but it’s not a sweet roll either. The dough has that croissant texture, but it’s also compact. Small. Round. And it smells exactly like burnt sugar. I pick it up, take a bite, and…melt. It’s buttery. Flaky. There’s a soft crunch with a bit of the sugar flaking off onto my lips. It’s messy, but every crumb is a delicate balance of flavors. It’s so unique, so wonderful, that I take a second bite, trailing my tongue over my lips after. “What is this?” I ask. I glance over at Cliff. He sinks into an exhale, and the little line beside his mouth deepens. “It’s kouign-amann.”
