Chapter Text
Sometimes, at the end of the day, Obi-Wan liked to bake bread.
While most of the time he was glad the publishing firm let him work offsite, after a day of staring into the depths of word documents and .pdf files, he had to close his laptop, take a deep breath, and remind himself that he not only worked in this space, but lived in it.
So. The bread.
A few minutes in the kitchen setting up and then he’d wait for the telltale sign of the yeast bubbling through the sugared water to start. Sifting in pale white flour, then adding a dash of olive oil, a pinch of salt, and a generous spoonful of fragrant rosemary, he created a soft but slightly sticky ball of dough that was gently placed on the floured countertop and pushed and prodded with the heels of his hands in smooth, repetitive motions. Kneading by hand usually took him about ten minutes, though he had to be careful not to lose himself in a near-meditative state and overwork the dough. After a little bit he was able to heft the whole thing up and pinch a corner to spread outwards with his fingers. Holding it up towards the window on the opposite side of the connected living room space, he could see light through the thin elastic stretch of the dough— but it held, and didn’t split off. Perfect.
He’d leave the dough to rise in a bowl, covered with a clean kitchen cloth, while he puttered around the kitchen and cleaned or re-cleaned the counters and stovetop. If that didn’t take him long enough, he’d move outwards into the living room and start cleaning the windows or water the plants on the sill. On rare occasions he’d just sit by the window and enjoy watching the clouds roll by far overhead. Today, he took particular pleasure in noting the changing color of the leaves on the trees outside.
After an hour, he returned to the kitchen and removed the cloth, like a magic trick, to find the dough had risen. He gently pushed it back down into the bowl before dividing it in half to make two separate loaves, then moved them carefully onto a baking sheet and sprinkled them with more rosemary. After another 45 minutes of letting the loaves rise, actually spent meditating this time, he finally baked the loaves until they turned golden brown and the whole apartment smelled of baking bread and rosemary.
Right on time, there was a thud at the door.
Thud was a more accurate description than knock, especially once Obi-Wan opened the door only to have Ahsoka near-fall into the apartment.
He raised an eyebrow at her. “Were you just pressed up against the door? You know you could have just stood there normally, and knocked. Or even just come in. It wasn’t locked.”
“It smells like baking,” Ahsoka said, completely ignoring him and bypassing the tiny hallway space for the kitchen.
“Well, I’m having a lovely day, thank you for asking, and how about you?” Obi-Wan muttered to himself as he closed the door. When he turned back into the kitchen, Ahsoka just grinned at him, already able to tell he wasn’t really annoyed. She’d always been able to do that, in the two years he’d known her. It was rather nice, actually.
“You’re gonna feed me some of this, right? Please?” She clapped her hands together in front of her face in a mock-begging gesture. After a moment she added, “Oh, and how are you?”
Obi-Wan chuckled. “Just fine, thank you. I assume you’re as well as always.”
“Except for the part where I’m starving, yeah. Now that the niceties are out of the way…?” She trailed off hopefully.
“Just a moment.” He quickly pulled out a small bowl to melt some butter and used a pastry brush to lightly brush the top of each loaf with the liquid. And with just a sprinkling of flaked sea salt to top —
Done.
“Alright, here you are,” he told Ahsoka, pulling out a serrated knife and cutting a generous slice for her. He waited, watching her face as she took the slice. He could see her eyes light up at the warmth, and she hummed appreciatively as curls of steam spiraled up from it.
It wasn’t a particularly crusty bread, so there wasn’t a crunch when she bit in, but he could tell it was soft and springy. She closed her eyes and hummed even louder as she chewed.
“Holy hellsh, Ob-Wan,” she groaned, mouth still full. “’S sss’good.”
“Thank you, I think.” Now that he’d seen her reaction, he cut a slice for himself. It was pretty good, if he did say so himself. The herbed bread was good by itself, but with the salt and butter on top? Delicious.
Ahsoka gulped down the rest of her piece in two large mouthfuls and licked the dribbles of melted butter off her fingers before Obi-Wan was even halfway through his slice.
