Wedding Girl (25 page)

I hadn't thought of any of this. “Aren't you the insightful one? So how do I handle it?”

“Be kind, have a sense of humor, and at the end of the day, use all of these plans as a way to let her in. Share with her where you are in your life; confess some of your fears. Let her go into mommy mode a bit.”

I reach over and link my arm through hers. “You are very wise, my bubbly Bubbles. Thank you.”

“That's what grandmothers are for. That and good snacks. Speaking of which, what do we have in the kitchen? I confess to being somewhat peckish. This night air does it.”

“Hmm. Carbonara?” There is nothing more soul satisfying at the end of a long night than a pan of creamy, salty, bacony pasta.

“Just the thing. Oh, Snatch.” She looks down at the dog, who is happily rolling in a patch of dirt. He gets up, shakes his girth, and dust flies everywhere, making him sneeze four times in quick succession.

“He's quite the dog, isn't he?”

“Don't knock it; every girl should have a dog. It's good for us.”

“Yeah, well, I always wanted one, but with my career? Not good for having pets.”

“Oh, honey. That is an enormous load of bullshit. Your career—whatever it was, is, or will be—will have room for a man, children, dogs, whatever you choose. And if you claim otherwise, you are lying to yourself.”

“Careful, old woman. If you get too sassy, I'm going to put extra black pepper in the carbonara.” Bubbles is not a fan of black pepper, and I use it very judiciously where she is concerned.

“I surrender,” she says as we climb the stoop.

And the three of us head towards the kitchen, where everything is easily controlled.

(1945)

You never want love in your life again, and I never want it in mine. But our reasons are as different as the sun is from the moon. You don't want it because you've had all the worst of it. I don't want it because I've had all the best.

•
KATHARINE HEPBURN AS JAMIE ROWAN
•

I reread the sheet for the eleventh time, while eating cold leftover lasagna for breakfast.

2016 CHICAGO CAKE COMPETITION INFORMATION

Cakes are to reach a minimum of four feet in height with a minimum of three tiers. Internal dowels are allowed for tiers, but cakes should be a minimum of 95% edible. These cakes will be served to the crowds post-judging.

Cakes should have a strong Chicago theme visually.

Cakes must have a minimum of three different flavor profiles represented, one of which must be chocolate. At least one tier must incorporate a dacquoise component. Decoration can incorporate fondant, gum paste, chocolate, and sugar work, all decoration must be edible. There are no specific requirements regarding the use of these techniques, but the scorecards add points for number of techniques executed well.

Judging criteria are as follows, a full sheet of judging points to be earned is attached.

Taste: 50%

Chicago Theme and Visual Impact: 20%

Execution: 15%

Technique: 15%

Judges will be judging the actual display cakes; you will not be able to make smaller versions for the taste category. We are looking to promote your large-scale event cake work, so it is that cake that will be tasted.

Cake layers, dacquoise layers, fillings, buttercream, and pre-colored base fondant may be prepared ahead of time and delivered to the venue. All assembly and decoration work must happen on site, including the modeling of any figures, all sugar and chocolate work, and fondant rolling. A list of equipment that each team will have at their disposal is attached, if there is other specialty equipment you require, it must get pre-approved by the committee. You will have six hours to assemble and decorate your cake, during which time you will also have press and photographers coming by, as well as members of the public. These people will know that they are not to speak to you or ask questions.

Judges will also be coming around, and they do have leeway to ask questions, taste components, and observe your working style.

Your team can consist of one lead baker and one assistant. You are allowed to take two 30-minute breaks for meals and rest; your team members can decide if they want to take their breaks together or separately.

If you have any questions that are not answered here,
or in the attachments, don't hesitate to reach out to us! We'll be in touch closer to the competition date to arrange for delivery of prep items and other details.

It's not as bad as it could have been. Clearly they have learned that the public doesn't want to watch people mix batter and wait for cakes to cool, so the amount of prep that can be done ahead is really fantastic and allows for great quality control. That just means that the focus the day of is all about assembly and decoration, which is the fussiest work. I'm not worried about our flavors; I know we can knock the delicious part out of the park. But we have to figure out a great theme and execute well. I'm really worried about Herman and his endurance for such a physically demanding day. I don't see us doing much sugar work—too time-consuming and complicated—but I do think we can do some interesting things with chocolate and fondant and gum paste, once we have the right design.

The design will be everything, and I haven't the foggiest clue what we should do. I need to knead something. Bread work, the act of bringing together the dough under my hands, is like meditation for me. I think about what ingredients I have in the house; I don't want to have to go out and get anything. I've been unsuccessfully trying so hard to find that one amazing thing for the bakery, but I've hit a wall. I've given up on finding the next hot hybrid; the world doesn't need more cruffins or sconssants or any other Frankenpastry. The world needs something simple, comforting, versatile, and addictive. The kind of thing that never goes stale, because it never lasts long enough. The kind of thing that you buy two of, because you'll eat half of the first one in the car on the way home.

And then it hits me like a bolt.

Milk bread.

Dexter and I went to Charlotte a couple of years ago for their Wine & Food Weekend. Turned out to be our last trip together. But it was a good one. We snuck off to eat dinner at a brand-new place in Davidson called Kindred. As soon as we sat at the table, they brought over an enameled metal bowl, which had four huge rolls baked into it, golden brown and glistening, sprinkled with large shards of crunchy salt. It turned out to be milk bread, a simple yeast bread of Japanese origin, which has a tender and elastic crumb, a soft crust, and a slightly sweet flavor. We demolished the whole thing in minutes. After our dinner, we introduced ourselves to the team, and I got chatting with the pastry chef, bonding the way we do. We traded info; doing the usual dance about reaching out if either of us were in the other's city, yadda yadda. We haven't stayed in touch.

