Back to the Bakery (Encore)

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Speaker 1 Welcome to bedtime stories for everyone

Speaker 1 in which

Speaker 1 nothing much happens.

Speaker 1 You feel good

Speaker 1 and then

Speaker 1 you fall asleep.

Speaker 1 I'm Catherine Nikolai.

Speaker 1 I write and read all the stories you hear on Nothing Much Happens.

Speaker 1 Audio Engineering is by Bob Wittersheim.

Speaker 1 We are bringing you an encore episode tonight, meaning that this story originally aired at some point in the past. It could have been recorded with different equipment in a different location.

Speaker 1 And since I'm a person and not a computer, I sometimes sound just slightly different.

Speaker 1 but the stories are always soothing and family-friendly, and our wishes for you are always deep rest and sweet dreams.

Speaker 1 Now,

Speaker 1 every episode is someone's first.

Speaker 1 So let me say a little about how this works.

Speaker 1 Your mind needs a track to run on.

Speaker 1 Without one, it's likely to run away from you and keep you up all night.

Speaker 1 The story is that track.

Speaker 1 And just by listening, you'll shift your mind onto it.

Speaker 1 It'll take you someplace simple and relaxing.

Speaker 1 I'll tell the story twice,

Speaker 1 and I'll go a little slower the second time through.

Speaker 1 If you wake in the middle of the night, You can get right back on track just by thinking your way through any part of the story that you can remember.

Speaker 1 This is brain training, and it will get easier and faster the longer you practice it.

Speaker 1 Our story tonight is called Back to the Bakery.

Speaker 1 And it's a story about the early morning preparations made in the kitchen before the village of Nothing Much wakes.

Speaker 1 It's also about a kitty with a crooked tail,

Speaker 1 hot doughnuts set out on a tray,

Speaker 1 and a summer pick-me-up made with love.

Speaker 1 Now,

Speaker 1 let's settle in.

Speaker 1 Turn off the light.

Speaker 1 Set down anything you're carrying.

Speaker 1 Even better,

Speaker 1 you can hand it to me.

Speaker 1 I'll keep watch for the night.

Speaker 1 You can let go,

Speaker 1 get comfortable, and take a deep breath in through the nose

Speaker 1 and sigh from the mouth.

Speaker 1 One more in

Speaker 1 and out.

Speaker 1 Good

Speaker 1 Back to the bakery.

Speaker 1 In the kitchen behind the wall of bread baskets,

Speaker 1 where we slot fresh baguettes and shiabadas and pyramids of rolls into place each morning.

Speaker 1 There is a long, flowery workbench

Speaker 1 and a row of deep ovens that start heating before the village is awake.

Speaker 1 There is a long row of aprons on hooks,

Speaker 1 open shelves with dozens of mixing bowls.

Speaker 1 Tall pitchers full of every kind and shape of spatula and mixing spoon and dusting wand.

Speaker 1 And a broad, cool slab of marble to roll pastries on.

Speaker 1 Over the years, I'd learned how to time the proving and chilling

Speaker 1 so that a lot of prep work happens in the afternoons,

Speaker 1 unless while I'm still rubbing the sleep from my eyes at the crack of dawn.

Speaker 1 Still,

Speaker 1 I am an early riser.

Speaker 1 Either by nature, perhaps I was a baker down deep in my jeans,

Speaker 1 or at this point purely from habit,

Speaker 1 and never mind unlocking the door while most of the village slept.

Speaker 1 Today had been no different.

Speaker 1 A cool, quiet morning

Speaker 1 as I'd walked through the back alley just before dawn,

Speaker 1 I recognized the kitty with the crooked tail,

Speaker 1 who was often stretched out in the front window of the tea shop,

Speaker 1 sitting now on a crate behind the bookstore.

Speaker 1 I think he got his breakfast there most days.

Speaker 1 And though I called out in a low voice to him he didn't stop his morning ablutions to so much as look at me

Speaker 1 I laughed thinking of that old Nan Porter line

Speaker 1 that if cats could talk

Speaker 1 they wouldn't

Speaker 1 I found my key on the ring

Speaker 1 and jiggled it into into the old lock

Speaker 1 until it turned

Speaker 1 and stepped into the kitchen.

Speaker 1 I had a routine

Speaker 1 coffee first.

Speaker 1 Luckily, the me from the day before

Speaker 1 had been looking out for the me of this morning.

Speaker 1 So the drip machine was ready, ready.

Speaker 1 fresh grounds in the basket, and the reservoir filled with water, waiting to become something even more vital.

Speaker 1 I pushed the button and tied on my apron,

Speaker 1 and went hunting for my favorite cup,

Speaker 1 while the pot perked companionably on the counter.

