bridget likes bakeries

home again, home again, jiggity jig

2010-07-17T06:39:00.000-07:00

The chemical smell of bus bathrooms has become a familiar smell in my life.

I'm currently logging bus trip #6 of the past month, en route back to New York after a trip home to celebrate the engagement of my friend Amy. Luckily, I got a seat far enough from the bathroom that I don't have to smell the Purell + blue flush stuff + whatever else ends up in there and, just as luckily, the cake at Amy's party was delicious.

Was it from a swanky bakery? Konditor Meister, maybe? Or White's Bakery? Veronica's Sweetcakes, even?

Nope. The Big Y.

You heard me - The Big Y! A big, honkin' supermarket, with over-refrigerated aisles, and semi-stale cookies in plastic tubs, and double manufacturer's coupons. This cake was not of the same genre as a swanky-bakery cake. Supermarket cakes never are - they are their own breed, just as boxed cake mixes are still another breed. (There's room on my plate for all breeds, btw.) This cake had the extra-moist, crazy-sweet cake that's common to supermarket cakes, with a great buttercream frosting that could've given my great love, Rainbow Chip, a run for its sugar-bomb-money. It was prettily decorated, and it sparked a discussion examining the finer points of supermarket frostings. The panel of judges passed decisions on two chains:

Stop & Shop: cake is fine, but the whipped-cream-esque frosting is laaaame. If we want Cool Whip, we'll buy Cool Whip. Don't go smearing our cakes with it.
Shaw's: Jury was out on this one, and the point of contention was the sugary frosting on top of the cupcakes. Ob and Dave contend that the "frosting" is really just sugar paste. I agree with them, but I am INTO it. In my eyes: sugar paste FTW!

Beyond that, we were a little bit stumped. I will have to explore the issue further. In the meantime, if you want to send yourself into sugar shock while also celebrating the upcoming nuptuals of two great friends, feel free to be jealous of my invite to Dave and Amy's party.

what i did on my summer vacation (june edition)

2010-07-10T12:49:00.000-07:00

The month of June was a slip-and-slide-runway-skid straight into July. I was ricocheting around the US like some kind of budget rockstar and, though I lost the free time that I usually use to write, you can rest any fears that I may have lost my direction in life. No, I did not fail to rely on baked goods as my personal North Star and, therefore, I did not lose my direction. Where ever I was, whenever I needed to find my center, there was always a chocolate croissant peeking out at me, reminding me of all that I hold dear. Here's an overview of the moments when I realized that, though I may end up stranded at a train station on Southampton or locked out of my apartment for the 2nd time in 3 days, butter+sugar combinations will never let me down.

June 1: Impromptu work trip to Chicago. My first sight after deplaning (ps: such a great word) was a place called "Let Them Eat Cake." My initial reaction: Well, Chicago - don't mind if I do! Unfortunately, though, I was with a co-worker who'd left his laptop in the security checkpoint at Laguardia. It was that rare occasion where it would be both socially unacceptable and professionally damaging to barge off and eat some cake, so I decided to pop in on my way out of the airport, for the sake of my career. I think that was a very mature moment, actually.

June 5: One night in BOS for a friend's fundraiser. The event was profoundly moving. The progress Matt has made, the strength of his family, and the unbridled generosity of the community had a lot of people getting dust in their eyes that night. Someone had even volunteered a private jet to fly Matt from his rehab facility in Atlanta to the event. A private jet! That's nuts. And, there were other mind-blowing donations and displays of loyalty to a friend in need. Those donations got a lot of attention, but I noticed that there were homemade cookies for dessert. Someone (or, more likely, a group of someones) spent time making sure we had a nice end to the meal. That's equally as moving as the private jet. Thank you to the someones who made sure we had dessert.

...And, you know, to the guy with the private jet.

June 6: Dad's retirement party. GUT-WRENCHING FINISH TO A GREAT CAREER: THERE WAS NO CAKE AT THE RETIREMENT PARTY. I can't even talk about it. Let's just move on.

June 12: Survived the afternoon scene below, and then made it out for a lovely tex- mex dinner with a southern gentleman. He even treated me to dessert - molten chocolate cake with banana praline ice cream. It was like a gooey slice of bakery heaven in the presence of guac and margaritas (two excellent non-bakery favorite things). Well played, sir!

June 13: Game 5 of the NBA finals. I had my green on, and A Boy with whom to watch the game...clearly, the only thing missing was butter&sugar. I went to Billy's, hoping they'd have green frosting. They didn't, but nothing about Billy's can ever be a disappointment, so I happily walked out with four cupcakes. I also walked out with hope for a fun, chummy date; and hope for a Celtics W. Actually, I was sure I'd have fun on the date, but was terrified the Celtics would blow it. Turns out I was 180 degrees incorrect. In fact, the night quickly devolved into a bad episode of the Bachelorette. It was like Game 5 Date had read a playbook of everything I hate for guys to do, and then...did all of them at once. After literally wearing grimy windpants to DATE TWO (note: I'm not your girlfriend of 6 months, please put on a waistband), G5D tried to turn the night into a snuggle party. Um, dude? It's game 5. Of the NBA finals. With one of my all-time favorite teams, who I've been openly obsessing over since the day that you met me, we don't have a comfortable lead, and we have a habit of blowing games in the fourth quarter...my thought process during the game: This is not snugglebunny time! We are not watching Sleeping Beauty here! Ohmygosh, why - why! is he touching me right now. [composes self] Phew. I will stop ranting now/reliving the horror of a clingy, un-washed man. I guess all you need to know is this: the date was so bad, I actually left the cupcakes behind. Billy's cupcakes! Abandoned! That's when you know, friends. That's when you know.

