in the bakery
I have been away visiting my best friend and his cousin, who owns a French bakery up in Crown Point NY, which is right on the border, practically, of Quebec. I had a blast helping Yannig (his name is an old Breton one, from his dad’s side) to bake his artisanal bread in the great stone oven he built by hand, even though it was like 110 degrees in the bakery. To the right you can see Laurel, my best friend Robert’s girlfriend, getting ready to load unbaked dough into the oven. When the oven door opens, a blast of fragrance explodes out with the incredible heat, redolent of woodsmoke, whatever spices and fruits may be in the bread and pastries inside, and the yeasty, supremely comforting fragrance of baking bread. when the bread comes out of the oven, my nose can differentiate between the different kinds; Crown Point Bread’s signature pain rustique,with its hearty, full, wheaty smell, the more delicate, tantalizing odor of baguettes, and, the absolutely irresisti