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After several steins of lager last night, it’s a miracle the man is standing, let alone baking some of the best damn sweet rolls you’ll ever taste. He shut down the bar at two and was warming up his ovens at four, blasting German death metal and whistling along. Approach the counter, you’ll get a grunt and a nod, but never a smile. Behind him, the ruins of his drunken experiments – berliners full of black garlic, prosciutto-wrapped canalé, fennel scones. Mere hours ago his tattooed arms were braced against sticky bars and wrapped around gyrating bodies, but now he’s serving espresso, brown sugar strudel, and black licorice cookies. Does he ever sleep? Is he still drunk? You might never know, but when you bite into that flaky croissant, does it really matter?
Fermented 40% whole cluster. Aged in 85% New French Oak for 18 months.