“Are you putting this on your blog?” she asked, reaching and taking the knife from him and cutting off another, slightly uneven slice.
“Hm? Oh, no, not this recipe. It’s just baking bread, and anyway, it’s actually Dex’s recipe.”
Ahsoka shook her head. “You’re depriving the people of knowledge, Obi-Wan. Now how will I get delicious bread whenever I want?”
“By bothering poor innocent bakers in their homes until they feed you, I assume.”
Ahsoka pointed at him. “Exactly right! How did you know?”
They grinned at each other for a moment before resuming their small meal.
“You could just make some yourself,” Obi-Wan pointed out after another few bites.
“Mmm, I tried but it wasn’t as good as when you make it. That may have been because I used a different kind of flour than what you said? I didn’t have the, uh, all-purpose stuff, so I used some that said self-rising.”
That made him pause. “Why would you have self-rising flour but not all-purpose…? And in any case, the recipe doesn’t call for baking powder.”
She just gave him a blank look.
“...Which would be the point of substituting for self-rising.”
“So there’s baking soda in the flour?”
“Baking powder. There is a difference, in the ratio with the salt —”
“WELL it tasted fine, but not the same as yours. So here I am to bother you for food! And oh, yeah,” she said as she finished her second piece. “I meant to ask last time I was over, but I forgot.”
“...Yes?” Obi-Wan prompted when she didn’t continue.
“Um, do you know Anakin Skywalker?”
Obi-Wan blinked at the unexpected question. “Well, I know of him. He runs a sort of food blog, right?”
“Sort of ?” Ahsoka repeated, with air quotes.
Abashed, Obi-Wan cleared his throat. “Well, it’s very different from mine, I mean. I’ve seen some of the slow-cooker meals and budget meal-prep posts he’s put up. I confess I haven’t tried any of them, though. I don’t really keep up with the blog; he tends to ramble a bit before he gets to the actual recipe.”
“Wow. That is possibly the most hypocritical thing I’ve ever heard you say.”
Obi-Wan could feel himself flushing a little, raising his hand and rubbing at his beard to cover it. “Yes, well. Hm. Why do you ask?”
“Uh. No reason.”
Meanwhile, one floor up in the same apartment building:
Anakin paced a circle on the carpeted floor, kicking pieces of the vacuum he’d disassembled out of the way as he went. After a minute he had a clear route, an oval that went around the coffee table in the middle of the room. He’d walked this path so often that the carpet under his feet had actually discolored a little, making the oval visible even to visitors. Like Padme, who was watching him from her spot on the loveseat, feet curled under her and looking completely comfortable.
When he made eye contact with her, she just gave him a flat look.
“UGH!" Anakin yelled. “I just, ugh, I’m gonna go bake something.”
And he stomped off his path to detour into the kitchen. He pulled the paper bag of bread flour from the cupboard along with several packages of yeast and a sack of sugar. Padme watched with a bemused expression, still not commenting even though Anakin was sure she had a comment or two to make. He ignored her persistent stare and continued.
After dumping several cups of flour into the stand mixer with the yeast, some sugar, and a generous pinch of salt, he cracked in an egg and threw in a stick of butter before turning the mixer on. He had to hold the mixer in place as it started trying to slowly rock its way across the counter, but after about five minutes of mixing with the bread hook and an added splash of milk, the dough looked like about the right consistency. He removed the mixing bowl and covered it with some clear wrap before huffing and returning to his pacing.
He was still refusing to look at Padme and her beautiful judge-y face, so he ignored her as he alternated between pacing and slinking into the kitchen to watch impatiently as the dough slowly rose over the course of the next hour.
Well, more like 45 minutes. Close enough.
When the dough had about doubled in size, he took great pleasure in using his flesh hand to punch the burgeoning dough down and push the air out, deflating it like a balloon. From there he carefully formed two dozen rolls, rounding out the balls in his palms and pushing them through the ring of his fingers to make them smooth on top. By the time he was carefully placing the balls of dough on baking sheets, he’d calmed down significantly. And also gotten flour everywhere. He’d clean that up later.
