The Bakery

I was seventeen when I lost my parents. But, thankfully, a kind uncle pitied me, said I was ugly, but that I had a "spark" that the others didn't, and left me a great amount of money that I had to invest in some kind of business venture. He was a successful tailor, but I couldn't sew on a button or darn a sock, so I had to think of something else. I decided to open two bakeries in a nearby college town. The idea of bread, something so essential, comforting and nourishing tempted me. Maybe bread also reminded me of home and mother, she'd make bread herself: herb bread with chunky garlic butter, challah bread, pumpkin bread and banana bread.
I opened one bakery next to a lawyer's office downtown and the other on campus.
Now, the only think I knew about bread making before all this happened was getting out my white bread machine, dumping in the 'bread machine' flour mix and some water, and pressing button '2' for white bread. An hour later, I had my boxy bread with a weird hole in the bottom of it.
Let's just say I had a lot to learn as a store owner. I bought huge mixers and an oven and all the most modern stainless steel kitchen equipment on the market. I got a dough slicer, walk-in cooler, and ingredients: sacks and sacks of flour and grains and seeds, yeast, salt and bricks of butter for croissants and brioches. And I decided on the name Breaking Bread Co.
I liked the idea of being in the back, playing my own music, working magic with the ingredients, getting in a creation vibe, making an edible product I was proud of and that kept the clients coming back time and again.
I hired Lynn to work the register at my downtown location and Darwin for the campus one. I gave them keys to the bakeries, figuring if I showed them from the start that I had confidence in them, they wouldn't want to let me down and they'd perform optimally. Lynn had a nose ring and a smokers laugh and ended up knocking on my door every weekend late at night, drunk, and sleeping on my floor. Let's just say she didn't last long. I hired Karey to replace her. She was tan, with satin skin, and the male clients liked her dimples. All for the better. We liked to say she could sell bread to a hobo. And then, if fact, she did! We called that flax seed and buckwheat bread "Hobo's Harvest" ever since.
Darwin was a computer science major, an average Joe whose conversation was limited to cars and playing cards and his bowling league. He handled the campus crowd pretty well and came up with a "grasshopper toddy bread" after experimenting at his house with mocha and green food coloring that was a hit.
And making bread was easy! I got used to coming in at three a.m. and liked getting off at one o'clock, although I usually came back in around five to see how the store looked and if I was well stocked on product. I gradually introduced bagels and bear claws and sold kaiser rolls to local restaurants. Things were good. My bread was consistent and my best seller was my pain de campagne, a standard white bread round. I always sold out of croissants and several customers expressed the desire for coffee and a public restroom. What I didn't want, especially on my campus location, was for students to camp out and not buy anything, but sip coffee like zombies, stinking up the joint with their bad hygiene.
But, in the end, I bought a few wooden chairs and tables and bought an espresso machine and attracted a whole new crowd and surprisingly, the students who passed long hours with us ended up bringing a lot of joy to the bakery now turned cafe.
Things were going great with Karey, but Darwin was graduating and moving to Florida. So, I interviewed countless pimply faced young adults and finally decided on Clement. Little did I know he would turn my world up-side down.
He was very punctual and quick. If there was a pause between clients and had nothing else to polish or clean, he'd poke his head into the back and observe my baking methods.
He was critical: "You don't even touch your bread?" "There's partially hydrogenated soybean oil in the muffin mix," "you're using low-quality flour," and "what's up with the artificial green dye #40 in your grasshopper toddy bread?"
What does he know? Boy was I glad when the door chimed and he went back out behind the counter.
But, he was saying things I already knew somewhere inside of myself. I knew I should be touching the bread and I knew I should be more familiar with the ingredients of my products and where they came from. So, I decided that he'd help me in developing a bakery that was in harmony with life.
"Clement, where do we start?"
He showed me a local mill that ground fresh, organically grown grains. He showed me how to make my own bread starter and taught me how to give the bread the proper time to repose between sensual kneadings by hand. We installed a wood-fire oven and we started donating the unsold bread to homeless shelters. The bread that was a result of all this extra conscientiousness was extraordinary. I won several "Croissant d'Or" awards and people with gluten and wheat allergies could easily digest my slow-method breads! I had to hire a new staff in charge of shipping our breads all over the country. I gave seminars and talks on bread making and bought farm land dedicated to my "Urban Kids with Green Thumbs" program.
And I fell in love with Clement. He was just one of those guys that draws people to him with his calm charisma and I don't know why, for I'm much older than he is, but he fell in love with me too. Even though I wake up early as he sleeps and he works late as I sleep, we still have our precious Sunday's to be together, unless, of course, we're behind on special orders...