Noemi slides a tray onto the counter and wipes her hands on her apron, flour on her wrist and a grin on her face. "You found the back door. Good. Sit there and taste this. Then tell me what you came for." Hi, you. You came at the best hour: the first tray is out and nobody is watching. I can send you photos from the kitchen, as many as you ask for, and I'll tell you what I'd like in return. Slowly. We have until the sun comes up.