June 17: Work dinner at Valbella. I can't remember specifics of what I ate because it was so good that I blacked out, but I do know that there was another molten chocolate cake involved. I also know that I proclaimed chocolate lava cakes "one of the greatest developments in human history." And I stand by that statement.

June 22 - 25: I was in California for a work conference, and I ate a lot of junk food. Brownies, airport croissants, lame catering cookies...you name the butter vestibule, and I was probably chewing on it. The highlight, though, was at the social event on the first night of the conference. The company rents out an entire plaza, fills it full of food trucks and catering stations (and drink tickets), and unleashes the masses. Since I showed up ready to chew my own hand off, I wasn't too strategic in what I ate, and was simply stuffing my face before getting to work on those drink tickets. At the end of the night, I wandered towards a section of the plaza I hadn't been in, and realized that I'd been missing the - gasp! - dessert section, including an entire spread of whoopie pies! My shock at the imminent oversight of missing an entire corridor of desserts was obvious, so the guy behind the table, aka My New Best Friend (MNBF), encouraged me to "take a bunch." I tentatively grabbed 2 extras. He then encouraged me to take more. I mean, if you say so, MNBF....I ended up spending the rest of the night flashing the inside of my purse at co-workers, revealing a stash of ten whoopie pies to coworkers who were mystified, mildly weirded out, and ultimately, excited. Treats! Treats to share!

June 28: One of my oldest and favoritest friends, Neil, was in town for the week. I met up with him and his S.O., Mike, after work. We shared some lovely pizzas, and then talked about a drink or a dessert...as if we had to separate them. Oh no, friends, we can do both! I took them to Sweet Revenge, for its fun beer/cupcake or wine/cupcake pairings. It was a big hit. (But seriously, it's booze and sugar - how could it not be a hit?) I got the Pure, which I had had before. I'm not normally a vanilla girl, but this isn't your normal vanilla. The crowds were this happy, post-cupcake:

July 3: Cousin Andrew has a new, awesome house. He organized a family bash so we could all play Marco Polo in his new pool, and he even arranged perfect pool weather. Nice work, kid! The other nod of the day goes to his mom, my Aunt Karen, for her unreal brownies. They are a homemade fantasy.

July 4 - 10: On vacation. I spent the week sleeping, eating untold numbers of Chunky Chips Ahoy, and going to the beach. After ten days of this doing nothing but reading, mouth breathing, and staring into space, I was finally ready to head back to that stinky sauna full o' bakeries, New York City. I'm happy to be back, but even happier that I got to spend a week on the back deck, with a dog tucked under my chair.

Now...onward to the bakeries!

driven to a life of crime

2010-06-09T18:15:00.000-07:00

No but seriously...can you blame him?

I certainly can't. Have you ever BEEN to Top Pot Donuts? Can you possibly imagine the cake-like deliciousness of that sweet, sweet manna?

I have. I can. And I am grateful. Many moons before my days as a New-York-residing, bakery-trolling blogger,* I had a close encounter of the Top Pot kind. I was moved to photograph the moment:

and caption it with the following (totally factual) anecdote: "words do this experience no justice...just know that one of the first things i did when i got back to boston was google the website to find out if they do mail orders. sadly, they do not."

And I'm still sad about that. Top Pot - are you listening?? Papa, can you hear me?

In other words: Free Golden Tate!

*ew, gross word

why?

2010-05-27T18:21:00.000-07:00

I'm big on questions. So big, in fact, that when I was 8 years old my grandfather told me I should be a reporter. I asked him why. (I'm also big on self-fulfilling prophecies.) He blankly told me, "Because you ask so many questions!" The thought had never occurred to me that the number of questions I asked would be considered "a lot," so I brushed his comment aside. (It was a unique talent of my 8 year old self to brush aside information I didn't agree with, probably second only to asking questions.) But anyway, much as I wrote him off at the time, this snippet of conversation has survived as a memory that I don't remember 95% of the time, but that tumbles through my thoughts once in a while. When it does, I remember that - oh yeah - I question everything. Oh yeah.

