The Sourdough Wars

he said. “Rebecca. Is anything wrong?”
    “Not at all,” said Chris. “We have some good news for you.”
    “Can I get you anything?” asked Cathy.
    It was cocktail hour, but both Chris and I asked for coffee, hoping that would take longer, giving us an excuse to stay and make apparent small talk after we’d stated our business.
    We were already on the sofa, and Tony sat down in one of the gold brocade chairs. He looked out of place there, but I suppose Chris and I did, too. It wasn’t a room you could get comfortable in.
    “The starter’s been found,” said Chris.
    Tony’s face said it wished we would speak English. He was quiet for a while, apparently doing a slow translation, and when he finally spoke, it wasn’t worth waiting for. He said, “Oh?”
    “The cryogenics firm had another batch,” Chris continued.
    Cathy reappeared with the coffee. “Cream? Sugar?” That occupied the next few minutes, and I got the idea Tony was glad for some time to think. When he spoke again, he looked like a little kid begging for a new bike but pretty sure Mom and Dad couldn’t afford it. “I know you don’t know me,” he said, “and I don’t know how to say this, but… look, I want to tell you some things.”
    Chris and I nodded, wearing our most sympathetic-lawyer looks. “I want to tell you about my brother and me.” His hand shook as he put his coffee cup on the table. “Bobby’s the oldest, you know what I mean? I always looked up to him, kind of let him tell me what to do and how to do it when we were kids. I sort of got in the habit of it. So everybody in the family, they always thought Bobby was smarter and kind of more…competent.” He made a face as he said the last word, as if it had given him trouble sometime.
    “I guess I thought so, too,” he continued. “I mean, I guess it was me that gave them that idea in the first place, know what I mean?” Again, we nodded. “So, anyway, Bobby was kind of the favorite and he kind of knew it, I guess. But we both went into the business—I don’t mean the baking business; I mean the family business, the Tosi Bakery.” His shoulders straightened a bit when he said, “Tosi Bakery,” as if it were his instead of his brother’s.
    “We got to be damn good bakers, you know that? I mean, Bobby and me both. I’m gonna tell you something—Bobby can’t bake any better than I can.” He sighed. “It’s like when we were kids. People think he can, because he’s got the
Tosi
Bakery, you know what I mean? But he’s no better. In fact, I’m putting out a superior product right this minute.” He nodded, emphasizing the point. “You can run a taste test. Go ahead. Try Bobby’s loaf and mine, and see which is better. Guarantee you Palermo makes a better sourdough. Go ahead. Try it yourself.”
    “We will,” I said, because it didn’t look as if he was going to continue until he had our word on a taste test. I presumed we couldn’t have one there and then, because there was no Tosi bread in the household.
    “Know why it’s better? Because of the secret ingredient, that’s why. Look, it’s this way. My brother and me came up together. We learned to bake from the same teacher—our papa, who was the best baker in town except for old man Martinelli. So it stands to reason we’d bake the same, doesn’t it?” He looked at us anxiously.
    Once again, we nodded.
    “Unless,” he said, straightening up again and looking triumphant, “unless what?”
    “I can’t imagine,” said Chris.
    “Unless one of us improved on the old way. Know what I mean?”
    There was nothing to do except nod again. My head was starting to feel like a yoyo.
    “Well, I improved on it. Go ahead. Try a taste test, you’ll see.”
    “You mean,” I said, “that you’ve added something to the bread that you don’t ordinarily find in sourdough?”
    “I didn’t say that,” said Tony, looking mischievous and quite pleased with himself. I glanced at Cathy and saw that she looked anxious.
    “But you mentioned a secret ingredient.”
    “Ah. You noticed that, did you?”
    Guess what I did then? Right you are—I nodded.
    “The secret ingredient’s what does it. Nobody knows what it is and nobody’s gonna know—except Cathy, of course.” He patted Cathy’s knee. “But it’s the thing that makes the Palermo loaf the best. The only thing is, we aren’t the biggest.”
    “Why,” asked Chris, “did you leave the Tosi Bakery?”
    “I was getting to that.