I’ve wanted to visit this local bakery in our town ever since it opened three years ago. Per my MO, since it wasn’t on my way to anything and I couldn’t get anything but bread there and I don’t like to leave the house, I put it off — for three years.
Well, this past weekend, I decided it was time to go. My motivation for going out of my way was three-fold: we had an event to go to and I wouldn’t have time to make my own bread, I didn’t feel like making bread, and I wanted to see what bread from a real, professional, artisan bakery was like.
I’ve been making sourdough bread for just slightly longer than this bakery has been open and to be honest, I have no idea if I’m doing it “right,” if there is, in fact, a “right” way to do it. The longer I bake and the more books I read, the less convinced I am that there is any “right way.”
When I first started making sourdough bread, it wasn’t something I wanted to do at all. I was kind of mad about it actually. Like I needed one more thing to do. I felt forced to learn because I wanted affordable, healthy bread, and well, it seems those two terms are incompatible with each other in today’s world. So, I decided to learn.
Fast forward and I guess you could say it’s turned into a sort of obsession. If you were to visit our apartment, there’s a good chance you’d find me sitting on the sofa or laying in bed bread book in hand. So many of the authors of these books go on these amazing bread pilgrimages across Europe and the rest of the world, and I find myself wanting to go on my own pilgrimages to taste and see what bread from across the world is like and how different cultures make and bake it. Well, might as well start close to home, right? it was time to make my first bread pilgrimage, fifteen minutes down the road to the local bakery.
It was a Friday so I knew I needed to hit it during the morning before it got too busy with people kicking off their weekend early. I didn’t just want to buy some bread, I wanted to take a look around and observe what a real bakery is like. But apparently, people don’t work anymore in this town. They just go hang out at the local coffee shops, hip local grocery stores, and apparently, the local bakery. It was 9:30 and busier than a school of fish.
I stepped over to the side of the small entry to read the menu board as people swirled around me. I spotted what I wanted to ask for, the traditional country loaf, and turned toward the counter where a beautiful wood and glass case held an assortment of beautiful pastries. I already knew what I wanted from that too thanks to the bakery’s advertising on Instagram, but that didn’t keep me from being overwhelmed and awed at the incredible selection on display. It was like looking at a case of jewels at a jewelry counter, only better.
My overwhelm over the people and pastries must have shown.
“There’s a lot to take in.”
I looked up to see a guy with glasses and a name tag that said Julian.
“There sure is.” I said and looked back down to assess the situation and make sure I didn’t need to change my mind about the choice I’d made before entering the small shop.
He gave me the run down of the items in the case and I gave him my order, the one I’d planned on ahead of time.
“Is this your first time in?”
“Yeah it is.”
“How’d you hear about us?”
“I see you guys on Instagram all the time and wanted to come check it out”
He proceeded to tell me about one customer that comes in every week to get a ham and butter sandwich on a baguette. If you’re bread obsessed than you know that this is something you’d find in a French bakery, or boulangerie, as they’re called over there.
“We love being able to be a part of someone’s routine every week. We hope you’ll come back in.”
He didn’t need to convince me. I’d already heard about and spotted the baguette sandwiches and planned to come back for a second pilgrimage.
I took a quick glance at the hustle and bustle going on in the back of the bakery while the clerk punched my order into the iPad. I wanted to stand there and watch like a kid at an aquarium. Instead, the cashier swung the iPad around, and I tapped my card, asked for a receipt (since no-one likes to give you one anymore), took my brown bag of bread, and left.
Back out on the sidewalk, I felt slightly bummed. Although I’d procured the goods I came for, I didn’t procure the experience. I hadn’t expected so many people or choices, and per another one of my MO’s, I ducked and ran. Too many people.
It’s alright though. I’m already planning a second pilgrimage for the ham and butter baguette and probably a coffee from the fancy coffee machine I spotted to the right of the checkout. Also, there’s a lot of pastries I’m going to need to work my way through, which means more pilgrimages.
I know what to expect now, a buzzing little bakery with lots of people swarming around like schools of fish, busy bakers to watch, and lots of pastries to try.
Oh, and maybe being greeted and served by the owner, whose name happens to be Julian.
Don’t you worry, Julian. Even in the midst of my overwhelm and rush, I managed to scope out the perfect seat in the corner by the window to sit back and watch. I’ll be back, and. who knows, maybe your charming, busy little bakery will become a part of my weekly routine.
