I flour the table and press down on the first half of the dough in the way that his recipe tells me to. I think it's supposed to loosen the butter or something like that. While I love to bake, I don't necessarily know the mechanics behind all of the methods.
Satisfied, I roll out the dough, feeling Nate watching my every move. I know I'm doing it right because he doesn't make any comments about how I should be doing it differently. This part of us baking together is a little strange to me. In the past, we've learned a lot about baking together. But now it's different. He's learned plenty of things during his apprenticeship and subsequent jobs.
Once I'm satisfied with the size of the dough, I set aside the rolling pin and take hold of the ruler, marking out the side of the dough so that we can make perfectly consistent croissants, except for the tiny pieces on either end.
"Wait, are these the scraps to make palmiers with?" I ask.
"Yes," he responds. "Or sometimes, we'd make mini-croissants with them so that we could have a snack after they came out of the oven."
"That's a good idea," I respond. "How am I doing so far?"
"Good," he responds. "Just be careful with the slices of the knife. You should use the ruler to guide you."
I do as he suggests, gliding the blade through the soft dough, hoping that I manage to get the lines straight enough. Once I'm done, I add a slit in the bottom of each triangle, getting an approving nod from Nate as I do.
"You just have to wait a bit longer to let your dough rest, and you'll be a master at making croissants," he tells me.
I laugh. "I doubt it. There are people like you who are making them most days who are going to be better."
"I'd still say you've done pretty well," he says as he takes one of the triangles and stretches the dough from the tip. I watch him make the first one. I'm reasonably sure that I've been doing it right, but I haven't had a chance to see him in action, and I want to make sure.
He rolls the croissant from the base to the tip and presses down the dough to seal it. And he does it much faster than I've ever managed.
I take one of the triangles for myself and roll it, pleased when it gains the croissant shape and looks like it's supposed to.
"You've got good technique," Nate says.
"Your instructions were really good," I respond. "And the drawings helped a lot too."
"I thought they might. I don't think they're always necessary, but I thought it might make an unfamiliar technique feel a little bit easier to do."
"You were right." A warm feeling settles inside me at the reminder of how well he knows me.
We continue rolling the croissants, putting them on a baking tray. My technique may be acceptable, but it's immediately clear to me which of them I rolled and which belong to Nate. I suppose that's to be expected when he's had so much more practice than I have.
"Now comes your favourite part," Nate teases.
"I know, I know. We have to let them prove again," I say.
"And then let them rest in the ice house too."
"Maybe I should tell you only to send quick recipes from now on."
He laughs. "They'd never keep you happy, you like a bit of a challenge."
"I do," I agree.
He covers the croissants and moves them over to a warmer part of the kitchen. "You're probably going to have to find a new spot to prove things if the wood-fired oven is going to be fully replaced."
"I'll have to find a new spot for my dragon if that happens too." I gesture to where Ember is still sitting on top of the oven, though her eyes finally seem to be closing. "So, pain aux raisins?"
He returns to the workbench and leans against it, a smile on his face that feels like it's the only thing I can see. I return it, hoping that I get to see it many more times before he leaves to return to Wafeland.
"We need to roll out the dough, a similar size to the croissants," he says. "Then we'll add the creme patisserie." He touches the bowl with the custard in it.
"And presumably some raisins?"
"Dried citrus peel too," he says. "We don't always have any in Wafeland, but I saw some in the pantry here.