I grab my phone and check my contacts. There she is, Stephanie Detweiler, pastry chef at Kindred. I hit Dial.

“Hello, this is Stephanie.”

“Stephanie, not sure if you remember me. This is Sophie Bernstein; we met last year. I used to be at Salé et Sucré in Chicago.”

“Jesus, Sophie, of course I remember you. You poor thing. I totally wanted to reach out after that whole thing; it was just so shitty what happened. But . . . you know.”

“That is very sweet of you. Ancient history and a large bullet dodged.”

“Good for you! Are you coming to town? I'd love to see you again!”

“I'm not, at least not soon, but I was wondering if I could ask a massive favor.”

“Of course, what do you need?”

I explain, best as I can, about Herman and Langer's and Cake Goddess and the whole debacle. I tell her that I'm trying
to find that one specialty item that no one else has, to try and keep the doors open. And that I thought milk bread was just the ticket, but that I didn't have time to do all the recipe testing to make my own version and wanted to just steal hers wholesale.

“We'll call it Stephanie's Kindred Milk Bread; and on all of our social media stuff, we will link to you guys and say that if people are going to Charlotte, this is just a small taste of what they will find at your place. I know it's a long shot, but I figure since we are so far away, it isn't direct competition, and we can promote you while totally using your recipe for our own gain. I want to start with your plain version, and then do some daily variations so that people keep coming in to see the different versions.”

There is a pause, and for a moment I think that I'm about to spend long hours trying to reinvent the wheel. “I love it.”

“You do?”

“Sure. Look, it's not like I invented milk bread, after all. Just tweaked a recipe till I liked it. And we published the home version of the recipe a while back in
Bon Appétit
. It's not hard; you'd have figured it out really quickly. But I'm happy to share the large-batch recipe we are using. I love what you're doing there. There was a bakery like that in my hometown, probably the reason I do what I do, so if I can help you try and save one? I'm in. Is your email the same?”

“It is.”

“It's coming your way. My batch makes a dozen of those four-roll pans, which are about the equivalent of one small loaf per. But it multiplies up pretty easily.”

“You're a lifesaver.”

“I'm touched and honored, and I hope it does what you want it to do.”

“Thanks so much. If there is anything you ever need from me, you've got it!”

“All I want is that you have to keep me updated on the variations. I want to know what you do with it!”

“Of course!”

“Oh, and to be honest, I could really use a great recipe for chocolate babka.”

I laugh. “I've got just the thing. You'll love it. When I get your email, I'll attach it to the reply.”

“Perfect. And, Sophie, I'm really glad you called, and I'm really glad you're doing okay. Keep in touch.”

“Will do. And thank you again; it means the world.”

“Hey, us baking girls have to stick together!”

I finish the last bite of lasagna and drop my plate into the dishwasher, then run upstairs to check my computer. I scroll past dozens of new Wedding Girl emails, and there it is, subject line “Milk Bread.” I read over the recipe. It really is simple. A basic yeast dough enriched with heavy cream and butter, an egg, some honey, and an interesting combination of cake flour and bread flour. Even better, it does a one-hour initial proof, then kneading and forming, and then a second proof before baking. Which makes it perfect for something you have to bake every day, unlike some of our other breads, which require two full risings before forming. It's the kind of recipe Herman can manage easily on his own if need be, which is also important. And the soft, sweet dough should lend itself beautifully to additions like dried fruits, so if Herman supports the idea, we can hopefully get people addicted to the original, and then after the cake competition we can roll out a daily new variation, just so people don't get bored.

I reply to the email, attaching the chocolate babka recipe, and tell Stephanie again how much I really appreciate her generosity. Then I check my watch. I have about an hour before I have to go to the bakery, so I figure I should work on some
Wedding Girl emails while I can. I get through half a dozen before I see it.

Dear Wedding Girl—

I keep seeing your site when researching my wedding online, and so I thought I would reach out for some advice. I'm having some problems with my wedding planning, and I hope you can help. I'm in my early sixties and about to marry the man I've been with for over forty years. The problem is that our only child, my daughter, seems to disagree with many of my ideas. I am trying to be very understanding about her attitudes. We have very different styles and aesthetics, and it is difficult to find common ground. When I try and suggest things I think are more in line with her likes, she is dismissive of them as incongruous with her perception of who I am. And I'm afraid to even broach certain ideas, since I know that while she loves us, the lifestyle her dad and I have always chosen is at odds with her own desires. As much as I'm tempted to just bag the whole thing and elope, there is a part of me that really does want to mark this new chapter of my life with a wonderful memorable event. But not to the detriment of my relationship with her. Any advice on how to bridge the gap?

First time bride, longtime mom

For the love of all that is holy. It is bad enough that I have to even do this whole wedding advice thing. But with the money I've earned from it plus my dad's bonus check, I've been able to pay down nearly 15 percent of the principal on my stupid debt, so I do know that it's worth it. If only I could keep my freaking parents from writing in, it would be so much better. I close the
email, not remotely in a place to think about how to answer her, and print out the milk bread recipe. I grab it, along with my folder for the cake competition, and head for the bakery, where I can think about cookies and bread and other things that are far less stressful.

I'm just pulling the first batch of milk bread out of the oven when my cell phone pings. Instead of baking the bread as four roundish rolls in a deep round tin, I portioned it as four rectangular mini-loaves in a rectangular dish. They are the perfect size for one large roll for dinner or breakfast, but still usable for sandwiches if someone was so inclined. Like Stephanie, I did a light egg wash and then sprinkled them with flaky sea salt crystals, so the tops are burnished and shiny. I put the pans on racks to cool, and grab my phone out of my pocket. I have a text from Amelia.