Speaker 1 When my cup was full,

Speaker 1 I pulled up on a stool by the register

Speaker 1 with a pad of paper

Speaker 1 and a sturdy black marker

Speaker 1 to make my morning punch list.

Speaker 1 It was a Friday.

Speaker 1 I was nearly sure, and I pulled my calendar closer to confirm.

Speaker 1 Yes,

Speaker 1 Friday.

Speaker 1 So we'd need plenty of bagels and muffins for the breakfast crowd

Speaker 1 as they bustled in before work.

Speaker 1 I had trays of bagels in the fridge,

Speaker 1 formed and risen, ready to be pulled out.

Speaker 1 And when they'd reached room temperature, briefly poached

Speaker 1 before being slid into the oven.

Speaker 1 I'd make some with sesame seeds,

Speaker 1 some with a crust of crunchy salt,

Speaker 1 and some with swirls of cinnamon and raisins baked inside.

Speaker 1 The muffins I could mix with my eyes closed.

Speaker 1 The fresh strawberries had run out the week before.

Speaker 1 But now we had blueberries from a farm outside of town.

Speaker 1 And I thought they'd go perfectly with the candied Yuzu zest and ginger syrup I had in the pantry.

Speaker 1 I always made a tray of lemon poppy seed.

Speaker 1 They were classics

Speaker 1 and the go-to for lots of morning regulars.

Speaker 1 In a few more weeks, the cases of zucchini would start showing up,

Speaker 1 and I'd be making loaves and muffin tins full of the sweet, dense bread

Speaker 1 they lent themselves to so well.

Speaker 1 I'd check my shelves for the dark chocolate chunks I liked to fold in with the grated zucchini.

Speaker 1 Along with the fruit itself

Speaker 1 would come a few precious boxes of the flowers,

Speaker 1 which we'd dip in batter and fry off,

Speaker 1 wrapping them in wax paper and handing them out for afternoon snacks.

Speaker 1 Oh, I'd gotten distracted thinking of zucchini.

Speaker 1 I tapped my marker on the pad.

Speaker 1 What came after muffins?

Speaker 1 Bread.

Speaker 1 Always bread.

Speaker 1 Sourdough

Speaker 1 and pumpernickel.

Speaker 1 And soft, sweet wheat.

Speaker 1 baguettes and chiabada

Speaker 1 that made such good toasted sandwiches,

Speaker 1 and the rolls people bought to go with their salads at lunch,

Speaker 1 and a good lot of pastries as well,

Speaker 1 some filled with jam,

Speaker 1 and others with warm chocolate.

Speaker 1 When I'd taken over this place from the previous owner,

Speaker 1 a man whose baking had inspired me for years,

Speaker 1 he'd encouraged me to push our customers toward new flavors and textures.

Speaker 1 He'd told me that when we started,

Speaker 1 No one wanted anything other than white bread, birthday cakes,

Speaker 1 and a chess pie on Sunday.

Speaker 1 It took time, he said.

Speaker 1 But soon his rye and pumpernickel were bestsellers.

Speaker 1 His pretzels and sesame cookies became parts of traditions for lots of people in the village.

Speaker 1 No one even contemplated getting through New Year's without a box of his flaky cardamom buns.

Speaker 1 It had been the same for me and the pastries.

Speaker 1 No one bought any for the first month.

Speaker 1 They didn't know how to eat them, when and with what.

Speaker 1 But slowly I found myself wrapping more and more in bakery paper,

Speaker 1 passing them across the counter

Speaker 1 to watch customers take immediate bites,

Speaker 1 not wanting to waste a moment of their still warm, flaky deliciousness.

Speaker 1 And nowadays, they were sold out by 10 a.m.

Speaker 1 I just started to sneak pistachio into the mix.

Speaker 1 We'd see how that went.

Speaker 1 I stood up

Speaker 1 and refilled my coffee

Speaker 1 and went into the kitchen.

Speaker 1 I washed my hands and started pulling trays out of the fridge

Speaker 1 and heating the ovens.

Speaker 1 There was an ancient radio,

Speaker 1 old enough to have a tape deck,

Speaker 1 but still working,

Speaker 1 propped up on the shelf over the sink.

Speaker 1 And I reached up on tiptoes to twist the knob.

Speaker 1 When I was younger,

Speaker 1 this station had played the newest music.

Speaker 1 Music that came out on the tapes, that would probably still work in the deck.

Speaker 1 The kind that

Speaker 1 every now and then had to be rewound into their cases

Speaker 1 with a carefully angled pencil.

