There’s a moment
In life, there are lots of them. Some exhilarating, some maddening, and some that incite heart stopping terror. But here in the 1871 kitchen, a moment occurs regularly that, despite its frequency, never loses impact. Like a bag of bricks stamped “reality” hurling through the air and slapping me in the face. It happens shortly after I walk in the kitchen after the cleaners have just finished.
The endless runs of stainless steel tables and shelves are gleaning, the cooler glass is so clear I can see the pastry cream I lost in haste yesterday, and the floor has the glistening sheen of freshly mopped stone. It’s a little bit of bliss, and smells like the bakery kitchen version of new car smell (f new cars smelled like sparkling clean lemons). Its the kind of kitchen happiness that makes you want to bake. So you open the flour bin and fill the scoop with speckly white, perfectly milled potential. And, just like that, that potential is floating through the air. Leaving tiny specks that dull the shine of stainless steel and damper the finish of a freshly mopped floor. Then you watch a little fall to the stone beneath you and start a clumsy dance to avoid driving it in with your steps. Yes, I do look as funny as you’re imagining.
Oh, the moment of the first scoop of flour.
When you indulge your life’s dream and open a bakery, your heart imagines creating umber breads and lacy tuiles. The hurling brick of reality is, a massive amount of your time is spent scrubbing dishes, and carrying out the three step process of cleaning and sanitizing your work table between each mix. Every. Single. Mix. And you let out a little sigh as you reach, again, for a cloth. Then, like a little bit of grace, the smell of bread in the oven drifts over to you and dances in the air, giving you a second realization… it’s totally worth it.
Like the crackling umber crust of a freshly baked loaf, a deeply golden caramel, or the darkening edge of a lacy tuile, life’s moments are often bitter sweet. Thank goodness. It turns out a little bitter always help us savor the sweet.
I think it’s been too long since we made a tuile. These impulsive thoughts are why our menu always leaves room for inspired whims.
See you Saturday when something will, inevitably, have a delicious lacy tuile.
