“You’re Just a Baker,” My Sister Screamed—The Next Time They Heard My Name, It Was on a Tokyo Flagship

local bakers I’d trained, half imports from Boston—moved with focused energy. We’d spent six months perfecting recipes, adapting to different butter, flour, even water. The kouign-amann caramelized perfectly. The croissants shattered into golden flakes. The anpan-inspired brioche we’d created with a local baker made me close my eyes and swear softly continue reading …