His father was the cause of all his problems—how the hell was it possible for him to ruin so much?
“Actually I was going to ask you something about TV24,” Henrik began, but Ted reappeared just then.
“Okay, let’s get back to it.”
“I’ll catch you later,” Henrik said to Elnaz. What he had to say could wait.
Ted waved to Nora, who was busy making notes and flicking through a pad at the counter.
“Ready?” Henrik shouted.
“In a minute.”
Henrik looked at the production assistant, a young guy who was in his first season withLet’s Get Baking. “Could you please go and fetch her?”
Nora sighed loudly. “I’m perfectly capable of walking across the room, you don’t need to send a runner.” She put the pad in a drawer and stomped over to the table.
“Great.” Elnaz checked her notes, then turned to Henrik. “It would be good if you could complain a little more about the coffee—mention the soul of the patisserie, that kind of thing.”
“That’s exactly what I was intending to do.”
“Super.” Elnaz gave him a thumbs-up.
Being patronizing and critical about bakeries on TV wasn’t much fun. Henrik felt like a complete shit about it, but that was what the viewers wanted: he had to criticize, but not go too far.Let’s Get Bakingwasn’t in the business of humiliating the participants, but in order for something to change, he had to be a bit sharp now and then.
Nora sat down opposite him, and Elnaz gave Henrik the signal to begin. Don and Ted were beside her, keeping a close eye on things.
Henrik held up the cheese roll. “The cheese is sweaty, and there’s hardly any butter on this.”
Nora was immediately on the defensive. “The cheese has been on that roll since five o’clock this morning; we have to start preparing early to get everything done. And the butter ...”
“Yeah, yeah. The rolls are too small, the bread is tasteless and dry. There’s nothing exciting about them. I could find more appealing rolls in the supermarket. Prepacked.” Nora inhaled sharply. His criticism had hit home.
“As I said, in order to get everything done today, we made the rolls very early. And I use plenty of butter—that one must have been a mistake.”
“All I’m hearing is excuses. I mean, you offer sixteen different cookies—you clearly have time to make those.”
“Thirteen.”
“Sorry?”
“Thirteen different cookies. According to my great-grandmother’s tradition, there must be thirteen different types of cookies on offer.”
“And then there are the buns.” Henrik ignored what she’d said, took a bite. “They’re delicious, but the size is grotesque. Meanwhile, this cheese roll isn’t going to fill anyone up. What’s your thinking there?”
“I don’t know how things are done in Stockholm—I imagine you serve mainly date balls and raw beans dipped in stevia with your coffee—but here in Småland we like decent-size cinnamon buns. They’re supposed to be big.”
“Oh really? And do people usually eat the whole bun?”
Nora hesitated. “Some do,” she said quietly.
“Do you realize how much raw material you’re wasting?” He leaned across the table to drive his point home. “This isn’t Wayne’s Coffee in the year 2000. Grotesquely huge cakes and buns went out of fashion twenty years ago.”
She opened her mouth, presumably to defend herself, then closed it again.
“Okay. And this coffee.” He leaned back. “It’s like walking into a small-town cop shop. Pure tannin.”
“You liked it last time.”
