Mid-galette, just after I’d scattered on the berries, just before I pleated the pastry edges, one of my students said “milk bread.” No idea what connection he drew between a French tart and a Japanese sandwich staple. But he said it. And, like an incantation, the phrase opened a trapdoor.
I fell through and awoke, three months later, with a kitchen full of cloud-soft, springy, and beautifully burnished loaves. Apparently my handiwork. I came to evangelizing about tangzhong, a moisture-trapping roux that gives the bread its keeping quality. And ready to move into a Japanese 7-Eleven, which, apparently, specializes in egg salad on milk bread.
If you don’t hear from me again, you’ll know where to find me. I leave you the recipe, an order link, and a warning: Beware.
