sitting at the French Co. Grocer the other day, watching the wind storms swirl giant tumbleweeds down the pavement, and the Glass Mountain tops smoggy with desert dust, a couple strolled in from the elements. at checkout the lady asked about the $50 minimum credit card purchase. i briefly explained the thievery of the corporate money pigs, and she whole heartedly agreed...saying how she owns a bakery in Anchorage, Alaska...how she works her butt off and every year pays at least $1000 in credit card transaction fees. my ears perked at the sound of a rustic bakery, and i immediately and completely discarded the prior conversation about the devil, asking more about this bakery. very humbly, i told her i was a baker..although honestly and sadly, i drop that title now...she gave me her card and invited me to Anchorage...IF i ever go to Alaska. IF??!! there is no "if". i'm going. she handed me her card and we said adieu.
Fire Island Rustic Bakeshop brought a little sparkle to my heart...all those crusty, slashed, 1/2 inch thick breads...crystally sugar topped tarts...local, fresh, organic ingredients...i could almost smell that intoxicating fresh baked aroma...it almost makes being a glutton ok. although i've had my fill of being a business owner in the food service industry, i decided that as a retirement project i will open a bakery one day. the right way...for the purpose of enjoyment, not for income.
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