Henry nodded. “You tried Katherine’s focaccia?”
“Not yet.”
He leaned over the counter and whispered, “Terrible. Dense, soggy, way too salty.”
“Hasn’t she made four loaves already?”
Henry chuckled. “She’s good, but she’s still a farmers’ market baker.”
Tristan rolled his eyes. “Be nice. She’s here for a reason.”
“Hey, I said she was good. But that doesn’t change the facts on her focacciaorher rolls. I felt bad enough to go help her. Willa did too. Well, she was bouncing between Katherine and Bertha. But with both of us on the job, Katherine was still making hard, crispy rolls last time I checked. Don’t know what the hell she’s doing wrong, but she can’t get either recipe to work at all.” Henry sighed. “I told her to talk to Dorian; maybe he can figure her shit out.”
Tristan nodded. “Well, I wouldn’t have gonethatfar.” Dorian could probably figure out her shit if anyone could. “I would have hooked her up with... I don’t know, Finn or someone.”
“Dorian makes the best bread here, as far as I’ve tasted. And I’m not here to win against someone making easy mistakes. I’m here to prove I’m better than the best chefs. Even if I do badmouth them mercilessly.”
Tristan checked on his rolls, which were puffing in the oven. “I guess that’s a little nobler than deliberately sabotaging her.”
“I wouldn’t call your idea sabotage. Finn couldn’t make anything worse for her. Sabotage would be telling her to pour salt on her yeast to help it rise.”
“Oh, like you told me a few nights ago?”
“Exactly.” Henry leaned back and looked in his oven too. “My focaccia’s coming out soon, so we can have a good nosh. And we’ll see if your rolls are somehow better than last time.”
“They’d better be if I want to keep going.”
“Oh, come on, they’re good rolls. You’re just a perfectionist.”
“Yeah? It’s not a bad thing.”
“It’s not. But you’re fine. I guarantee it. EvenDorianisn’t going to save Katherine. Although ifhedoesn’t win, I’ll eat two loaves of her wet disgusting focaccia myself.”
Tristan chuckled, then leaned down to peer at his rolls. They’d browned, the egg wash shining, the little black nigella seeds standing out even against the slightly darker bread. He hopped up, opened the oven, and tapped the rolls. They sounded hollow, they felt right. He sighed contentedly and removed his pan. Then he went for the clarified butter to brush over the top. He didn’tquitelike the color with only egg wash. They needed that tiny bit of extra shine, extra salt, extra flavor. And the butter let him get some fresh nigella seeds on there at the end. Exposed to direct heat, the nigella seeds got too bitter, which wasn’t quite right with a slightly sweet, nutty roll. Since the rolls were already dark, bitterness contributed to the impression that they were overcooked. Plus adding them after gave an extra hit of oniony crunch as counterbalance. He brushed the butter over, then sprinkled his seeds on top. They adhered fine enough, as long as he did it when the rolls were hot and the butter was cooled slightly. And a few potentially loose seeds were better than bad flavor.
But... that was it. He couldn’t fuss anymore, had to taste. Tristan pulled one roll free from the batch. The bottom was solid, and the top had only a bit of give, in no small part thanks to that butter soaking in. The final product would firm up, but if he had to serve them a little too hot like they were now, at least it wouldn’t be the end of his run.
Yeah, it wouldn’t be. He smiled. He’d probably never be truly, completelyhappywith anything he produced forGet Baked, but if he was honest with himself, he was confident this wasn’t the bake he’d leave on. Bread wasn’t his forte, but if he kept producing as well as he had in these practice days, he’d be golden.
Well, not golden. But maybe bronze. Or maybe he’d win aYou Did Okayribbon with a smiley face on it. He’d take that to losing and being tossed out on his ear. Every extra day here was extra money, and he and Lucia needed that money coming in from somewhere. He needed that money to make leaving her behind worth it.
He broke open the roll to be absolutely sure nothing had gone wrong. Immediately, the smell of warm nuts and sharp onion struck him, then an underlying note of heady sweetness. When he bit into the roll, it was perfectly soft. Not doughy, but wonderfully fluffy with everything evenly distributed through the body of the roll.
He turned and handed a roll to Henry. “I think these ones might do it. Maybe.”
“Well, you’re a wellspring of self-confidence now, aren’t you?” He tore it open and popped a bite into his mouth. He shook his head, lips curling upward. “I think you might be right. They’re good.” Another timer buzzed. Henry bent down, and he came back up with a perfectly crusty round of bread, festooned with strips of golden-brown fennel and flakes of black salt. It certainly sent a message:Look at me, notice me, I’m different and exciting and probably way more expensive than any other focaccia loaf you’ve ever had. Don’t you wonder how I taste? Bite into me!
Henry grabbed a bread knife and sliced a couple of hanks off the thin, dimpled bread. He handed one to Tristan. “In trade.”
Tristan took the bread, which was full of irregular air pockets with a thin, crisp crust in spite of the potentially wet fennel—and bit down. It was definitely light and dry on the inside, slightly fragrant from the olive oil. The fennel wasn’t overbearing; most of the anise qualities had cooked out to a subtle depth and now it had a sweetness and brightness that played against the earthy black salt. It had more than just an impressive appearance. “Do you makethisfor the shop? Because I would tolerate traffic in the U District for this.”
“It’s a pâtisserie, so no. I saw that they had the black salt and... well, it sounded interesting, so I tasted it and went from there.” Henry bit in too. “The fennel came late in the game, but I think it adds something special.”
“I would say so. You might actually beat the pants off Dorian this time.”
“Apparently you haven’t tried his focaccia. Mine’s good, but that would change your tune.” Henry gestured to the café table, which was laden already with some of the day’s experiments and practice runs. “Go on. I’llguardyour rolls.”
“In your stomach?”