So of course, when I had the urge to start this blog, I questioned why the HECK I would add to the heaps and heaps of steaming bullcrap that are on the internet. Who do I think I am, anyway? Do I really eat that many baked goods that I can actually write about it indefinitely? Okay, okay...should I really eat that many baked goods that I can write about it indefinitely? And what's so great about my writing that I actually think people might read it? What if my boss finds it and mercilessly mocks me? Or what if I don't update it frequently enough and I'm not just a weird blogger, but...a lazy, weird blogger? Most frighteningly, what if I meet a really cute guy and he befriends me and somehow he finds this blog and then he thinks I'm a giant idiot and then he never talks to me again and I ruin something with someone who was clearly my one shot at a white picket fence and then I end up dying alone face down in a pile of jumbo muffin wrappers in the same tiny. effing. apartment. I live in now?!?

And ya know what? I have no good answers. None at all. For as many questions as I could ask myself about why I really think the best use of my time is writing about a cookie that I once ate, I really don't have an answer. So just know this:
- If you're my friend, you don't have to read this if you don't want to. Really, you don't. I do this for fun. I also wake up at 5:45 to go sweat my face off at Bikram yoga for fun - and I don't make you do that with me, do I? Now go ahead, click over to PerezHilton. Go on, now....git.
- I don't think I'm going to get a reality show out of this. Shocking, I know, but the market for "girls who eat cookies" just isn't that big.
- I was toying with the idea of firing this lil guy up, and then I came across this:

Those are not just regular muffins. Those are DISCO muffins. It's like a baked goods rave. And that's all I needed to know to let the doubts fade like the snippet of conversation with my grandfather usually does.

Hey, times change.

2010-05-25T18:39:00.000-07:00

Remember that time I had an ice cream blog? I was pretty qualified. My first post was this distinguished resume:

Bridget J. Black
Professional Expert, Ice Cream

After-Dinner Treat Eater, 1984 – 2002
Three scoops in a plastic bowl, only after dinner. One scoop if at a shop. No toppings allowed until I became a self-purchaser – toppings are too frivolous for Jan Black's practical brand of super-mom.

Victim, Ice Cream Theft, 1992
Saved ice cream cookie sandwich in freezer on last night of vacation, in attempt to eat it as we left New Hampshire. Father ate sandwich. No time to replace. Extended mourning period ensued.

Chaser, Ice Cream Truck, 1993
Exercised fight-or-flight response at moment Ice Cream Truck music could be heard. Ruthlessly demanded quarters from innocent, bystanding adults. Once chased ice cream truck through neighborhood yards…on pastel rollerskates.

Youth Soccer Sundae-Eater, Travel Team, 1993 – 1998
Horrible soccer player, remarkable ice cream eater. Apalled my mother by shamelessly getting toppings on Mr. Clay and Mr. Glynn’s dime.

Member, Ten-Speed Bike Gang, 1995 – 1998
Roamed mean streets of Hanson in search of Caitlin O’Brien’s pool, Showtimes’ candy, Lisa Glynn’s basement, and Heidi’s Hollow Ice Cream. Forced to leave tips by Kaitlin Callahan. Made up weird nicknames and songs. Involved in a 7-bike pile up on Rt. 58.

Reluctant Employee, Friendly’s, 1999
Learned a lot about what can happen to co-workers who are on birth control and antibiotics at the same time (hint: babies). Spent majority of time waving at friends who worked across the way. Quit. Engendered the wrath of a manager named Merilee.

The Un-Cool Scooper, Heidi’s Hollow Farm, 2000
Served ice cream and raspberry lime rickeys, looked at a lot of antiques, and was obliged to refer to my bosses as “Ma” and “Pa.” Unconfirmed suspicion that a lot of smack was talked about me in between the ice cream coolers. (That's probably because I was a loser.)

Recreational Blizzard Consumer, Dairy Queen, 2000 – 2002
Frequent high school evenings eating a blizzard with friends in a two-tone teal Chevy Astro. Had: driver’s license. Did not have: anywhere to go.

Wishing I Didn’t Have to Bartend at Night, Mad Martha’s, 2004
A man slammed his weiner up against the store window in protest of the lack of public bathrooms. Bill Clinton came in while I was working. Instances are unrelated.

Supporter of the Ice Cream Arts, 1984 – present
Ardent supporter of the right to use full fat cream, combine two flavors on one cone, and add extra chocolate to anything. Ice cream before meal, ice cream as meal, and ice cream with meal all upheld as viable nutritional options. Sorbet, sherbert, and slush allowed but not endorsed. Champion of substituting ice cream for more expensive and/or destructive therapeutic/celebratory/conciliatory activities. Steadfast believer in kindness to servers, particularly those who allow sampling of 13 exotic flavors before settling on chocolate.

I mean....I don't want to toot my own horn, but I was pretty distinguished in the world of ice cream. New England landmarks? Youth soccer? Middle school bike gangs? I was a prodigy.

But now, I'm blogging about bakeries. This is my first post, so maybe I should include a resume...but, um, my qualifications are slightly less extensive. Actually, my qualifications are nonexistent. All I've got is a new city (with far fewer ice cream joints), a new job, and an enduring love of butter, sugar, and the fantastic things that come from that union. I'm just kind of wingin' it because, hey, times change. Ice cream bloggers turn into bakery bloggers. Education folks start to work in sales. Bostonians move to New York. Future crazy dog ladies turn into.....well, not everything changes.