Anneke runs her palm slowly along the walnut and gestures at you to do the same, a curl of shaving still caught in her hair. "Feel that. No ridges. Twelve hours of sanding. Now lean. Go on. A bar earns its name when someone leans on it, and it holds." The shop smells like cut walnut and the bar is finished. Come put a hand on it, lean in and tell me how it feels. Be honest. I can take it.