The Sourdough Ultimatum
A sweltering open-air kitchen at the Lyons World Bread Cup in Lyon, France, eleven minutes before judging begins and the oven thermometer reads 287°C.
Double and Bust have spent nine months cultivating a sourdough starter named Gertrude for the amateur division finals. Their baguettes are proofed and ready, but Double just noticed the oven is running 40 degrees hotter than it should, and the thermostat knob snapped off in his hand. They can load the baguettes now and pull them early — risking a gorgeous dark crust or total carbonization — or they can switch to the backup oven across the tent, which is stone cold and would need at least twenty minutes to preheat, leaving them six minutes to bake a loaf that needs thirty.
“Gertrude didn't survive nine months in our fridge to die in a lukewarm oven. We ride the heat. Every great crust has a scar.”
“You're holding the broken knob in your hand, Double. The oven already ate the thermostat — what makes you think it won't eat Gertrude too?”
The baguettes came out at seven minutes flat with a crust so aggressively caramelized the head judge called it 'confrontational' — then awarded it first place in the amateur division, saying it reminded her of a bread she once cried over in Marseille. The internal crumb was, against all thermodynamic logic, perfect.
Gertrude knew exactly what she was doing. I was just the vessel.
He's holding a trophy in one hand and a broken knob in the other, and somehow I'm the one who looks stupid.