de Seine to get some Comte and brebis romarin.

When I arrived back at the apartment, I realized that our refrigerator could not handle all of my purchases.  No problem.  We have a large plastic tub upstairs.  I can bring that down and put all of the excess food in it and leave it in the courtyard.  Saturday was a good temperature for food storage, a little above freezing.

I left the tub just to the left of the spigot, under the window.

I don't think Glenn actually said anything, but I'm pretty sure he was thinking, "Is that safe?"  Sure, I mentally responded, the restaurant in our building gets food deliveries all of the time in the courtyard, where boxes of fruits, vegetables, seafood, drinks, etc., sometimes sit for quite a while until they bring them in.  And, plus, the courtyard is locked.  It's not always locked and I'm sure a lot of people know the code to get in, but a random passerby would typically not have access to our courtyard.  

Normally-locked gates

As you might have guessed by now, the answer to Glenn's unspoken question was "No."  About an hour before the party, Glenn asked something about where I had put the tub when I brought it in.  "It's still out there."  "No, it's not."  I ran out, frantic, looking everywhere.  I went around the block, to see if it had just been moved for some reason.  I went to the restaurant and asked whether they had brought it in, mistaking it for one of their deliveries.  Nothing.  Glenn was dispatched to closer stores to buy some replacement mousse and cheese.  (He did an excellent job, but the mousse from Monoprix was not the same.)  

The topic did come up in conversation that evening.  Our guests were shocked:  "But you live in the 6th!"  "It must be an inside job."  "Why would anyone want that much mousse?"  

Diagram of crime scene

The leading suspect in my mind is a contractor who was working in the apartment on the ground floor of our building.  He had pulled his car into the courtyard while he was there working, and he and the car were gone when we noticed the tub missing.  Also, the tub would have been heavy and unwieldy to carry on foot.  

He has not been back, but I am wondering what I might say to him if I saw him again.  Maybe "La mousse au chocolat---etait-ce delicieuse?"




(Update:  The contractor dared to show his face in the courtyard this past weekend.  I saw him and took this photo at the right of his car as he was leaving.  Realistically, I don't think there's much I can do with the photo, but I hope I scared him by taking it.)