Leaving the rolls to rise again, he returned to flop on the carpet in front of Padme’s seat, humming when she reached down to pet his hair, injured pride forgotten for now. From there it was a quick half an hour before he returned to the kitchen to quickly whip together an egg wash: a mix of warm milk and beaten egg that he brushed over the top of the rolls with the corner of a paper towel, because he’d never bothered to buy an actual pastry brush.
He was crouched on the floor in front of the oven, watching them bake through the little window, when there was a thud at the door.
“It’s open!” he yelled, and Ahsoka burst in.
“I smell bread,” she announced as she entered. She saw the top of Anakin’s head over the counter and walked around it to join him in the tiny kitchen space. “Oh hells yes,” she said as she peered into the oven with him. “Also, hey, you have flour on your face.”
He pulled up the hem of his shirt and swiped at his face. “Better?”
Her face twitched in a way that he was pretty sure meant she thought he was a combination of idiotic and amusing, but she didn’t actually answer his question. Oh well.
"They’re almost done. Can you pull out the cooling racks?”
“Sure thing.” Ahsoka managed to pull the collapsible racks and set them up on the counter just as Anakin pulled the baking sheets out, rolls golden brown and wafting steam. The racks were momentarily forgotten as Anakin scooped up three rolls, tossing one to Ahsoka and leaning across the counter to throw another to Padme, still on the loveseat.
“Do not,” Padme interrupted before he could make the throw. “Just come over here and hand it to me. Honestly, Ani.”
So they congregated in the living area, Ahsoka claiming the other spot on the loveseat and Anakin returning to his seat on the floor in front. Anakin watched his friends bite into their own rolls before he took a bite of his own. While the tops of the rolls were a shiny golden brown from the egg wash, the bottoms were a pale yellow and the inside was creamy white from the milk.
“Ugh, it’s so good,” Ahsoka said immediately, despite the half-chewed bread in her mouth.
Padme hummed her agreement, then gave Anakin a sharp look before he could also talk with his mouth full.
Dutifully, he swallowed his bite before speaking. “It was my mom’s recipe.” He shrugged. “I dunno, baking it makes me feel better, sometimes, when I get frustrated.”
“Kill another vacuum?” Ahsoka asked, eyeing the bits still strewn at the edges of the oval.
“I don’t understand,” said Padme, who had already finished her roll and wiped her mouth with a napkin (where had she even gotten it from? Anakin just used paper towels when he needed napkins). “How can you fix just about anything mechanical except for vacuum cleaners? It makes no sense.”
“Vacuums,” Anakin muttered darkly, and shoved the rest of his roll in his mouth. He wiped his hands on the knees of his pants and stood to move the rest of the rolls to the cooling racks while he remembered. Ahsoka held her hands up in a here! motion while Padme was distracted digging for something in her bag, so Anakin threw her another one. She’d managed to stuff the whole thing in her mouth by the time Padme sat back up, but her cheeks were chipmunk-round around the sheepish smile she gave to the other woman.
Padme just shook her head. “It’s a lovely recipe, Ani. The crumb is perfect.” She didn’t comment on Ahsoka’s manners, which seemed unfair given the frequency that she commented on Anakin’s. Whatever. Ahsoka was great. Padme was great.
He really did feel a lot better after baking.
“Really, Padme? The crumb? Can’t you just say it tastes good?”
“Oh, that reminds me!” Ahsoka interjected before Padme could respond. “I meant to ask, Skyguy, do you know Obi-Wan Kenobi?”
Two things happened simultaneously: Anakin made a prolonged hissing breath, and Padme rolled her eyes and muttered, “Oh, here we go.”
“He’s that pretentious food blogger, yeah, I’ve heard of him.”
Ahsoka seemed a bit put out by the reaction. “Pretentious?”
“Yeah, I mean, have you seen the pancakes recipe he put up? It’s so ridiculous. It’s pancakes, who needs toasted pecans for that? And why make them so small?”