Speaker 1 But as the years went by,

Speaker 1 the playlists had stayed the same.

Speaker 1 Now, I guessed, these were oldies.

Speaker 1 I didn't mind.

Speaker 1 I liked knowing the words, the drum beats, and the spots where the bridge flowed into the chorus.

Speaker 1 Soon the bagels were coming out,

Speaker 1 the muffins and bread loaves going in.

Speaker 1 I was a few minutes away from flipping the sign on the front door,

Speaker 1 and my morning helpers would be here in a minute,

Speaker 1 tying on their aprons and pouring their own cups of coffee to keep close to their stations.

Speaker 1 Each morning, we filled a few orders for local cafes and diners,

Speaker 1 and I set about laying out their trays.

Speaker 1 I had scraps of paper tacked up on the board above my station,

Speaker 1 with each spot's order,

Speaker 1 though they rarely changed when I knew them by heart.

Speaker 1 As I set out the sliced sandwich bread

Speaker 1 and bagels,

Speaker 1 My first assistant of the morning appeared behind me with a tray of hot doughnuts.

Speaker 1 Time always got away from me in the mornings.

Speaker 1 And I blessed my staff for paying attention to the clock

Speaker 1 and added the doughnuts to the tray.

Speaker 1 I was about to wrap up the last order,

Speaker 1 the one for the diner, kitty corner from our front door,

Speaker 1 when I remembered something special

Speaker 1 I'd made the day before.

Speaker 1 I often slipped a little treat into this order.

Speaker 1 The waitress who came to fetch it each morning was a friend

Speaker 1 and the best test taster we had.

Speaker 1 It had been a week of hot, sunny days,

Speaker 1 and I'd had Tiramisu on my mind,

Speaker 1 served chilled with plenty of espresso-soaked lady fingers

Speaker 1 and a dusting of cocoa powder on top.

Speaker 1 It was the perfect summer boost.

Speaker 1 In fact, its name meant, pick me up.

Speaker 1 I took a tray of it from the freezer

Speaker 1 and used my sharp chef's knife

Speaker 1 to cut out a perfect square.

Speaker 1 It was frozen hard,

Speaker 1 so the layers showed perfectly along the sides.

Speaker 1 And I knew a moment of Baker's pride

Speaker 1 as I slid the square into a paper container,

Speaker 1 which I folded closed,

Speaker 1 and took my marker to write across the top.

Speaker 1 Let sit for ten minutes,

Speaker 1 then have the perfect summer breakfast

Speaker 1 A dash and a scribbled heart,

Speaker 1 and I popped it onto the tray with the rest.

Speaker 1 I heard the bell over the front door ring.

Speaker 1 Another day at the bakery had begun.

Speaker 1 Back

Speaker 1 to the bakery

Speaker 1 in the kitchen

Speaker 1 behind the wall of bread baskets

Speaker 1 where we slot fresh baguettes and chiabadas

Speaker 1 and pyramids of rolls into place each morning.

Speaker 1 There is a long flowery workbench

Speaker 1 and a row of deep ovens

Speaker 1 that start heating before the village is awake.

Speaker 1 There's a long line of aprons on hooks,

Speaker 1 open shelves with dozens of mixing bowls,

Speaker 1 tall pitchers

Speaker 1 full of every kind and shape of spatula, and mixing spoon,

Speaker 1 and dusting wand,

Speaker 1 and a broad, cool slab of marble to roll pastries on.

Speaker 1 Over the years,

Speaker 1 I'd learned how to time the proving

Speaker 1 and chilling

Speaker 1 so that a lot of prep happens in the afternoon,

Speaker 1 unless

Speaker 1 while I am still rubbing the sleep from my eyes

Speaker 1 at the crack of dawn.

Speaker 1 Still,

Speaker 1 I am an early riser,

Speaker 1 Either by nature,

Speaker 1 perhaps I was a baker down deep in my jeans,

Speaker 1 or at this point purely from habit,

Speaker 1 and never mind unlocking the door while most of the village slept.

Speaker 1 Today had been no different.

Speaker 1 A cool, quiet morning.

Speaker 1 As I'd walked through the back alley just before dawn,

Speaker 1 I recognized the kitty

Speaker 1 with the crooked tail

Speaker 1 who often stretched out in the front window of the tea shop,

Speaker 1 sitting now

Speaker 1 on a crate behind the bookstore.

Speaker 1 I think he got his breakfast there most days.

