The marble came first.
Before the kitchen, before the bamboo baskets, before the twelve-fold rule, there was a slab of marble. A scrap, really — off-cut from a stonemason on Pasang Lahmu Marga. Cold to the touch even at noon. We carried it home across the road.
Marble keeps the dough relaxed. Plastic warms; wood absorbs; steel sticks. Marble does nothing — and that is exactly what dough needs. We dust it with rice flour, work it cold, fold it quickly. Twelve pleats per momo. We have never managed eleven, and we have never needed thirteen.