greetings, from the land of falling leaves, open fields and free-range cows. as usual, this is a post long overdue, but this is a rare evening when i find myself home before bedtime, so i'll take my best stab at it.
before we moved up here, when i told people we'd bought a bakery and were leaving the city, a flattering number of people asked me if i'd keep up blogging. my answer was some variation of, "absolutely! probably more often!"
oh, young audrey. you were so innocent. so naive. that was when i thought working eleven hours and coming home to cook dinner was a long day. these days it's pretty much all i can do to get 8 hours of sleep between getting to work at 6 am and leaving at 8 or 9.
there's lots of good news. i'm so proud of the pastry case - when we came in, most everything was at least partially, if not entirely, pre-made. i've been able to switch over to not only making 'most everything entirely from scratch, but i've added a laundry list of things to the menu - jars of cookies line the top of the case, new flavors of french macarons sit beneath a glass cloche every day, and despite the ridiculous headache it's been, i make sourdough from scratch just about daily. we've even been able to start to make some changes to the café side of things - between sam and i, we've got two housemade soups on the menu every day, and have started testing out specials that we'll hopefully add to a new menu before long. somehow in there, we've started some little design changes - ball jars for glasses, taking down the awful curtains, hanging my collection of bundt pans. our plan is to give the place a final re-vamping in january or february - change the name, change the menu and do a few big face-lifty things like painting the walls and changing the display case.
there are hard days, too, of course. working 15+ hours a day can make anyone snippy, and i think sam and i have each said things to each other that we wish we hadn't; and as much as selling out of things is exhilarating, there is a moment some saturday afternoons when i take a look in the quickly-emptying pastry case and my heart sinks because i know i won't be going home for a loooong time. these are good problems. sam is a man of endless patience and quick apologies, and i truly think any squabbles we've had have only left us stronger; and of course, selling out of pastries is a very good problem for a bakery owner to have. we are so fortunate to have our place to come home to - the coziest of cottages, right on one of the most beautiful lakes in the northeast, warmed by a pellet stove and furnished with little but a giant bed and extremely comfy couch. even stepping outside every morning before light breaks, i'm treated to the most amazing view of the stars - i feel incredibly blessed to be here.
so - here we are. the tired cliché says that a picture is worth a thousand words, and this tired lady is hoping that's true - here are more than you could ask for, of the bakery, the food, and our little house.
this is the view standing at our driveway and looking across the street.
and the backyard. . .
. . . which has a bunny infestation.
and of course, the food.
all right - ttfn, and more from me as for as i can manage it. thanks so much to all of you for your kind words, here and elsewhere, and for sticking with me through all this!
1 hour ago