the Artisan Bakery

Tell me, am I the only one that slows his pace long enough to make imaginary eye contact with that perfectly formed, golden & crusty loaf of “whatever it’s called,” just before passing by? Do you know what I’m speaking of? The one that’s always stretched out like a model on a chaise lounge within the basket, the one next to one o’clock beside the slightly too-sour small-ish loaf that’s just a little too pale to move? If not, pay attention – the game is on. It’s better to arrive early knowing exactly what you want or you might risk taking off with more than you should. You know what I’m talking about. There are consequences. Of special note:  the Sour Cherry Clafoutis is off the hook… and usually gone by eleven.

How I love to love the Epi at noon, the Pain au Levain at two, the skinny non-sour Baguette at three, and whatever else is left just after four. I am by nature, fairly picky, but willing to sacrifice my desire of the specific for something new when it comes to the carbohydrate heaven known within the artisan bakery. Call me crazy. Nothing makes me bite my lip more than the deeply scored outer surface of the perfectly formed Batard.

Where else can you fantasize about Madeleine’s and Earl Grey and of Proust or of Financier’s, Palmier’s, or of Canele de Bordeaux? Can you tell how much I enjoy distraction? The tiny hazelnut shortbread and chocolate-dipped anise biscotti conveniently placed next to the black and white checkerboard butter cookies or raspberry thumbprints (powdered ever so lightly) with confectioner’s sugar?! Dare I say, “I’ll take one of each?”

I think I’ll stop now or I might actually plan a trip for a half dozen brioche within the hour.  I should however mention that carbohydrates, like sugar, “drink,” or any number of life’s more worthy sins, are meant to be enjoyed, within moderation of course, so go ahead…