Baked Goods

Baked goods are near and dear to me in my life. When my family and I first moved to Bermuda I had a lot of trouble adjusting to life there so my mom would take me and my sister every Friday after school to an amazing bakery as a treat. Perhaps I am remembering it inaccurately but I recall this bakery as a little, limestone, square building occupying a spot in the fairway that divided the east and west flowing traffic of the only highway on the island. Without fail I always got a bottle of orange Crush and an apple tart and it was pure bliss. I savoured every crumb of that apple tart, licked every sticky finger and always lamented the fact that there wasn't more to enjoy as soon as it was gone. In the absence of an energetic social life at the age of 10 I looked forward to 'Bakery-Pit stop-Fridays' in the same way that I now look forward to happy hour after a long day at work.

This is probably why I have trouble walking by a bakery without pressing my nose up against the glass in my adult years. I had been resisting stopping in at the bakery located one block away from us, knowing that it would be a Pandora's Box of sorts, unleashing a flood of uncontrollable cravings. One Sunday afternoon the smell of fresh baked goods was just too powerful to resist and I found myself in there, mouth agape and eyes darting from shelf to shelf trying to mentally process the plethora of baked goods that rested on every available space. Heaps of croissants, buns, strawberry, ricotta, and marmalade frosted danishes, tarts and tartlettes, dulce de leche cookies, donuts, fried dough, chocolate, vanilla, assorted fruit and cheesecakes as far as the eye could see! I didn't get anything that day because it was too overwhelming, like someone who goes from having nothing to everything in an instant, I just didn't know what to do with myself so I left.

Unluckily for me I work very early in the morning, every morning, and must be confronted by the waft from the bakery almost everyday as the pastries start coming out of the oven. Like sailors to the siren's call it wasn't long before I found myself shipwrecked in there again, but this time with a plan. I bought an assortment of nearly everything and took them home to devour with Graham, and devour them we did. Since that fateful first day one or both of us have been in there almost everyday to pick up a little pick-me-up, and the rate of days I go to the gym has increased proportionally. One of the bakers even knows us by sight now, and although I can't exactly understand him, I'm sure he looks forward to seeing us as much as we look forward to buying from him, like the relationship that exists between addicts and their dealer.

Pastry Shop Creeper

One of my favorite things to do abroad is to sample the local cuisine and I hardly miss an opportunity to do so, especially when it comes to amazing sweets and pastries. The downside of this obsession is that I've gained a noticeable amount of weight since I've been here and recently suffered through a week of mental anguish before I decided that I needed to cut back a bit. Yesterday was my first real day of dieting and the first day always seems to be the hardest. It's as if everywhere you look there's a new pastry shop, or ice cream store, or pasta place where the day before there had been none. This was the situation last night when Graham and I walked by this pastry shop after dinner. We walked up to it, the window was all aglow and beckoning me to feast my eyes upon its bounty. Macaroons of every color sat in the display case, carrot cakes crouched under the weight of a cream cheese icing spread fiendishly thick, packaged cookies of different varieties lined the opposite wall. My hand unconsciously pressed up against the glass and I was leaving a cloud of vapor on the window with my breath. Suddenly the shopkeeper came out from the back of the store and saw me standing there. (The moment pictured above.) Caught off guard I gasped and jumped off his door step, ashamed that he had caught me salivating on his glass window. He strode towards the door quickly and I thought I was about to get into trouble, and I think Graham picked up on this because he put down his camera and we both started backing away from the shop. The guy unlocked the door and said "It's okay, you can take pictures, would you like to come in?" Graham said sure and I followed behind him sheepishly, still embarrassed.

Inside was even better than looking in from the outside. Afraid of what I might do I stood against the back wall with my hands behind my back while Graham perused the counter, and to my chagrin/delight, he bought a macaroon in every color.