"But it doesn't matter if you make money, you're doing what you love!" says a customer, with wide-eyed sincerity. And had I not heard some version of this sentiment many times before, directed at me, at farmers, at artists, writers, musicians, and craftspeople, I might have been dumbstruck. Instead I offer them a tight smile, thank them for their purchase, and move on. Or try to. The comment, familiar as it is, itches in my head for the rest of the day. The thing is, had they said I couldn't expect to make money on a small business, I would have laughed and agreed. But no one ever says, "it doesn't matter if you make money, you own a business!" No, it's the romantic dream of our work that exempts us from the need to make a living, the Instagram glamour of bright kitchens and prettily floured aprons, or tidy farm fields catching the morning sun. If we did a better job showing the grubby, exhausting, often ugly reality of the work would people feel differently? Or would they avert their eyes so they could keep dreaming of hobby farms and cottage kitchens, unsullied by anything so prosaic as profit margins and unpaid bills? Anyways, while I was stewing over that off-hand comment, I came up with a new bread for market. It's a Tyrolean rye, or at least my ignorant interpretation of what such a bread might be, inspired by the little jar of blue fenugreek that Uprising Seeds gave me from their seed trial. I'll have it out for sampling today, in no small part so I can sample it myself! I also have Mountain Rye, some especially handsome wheat breads, raspberry & lebni tarts, cardamom & black sesame palmiers, and the usual pastry lineup.
See you at the market. Sophie The sound of the rain makes me want to crawl back into bed with a mug of tea and a book, so believe me, I understand your desire to stay inside and cozy on this wet Saturday, but oh! I have so many treats for you. Cherry hand pies, raspberry lime tarts, lemon poppy seed pound cake, garden pesto twists, and this week's lovely bread experiment: a wild & seedy loaf. They're worth the trip to market, I promise.
Sophie When people write asking to come learn bread baking from me, which they do, now and again, I always have to hold back my immediate baffled negative. Because, what? You want to learn from me? Half the time I still feel like I'm fumbling wildly through the dark of my ignorance, and the other half, just barely getting by on two years of accumulated mistakes. I'm not a real baker, I'm tempted to tell them. Don't be fooled by website, or the farmers market stand, or the loaf that sent you knocking at my (metaphorical) door. I still wonder, sometimes, if I chose the right approach: gambling on a business for which I had no professional background, daring myself to fail publicly and repeatedly, when I've always been more inclined towards caution and meticulous preparation. But I think it's been good for me to practice my (calculated) risk taking, to learn to be motivated, rather than overwhelmed, by failure. And I've realized, talking to other young bakers, that I've learned more and more quickly in my two years of ignorant flailing than I likely could have working on the production line in someone else's bakery. Backwards, my way may be, but it's been an effective way to learn. And besides, most of the bakers I look up to, the ones I consider Real Bakers, have been at it for a decade or three. In another eight to twenty eight years, I imagine, I, too, will know rather a lot about bread. If only my potential visitors were willing to wait. Anyways, that's what I've been thinking about in the kitchen this week. Along with where to glean pie cherries, how to wrestle greater production out of my little oven, and what I can eat for lunch besides cookies (it's really hard to take the time to make real food in the middle of a busy baking day when I'm surrounded by mountains of pastry!). It may start raining by the time the farmers market opens, but come anyways. I have Polenta bread, along with Red & White, Rosemary Sea Salt, and Mountain Rye. Strawberry rhubarb turnovers, some lovely garden pesto twists, and the usual lineup of sweet treats. (I'm sure, given more time, I could come up with some clever metaphor about light and learning to go with this picture, but I'm late for market so you'll have to insert your own)
I won't normally send two emails a week, but just this week I wanted to remind you that the Fairhaven summer farmers market starts today. I'll be there from noon to five every Wednesday through August. If you were too late for strawberry rhubarb turnovers last weekend, need to restock the bread box, or just want to say hi, stop on by!
Wednesday Market: Fairhaven Village Green, below Village Books, 12pm - 5 pm |
BY SUBJECT
All
|