"Perfect balance," he says finally. "Sweet but not cloying. The dough has proper structure. Complex flavor."
Relief floods through me so forcefully I have to grip the counter edge. "Really?"
"Really." He takes another bite, larger this time. "This is master-level baking."
Master-level.I feel my cheeks heat with pride. "It's just a family recipe."
"No. This is art." He gestures at the remaining rolls. "Technique, creativity, patience. All combined with skill."
The compliment hits differently than the awkward bread praise from earlier. This isn't cultural translation confusion. This is genuine appreciation from someone who clearly understands craftsmanship.
"Thank you," I say, meaning it. "That... actually means a lot."
"Good food should be acknowledged." He finishes the first roll and reaches for a second. "Most humans rush through eating. Miss the complexity."
"Most people don't appreciate the difference between real baking and grocery store nonsense," I agree. "They think sugar and flour automatically equals dessert."
"Lazy thinking."
"Exactly! Like, anyone can dump ingredients together. But understanding how gluten develops, how yeast works, how to balance sweetness with other flavors—that takes practice."
I'm gesturing now, getting animated about bread science in a way that would make Maya roll her eyes. But Korgan is nodding along like fermentation theory is the most fascinating topic in the world.
"Show me," he says suddenly.
"Show you what?"
"The technique. How you achieve this texture."
Show him.Right here, right now, while cameras roll and producers panic about their carefully scheduled programming. The smart play would be to suggest we return to the mixer, maintain the artificial structure of the show.
But looking at his genuine interest, the way he's examining the remaining roll like it holds secrets worth learning...
Fuck the mixerwas right.
"Okay." I move toward the prep station where I'd been working earlier. "But fair warning. I get kind of intense about baking."
"Good. Intensity creates excellence."
There's something about his directness that makes me bold. No games, no pretense, just honest interest in my actual skills. When's the last time a guy wanted to learn something from me instead of impressing me with something he knew?
I start gathering ingredients from the catering supplies, flour, butter, sugar, cinnamon. "The secret is in the lamination process. Most people just roll everything together, but proper cinnamon rolls need layers..."
Korgan watches intently as I demonstrate the technique, asking practical questions about dough consistency and proofing times. His questions are intelligent, specific, like someone who understands that craft has science behind it.
"Here." I hand him a portion of dough. "Feel the texture. It should be slightly tacky but not sticky."
His massive hands dwarf the small piece of dough, but he handles it carefully, testing the resistance and elasticity. "Like weapon maintenance," he says after a moment. "You know when the balance is correct."
"Exactly! It's all about understanding your materials." I'm rolling out the main portion of dough now, getting lost in the familiar rhythm. "Flour has personality. Butter has temperament. You have to work with them, not against them."
"Wisdom applies to many things."
There's something in his tone that makes me glance up. He's watching my hands work the dough, but his expression has gone thoughtful, almost melancholy.
"Like diplomacy?" I guess.
"Like diplomacy." A pause. "Like... image management."