Speaker 1 And though I called out in a low voice to him,

Speaker 1 he didn't stop his morning ablutions

Speaker 1 to so much as look at me

Speaker 1 I laughed

Speaker 1 thinking of that old Nan Porter line

Speaker 1 that if cats could talk

Speaker 1 They wouldn't

Speaker 1 I found my key on the ring

Speaker 1 and jiggled it into the old lock until it turned

Speaker 1 and stepped into the kitchen.

Speaker 1 I had a routine

Speaker 1 coffee first

Speaker 1 Luckily

Speaker 1 the me from the day before

Speaker 1 had been looking out for the me

Speaker 1 of this morning

Speaker 1 So the drip machine was ready,

Speaker 1 fresh grounds in the basket,

Speaker 1 and the reservoir filled with water,

Speaker 1 waiting to become something even more vital.

Speaker 1 I pushed the button

Speaker 1 and tied on my apron

Speaker 1 and went hunting for my favorite cup

Speaker 1 while the pot perked companionably on the counter.

Speaker 1 When my cup was full,

Speaker 1 I pulled up on a stool

Speaker 1 by the register

Speaker 1 with a pad of paper

Speaker 1 and a sturdy black marker

Speaker 1 to make my morning punch list.

Speaker 1 It was a Friday.

Speaker 1 I was nearly sure,

Speaker 1 and I pulled my calendar closer to confirm.

Speaker 1 Yes,

Speaker 1 Friday.

Speaker 1 So we'd need plenty of bagels and muffins for the breakfast crowd

Speaker 1 as they bustled in before work.

Speaker 1 I had trays of bagels in the fridge, formed

Speaker 1 and risen,

Speaker 1 ready to be pulled out,

Speaker 1 and when they reached room temperature,

Speaker 1 briefly poached

Speaker 1 before being slid

Speaker 1 into the oven.

Speaker 1 I'd made some

Speaker 1 with sesame seeds,

Speaker 1 some with a crust of crunchy salt,

Speaker 1 and some with swirls of cinnamon and raisins baked inside.

Speaker 1 the muffins I could mix with my eyes closed

Speaker 1 the fresh strawberries had run out the week before

Speaker 1 but now we had blueberries from a farm outside of town

Speaker 1 And I thought they'd go perfectly

Speaker 1 with the candied Yuzu zest

Speaker 1 and ginger syrup I had in the pantry.

Speaker 1 I always made a tray of lemon poppy seed.

Speaker 1 They were classics

Speaker 1 and the go-to

Speaker 1 for lots of morning regulars.

Speaker 1 In a few more weeks,

Speaker 1 the cases of zucchini

Speaker 1 would start showing up,

Speaker 1 and I'd be making loaves

Speaker 1 and muffin tins full of the sweet, dense bread

Speaker 1 they lent themselves to so well.

Speaker 1 I'd check my shelves

Speaker 1 for the dark chocolate chunks I liked to fold in

Speaker 1 with the grated zucchini,

Speaker 1 along with the fruit itself

Speaker 1 would come a few precious boxes of the flowers,

Speaker 1 which we'd dip in batter

Speaker 1 and fry off,

Speaker 1 wrapping them in wax paper

Speaker 1 and handing them out for afternoon snacks.

Speaker 1 I'd gotten distracted thinking of zucchini.

Speaker 1 I tapped my marker on the pad.

Speaker 1 What came after muffins

Speaker 1 Bread

Speaker 1 always

Speaker 1 bread

Speaker 1 sourdough

Speaker 1 and pumpernickel

Speaker 1 and soft sweet wheat

Speaker 1 baguettes and shiabada

Speaker 1 that made such good toasted sandwiches

Speaker 1 and the rolls people bought

Speaker 1 to go with their salads at lunch,

Speaker 1 and a good lot of pastries as well.

Speaker 1 Some filled with jam,

Speaker 1 and others

Speaker 1 with warm chocolate.

Speaker 1 When I'd taken over this place

Speaker 1 from the previous owner,

Speaker 1 a man whose baking

Speaker 1 had inspired me for years.

Speaker 1 He'd encouraged me

Speaker 1 to push our customers

Speaker 1 toward new flavors

Speaker 1 and textures.

Speaker 1 He told me that when he started,

Speaker 1 no one wanted anything other than white bread,

Speaker 1 birthday cakes,

Speaker 1 and a chess pie on Sunday.

Speaker 1 It took time, he said.

Speaker 1 But soon

Speaker 1 his rye and pumpernickel were bestsellers.

Speaker 1 His pretzels and sesame cookies

Speaker 1 became parts of traditions for lots of people in the village.

Speaker 1 No one even contemplated getting through New Year's without a box of his flaky cardamom buns.

Speaker 1 It had been the same for me and the pastries.

Speaker 1 No one bought any

Speaker 1 for the first month.

