Night 5, Lappland: Sfogliatella with Quadruplo Espresso
The Late Night Diner is a part of Rhodes Island's canteen. That goes without saying – to whom had anyone ever heard of a diner in the boiler room?
As the name implies, it opens around midnight. There are only a handful of customers at a time.
Operators off their night shift could take an order and bring back to their quarters. Night owls could sit dining-in while leeching off the Diner's wi-fi. The Doctor would come for instant noodles from time to time.
Drinks are in the cooler. Anyone burdened by their own thoughts could take one and chug it down, anytime.
Menu? No such thing exists. What the Chef prepares is what you get. It all depends on his mood of the day.
Welcome to the Rhodes Island Late Night Diner. In here, you might even meet a familiar face or two.
Sfogliatella was hard to make. Hard enough that even the Chef would refuse.
Unless, of course, it was at Lappland's insistence.
The skin needed to be prepared a day before – flour with a bit of salt to form the dough with water and honey, then put the rock-hard dough through a dough presser for multiple times. This was the easy way. A true Siracusian pastry master would roll the dough by hand with a huge rolling pin the size of a grown man's thigh till the skin is but a few millimetres thin, and semi-transparent to the point that light could filter through.
But time had changed, Siracusians.
The Chef entertained with the thought while carefully pulled the rolled skin from the presser. It was both thin and quite even. High quality flour made the dough very flexible. It almost felt like handling a sheet of fine cloth. The Chef lay the skin the width of two open palms on the counter, rolled it up, and made a cut in the middle. He then took out a bowl of lard from the fridge. Any pastry with oiled skin would often use butter, then folded multiple times to create the layers. Yet for Siracusian sfogliatella, one needs to stretch the skin from one side, put down a layer of lard, then rolled carefully, leaving every layer of the roll with as little space as possible. It was to create more complex layers. An ordinary buttered skin would only be folded six times, and it is said that it could produce one hundred and sixty ultra-thin layers. But for Siracusian lard-treated skin, the amount the Chef was working on alone could easily produce two or even three hundred layers after baking. After all the skins were rolled up, they would be put into the fridge to cool for a whole day.
Now it's time for tonight's VIP to show up.
Lappland had indeed showed up. It was when the gelato had almost gone from the display case she wandered in with a bit of a sway. She sat down at the counter facing away and leaned her back on it nonchalantly. There was a rosy hue on her cheeks – she had quite a few drinks before coming here.
"Buonasera, signora Lappland. Had an enjoyable celebration tonight?" The Chef was mixing the filling for the pastry, while striking up a conversation with his guest of honour.
"There was no celebration, really. Just me listening to the news about an old friend. Also had a few drinks." A small hiccup escaped her lips. She then reached her hand into the light from above the counter and started studying her nails. "Boss, you made my sfogliatella, yea?"
"Of course." the Chef took out the chilled rolls and cut them into smaller pellets.
There are few essential unspoken rules in the Late Night Diner, all who came by should have them memorized by heart.
One, never insist an order the Chef did not prepare.
Two, never pry the Chef with unnecessary questions
Three, never question the Chef's choice for the night.
And lastly, never go against Lappland. Well, this may just apply for all areas on the ship.
The Chef held a pellet in his hands. He turned it and pressing it into the shape of a little he added in the filling, gave the tone a bit curvature so it looked somewhat like a horn and left both ends open. A traditional Siracusian sfogliatella had been shaped.
While occupied with his handiwork, he was also looking at the pale-haired Lupo at the counter. She was now scratching at the counter surface with Orginium crystal on her wrist, leaving white lines on the hard wood.
"Some coffee for you, signora?" he offered.
Lappland looked up at the Chef and gestured with four fingers.
Four times the concentration. A quadruplo espresso.
Lappland still kept her old habits - sfogliatella, espresso, and blood on her blade. Siracusia had changed. Power, family, honour...all those things she chose to left behind, yet by the end still caught up with her. They were no less numerous than the damn rocks littered on her skin, and equally bothersome too. She was frustrated. For someone who's about to turn into a solid chunk of Originium and a lone wolf to boot, they should not be the things that cloud her thoughts these days.
What she need is some madness. Pure, unchecked lunacy with wanton abandon. Emboldened by the spirits, She spread her hand open on the counter and pulled out a knife. Then she started stabbing at the space in between her fingers with break-neck speed. From time to time, the fluttering knife would land a strike on the crystals on her fingers. An orange-red spark would burst forth, and she would laugh like a maniac. It seemed this game of risk suited her liking well. Truth be told, it matters not whether everybody is safe and sound or the world goes up in flames then gone like Originium dust in the wind. For Lappland, she would have her fun and enjoy herself till the last moment.
No matter what awaited her in the end.
"Signora..."
The knife stopped. It swayed a bit, finally stood still on the counter. Lappland raised her blood-shot eyes sharply. She didn't like to be interrupted.
"...your snacks for night." the Chef presented her with a few sfogliatellas fresh from the oven on a plate and a tiny cup of coffee.
The crispy golden pastry was still sizzling with oily bubbles. Its thin, half see-through layers wrapped around the light-yellow filling like a silken veil. The food calmed Lappland down a bit. She took a piece and bit down.
Crack.
Countless lard-infused skin crumbled in her mouth. In the next moment the soft, smooth filling flowed onto her tongue. Milk, cheese and the faint, intermingling sour-and-bitter taste of sugar marinated orange rind shavings. They all came together nicely along with the grainy texture of the rind itself. She chewed and swallowed, and the sweetness of vanilla and cinnamon finally climbed up from the depth of her throat. Lappland squeezed what was left of the pasty in her hand. Golden flakes crumbled down into the plate and made barely audible clicks. Just like the debris of those manors engulfed by flames in her memory.
The overtly sweetness of the Siracusian treat needed something bitter to tone it down. Lappland brought the delicate cup to her mouth and took a sip of the dark liquid.
Other than Dr. Kal'sit who had treated working overtime as some kind of active rest, and few operators who were fond of bitter taste, no one else would like black coffee, especially not the infamous quadruplo espresso of Siracusia. Its bitterness would land on the tip of the tougue and make its way all the way down to the back of the throat while giving one a mouthful of taste only belong to roasted coffee ground. If there's one country on this land that had taken to sample extra bitter coffee, it could only be Siracusa; and if the entire Siracusa had somehow given up the habit, then it would surely leave Lappland to be the one keeping up the tradition...even though she is not much inclined to become a coffee connoisseur.
"Hey boss," Lappland pointed to the left over pieces on the plate, "put these in a take-out box. I'll have them sent to Texas. She spend all day eating fast food with Penguin Logistics people, it'd be good for her to have something else for a change, yea?"
"D'accordo, signora." the Chef took out a small paper box from beneath the counter "some coffee for Miss Texas too?"
Lappland was already on her way out when she heard it. She showed him an open palm.
Quintuplo. Extra bitter.