“The true test is speed and consistency,” I say. “Twelve boules. Eight hundred grams each. I’m timing you.”
I pull out my phone, open the stopwatch app, and hold it up. My thumb hovers overStart.
Leo looks at the mountain of wet, sticky dough. This is ten times harder than pre-shapes. This is the final shape. This is the real thing. This is what separates someone who can follow instructions from someone who can actually do the work.
He looks at me. My eyes are unreadable because I do not know what I am hoping for. I am not even sure I want him to succeed.
He takes a deep breath. He nods once. He dusts his hands.
“Ok,” he says.
“Go,” I say, and I hitStart.
He moves. Not like me, not like Meemaw used to do. His hands are not lightning-fast blurs. He isn’t magic. But he is good.
He divides the dough with clean, confident cuts. He weighs each piece on the digital scale: 802 grams, 798 grams, 801 grams. Adjustments are minimal, quick, and efficient.
Then he starts to shape.
Because I am standing right there, timing him, making his muscles tense with pressure, he does something that should not make me feel anything but irritation.
He starts muttering.
Pull. Scrape. Turn. Fold.
“Ok… first one,” he whispers, hands moving. “Dough-kachu. Nice and tight.”
He seals the seam and places a perfect boule on the tray.
I blink. “What… what did you just say?”
Pull. Scrape. Turn. Fold.
“Squirt-dough,” he mutters, focused. “He’s a little wet. Gotta… gotta build the tension.”
Second boule. Perfect.
“Are you…” I say, my voice a mix of disbelief and, God help me, amusement. “Are you naming them?”
“It helps me focus,” he grunts, already on the third. “This one’s… Charm-flour-der. He’s got fire. Needs a tight seal.”
Pull. Scrape. Turn. Fold.
“Bulba-dough.”
Pull. Scrape. Turn. Fold.
“Meowth. That’s right.”
Pull. Scrape. Turn. Fold.
“And… Snorlax.”
This one is particularly large, a perfect 805-gram monster. He shapes it with an extra loving pat.
“He’s a masterpiece of gluten structure.”
Something in my chest does a tiny, traitorous flip. I am smiling. A full, genuine, unguarded smile. My hand comes up to cover my mouth, but it does not help because he can see it in my eyes.