Speaker 1 They didn't know how to eat them,

Speaker 1 when

Speaker 1 and with what.

Speaker 1 But slowly,

Speaker 1 I found myself wrapping more and more in bakery paper

Speaker 1 and passing them across the counter

Speaker 1 to watch customers take immediate bites,

Speaker 1 not wanting to waste a moment

Speaker 1 of their still warm, flaky deliciousness.

Speaker 1 And nowadays

Speaker 1 they were always sold out by 10 a.m.

Speaker 1 I just started to sneak pistachio into the mix

Speaker 1 and

Speaker 1 we'd see how that went.

Speaker 1 I stood up

Speaker 1 and refilled my coffee

Speaker 1 and went into the kitchen.

Speaker 1 I washed my hands

Speaker 1 and started pulling trays

Speaker 1 out of the fridge

Speaker 1 and heating the ovens.

Speaker 1 There was an ancient radio

Speaker 1 old enough

Speaker 1 to have a tape deck

Speaker 1 in it,

Speaker 1 but still working,

Speaker 1 propped up on the shelf, over the sink,

Speaker 1 and I reached up on tiptoes

Speaker 1 to twist the knob.

Speaker 1 When I was younger,

Speaker 1 this station had played the newest music.

Speaker 1 Music that came out on the tapes

Speaker 1 that would probably

Speaker 1 still work in the deck.

Speaker 1 The kind that every now and then

Speaker 1 had to be rewound into their cases

Speaker 1 with a carefully angled pencil.

Speaker 1 But as the years went by

Speaker 1 the playlists had stayed the same.

Speaker 1 Now,

Speaker 1 I guessed,

Speaker 1 these were oldies.

Speaker 1 I didn't mind.

Speaker 1 I liked knowing the words,

Speaker 1 the drum beats,

Speaker 1 and the spots where the bridge flowed into the chorus.

Speaker 1 Soon

Speaker 1 the bagels were coming out,

Speaker 1 the muffins and bread loaves going in.

Speaker 1 I was a few minutes minutes away from flipping the sign on the front door,

Speaker 1 and my morning helpers

Speaker 1 would be here

Speaker 1 in a minute,

Speaker 1 tying on their aprons

Speaker 1 and pouring their own cups of coffee

Speaker 1 to keep close to their stations.

Speaker 1 Each morning

Speaker 1 we filled a few orders

Speaker 1 for local cafes

Speaker 1 and diners,

Speaker 1 and I set about

Speaker 1 laying out their trays.

Speaker 1 I had scraps of paper

Speaker 1 tacked up on the board above my station

Speaker 1 with each spot's order,

Speaker 1 though they rarely changed,

Speaker 1 and I knew them all by heart.

Speaker 1 As I set out the sliced sandwich bread and bagels,

Speaker 1 my first assistant of the morning appeared behind me with a tray of hot doughnuts.

Speaker 1 Time always got away from me in the mornings,

Speaker 1 and I blessed my staff for paying attention to the clock

Speaker 1 and added the doughnuts to the tray.

Speaker 1 I was about to wrap up the last order,

Speaker 1 the one for the diner, kitty corner from our front door,

Speaker 1 When I remembered something special

Speaker 1 I'd made the night before.

Speaker 1 I often slipped a little treat

Speaker 1 into this order.

Speaker 1 The waitress who came to fetch it each morning was a friend

Speaker 1 and the best test taster we had.

Speaker 1 It had been a week of hot, sunny days,

Speaker 1 and I'd had Tiramisu

Speaker 1 on my mind,

Speaker 1 served chilled

Speaker 1 with plenty of espresso-soaked lady fingers

Speaker 1 and a dusting of cocoa powder on top.

Speaker 1 It was the perfect summer boost.

Speaker 1 In fact,

Speaker 1 its name meant

Speaker 1 pick-me-up.

Speaker 1 I took a tray of it from the freezer

Speaker 1 and used my sharp chef's knife

Speaker 1 to cut out a perfect square.

Speaker 1 It was frozen hard,

Speaker 1 so the layers showed perfectly along the sides

Speaker 1 and I knew a moment of baker's pride

Speaker 1 as I slid the square into a paper container

Speaker 1 which I folded closed,

Speaker 1 and took out my marker to write across the top.

Speaker 1 Let sit for ten minutes,

Speaker 1 then have the perfect summer breakfast,

Speaker 1 a dash and a scribbled heart,

Speaker 1 and I popped it onto the tray with the rest.

Speaker 1 I heard the bell over the door ring.

Speaker 1 Another day at the bakery had begun.

Speaker 1 Sweet dreams.