Summary:

He went silent again, his brow furrowed so hard it looked painful. Suddenly, his eyes lit up. He stood up, his hockey gear clanking loudly. "I have it. I see on internet. A man. He has jar. He has bubbles." Shane blinked. "Bubbles? Like... a fish?" "No," Ilya said, pacing the room like a caged bear. "He make life from dust. He mix powder and water. He wait. He feed it like baby. Then... BREAD." "Oh so baking, you want to try baking bread?" Shane asked skeptically. "Not just bake, Shane. Sourdough. Is complex. Is science. Is war with yeast." Ilya's voice grew passionate, his Russian accent thickening. "It is sour, like my childhood. It is hard crust, like my heart."