Padme sighed and stood from her seat to close the laptop she’d had open on the coffee table, most likely grading student’s papers. As she started packing it back into her bag, she nudged Anakin’s knee with her foot. “Didn’t you use his tutorial for making flowers out of strawberries, that one time? You have to admit he’s very good at what he does.”
Anakin made a cutting motion through the air with his hand. “Irrelevant. Pretentious. Hey, take some rolls with you.”
Although the comment had been directed at Padme, Ahsoka immediately leapt to her feet. “Seriously?” she asked, even as she moved to the kitchen and pulled out one of the large tupperware containers from his overcrowded plastic container storage cupboard.
“Well yeah, that’s the point of making rolls. They’re for sharing.”
“You’re the best!” She started cramming rolls into the tub.
A fond smile pulled at Anakin’s mouth. “Anyway. The only thing I need to know about Obi-Wan Kenobi is how he makes a grilled cheese sandwich. And you know how he makes one?” He paused, mostly for effect since neither member of his audience bothered to ask how? “He spreads butter on one side of each piece of bread before he puts it in the pan.”
“Okaaaaay…?”
“Spreadable butter!” Anakin exclaimed, waving his arms. “That’s ridiculous! Just put a pat of butter in the pan while it’s heating up and soak it up with the bread when you put it in! Spreadable butter. Ugh.”
Both women stared at him.
“I don’t get it,” Ahsoka informed him bluntly.
“Tch.” He shook his head and flopped over so he was lying on his back on the carpet. Granted, when he made grilled cheese he had to balance the half-grilled sandwich up on whatever utensil he was using, which was sometimes a butter knife, so he could melt more butter in the pan before he could flip the sandwich to the other side. Or sometimes rather than trying to balance it while he attempted to get more butter melted, he just held the whole thing in his prosthetic hand. Was it the most dignified way to grill a sandwich? Maybe not. Was it delicious, and not at all pretentious, like some methods were? Definitely.
“Anyway,” Padme said as she hoisted her bag, “maybe you should keep an open mind, hm? I’m sure he’s not that bad.” For some reason, she shot a weird look at Ahsoka in the kitchen, who shrugged in return.
Anakin made a rude noise, which just made Padme dig her foot into his ribs and step on him on her way to the door. Oof. Ahsoka joined her in the entranceway, reaching over to stash the tub of rolls into Padme’s bag.
“We’ll see you later, Skyguy!”
“You just got here,” he grumbled, but stood up to give both of them a quick hug. He would have told them they could just stay and do Snips’ thesis stuff here, but knew from experience they would just distract each other, even under the watchful eye of the polisci professor.
“Yes, well, Ahsoka got here late,” Padme explained.
“I got distracted!”
Padme just sighed. “Double dipping,” she muttered, then gave Anakin a soft kiss on the cheek before exiting the apartment.
Ahsoka followed, waving goodbye, and he could hear her saying, “Oooh, we should get some chips and dip from that place down the street.”
“You just ate! How are you still hungry?”
Anakin smiled, and closed the door after them.
One floor down:
Obi-Wan had just finished washing the last of the dishes when there was another knock on the door. Drying his hands with a tea towel, he opened it to find Padme, with Ahsoka right behind her.
“Hey Obi-Wan!” was Ahsoka’s enthusiastic greeting, as if he hadn’t just seen her less than half an hour ago.
“Hello, Obi-Wan.” Padme was more reserved, but her smile was sweet and genuine. “We’re on our way out to work on Ahsoka’s project, but we were visiting a friend in the building and I wanted to make sure to say hello to you, too.”
They chatted for less than five minutes, mostly small talk, before Padme excused them. As they were headed down the hall, Ahsoka turned and called back to him.
“You should try making that bread recipe into rolls! That way they’d be easy to share, and maybe you could take some into your actual office sometime!”
He couldn’t see Padme’s expression but he could picture exactly how hard she would be rolling her eyes in the face of Ahsoka’s infamous appetite.
Obi-Wan just smiled and waved, closing the door.
Turn Dex’s bread recipe into rolls...now there was an idea.
And he wondered who it was that Padme knew who lived in the same apartment building.