The Ocean at the End of the Lane is the truest story about childhood I've read in a long time. It is a dark fairy tale, a story of monsters and magic, of wonder, and terrible powerlessness of childhood; a story about a time when magic is as likely as any other answer, before the hard edges of facts push the impossible out of the world.
There is a scene early in the book when the little boy sits down to eat in the neighbors' farmhouse kitchen:
"The daffodils sat like patches of sunlight, making that dark wooden kitchen even more cheerful. The floor was made of red and gray flagstones. The walls were whitewashed. The old woman gave me a lump of honeycomb, from the Hempstocks' own beehive, on a chipped saucer, and poured a little cream over it from a jug. I ate it with a spoon, chewing the wax like gum, letting the honey flow into my mouth, sweet and sticky with an aftertaste of wildflowers."
And now, every time I think about pastries, about new recipes, and what I role I want sweets to play in the bakery, I remember that scene. That's what I want in a pastry: comfort, substance, and flavor, with the satisfaction and sensual pleasure of cream running down a honeycomb. I want pastries that belong in a kitchen full of daffodils and sunlight, with a pot simmering on the stove, and muck boots piled, muddy, outside the door. I want pastries for wet fields and mountains, for hard work in all weather, for children in the street on a summer evening, and winter evenings that smell of woodsmoke, for kitchen gardens and old apple trees and bumblebees in the lavender and hyssop. Does that make sense? I can see it all so clearly in my mind.
See you soon.
Owner | Baker
TODAY AT MARKET
Red & White Wheat
Mountain Rye + Vollkornbrot
Malted Chocolate Chip + Bittersweet Cookies
Breakfast Scone (apple butter, raisins, hazelnuts, oats)
Raspberry, Rhubarb, Buckwheat Scone
Lemon Rhubarb Bar
PRE-ORDER for Wednesday 5/30
(place order by Sunday night for Wednesday pickup)
Mountain Rye ($7)