I followed a warm, toasty scent into the kitchen and climbed up a wooden stool to see the wide white counter. Right next to the bamboo breadbox, someone had dropped a single pinch of flour and left behind a clean linen pastry brush. Curious, I took the tiny wooden handle in both hands and gently swept the soft, pale bristles across the counter. The scattered flour swept into one smooth, velvety white mound that felt like soft powdered sugar beneath my plush fingertips.