Still Awake

It's after midnight, and I've just now finished baking my cinnamon rolls and sticky buns.  My loaves of buttermilk white bread have just gone into the oven, and I'm still awake.

On these pre-farmers-market evenings, when I have to tell my friends I can't socialize, I must go home to bake bread - everyone keeps telling me, 'This is how it's going to be!' 'Get used to it!' 'These are going to be your hours!'

I know that my new career is going to involve very hard work, very long hours, and a lot more physical work than I do right now.  I'm ready for the challenge.  

But doing my new job AND my old job at the same time?  Well, it pretty much sucks.   I said goodbye to my friends and their bottle of wine tonight, their light gossip, their heart-warming laughs.  My husband is tucked in and fast asleep. Even my two dogs are passed out beneath my feet as I type.  And here I am.  Still awake.

But you know what?  Those moments when I'm drizzling my icing over the pans of cinnamon rolls - the satisfaction of feeling the perfect texture of white dough going into a greased pan - the beauty of the toasted nuts on the sticky buns as I turn them out of their pans and reveal their gooey goodness - it makes me smile.  It makes my heart jump.  It makes me feel . . . alive, alert, awake.

So I'm still awake.  Smelling the scent of warm white bread wafting from the oven, feeling the tingle in my nose of the hint of cinnamon that laces the air in the house, dreaming of my new life and making it happen here, now, past midnight.

Label Me

Not only am I blessed to have some extremely encouraging, supportive, and enthusiastic friends, but I also have some pretty flippin' talented ones, too. My friend Mrs. Southern Belle is all of these things - and she created a fun Vintage Victuals logo that I've started using for my start-up bread business. I got my act together for the farmers market this weekend by printing up labels for all of my breads. How cute are these!?

Most people don't like being labeled, but in this case I'm glad to be labeled. Mrs. Southern Belle, you can label me any day.

New farmers, new friends

The Jefferson Main Street Market

This Saturday morning, at 6:43 A.M., my husband and I pulled up to the farmers market on the downtown square of our little town. With a checkered tablecloth and loaves in hand, I set up shop between two local farmers and hoped for the best.

When you spend 4 hours in the blazing Georgia heat next to someone's truck full of fresh zucchinis, onions, blueberries, and farm fresh eggs, you tend to become fast frends.

On my right was a sweet family of four, soon to be five. The kids were so excited to be there with their parents selling produce, and the mom was due to deliver her baby the next day! What a trooper!

On my left was a man who seemed to be a jack of all trades. He had everything from potted flowers to local honey to peaches and plums. When one of his watermelons fell on the ground and broke in two, he cut off pieces for all of us to try - it was delicious!

As for me, I played it conservative this week and only made three things - small loaves of banana nut bread, pans of cinnamon buns, and white refrigerator rolls. I opened up one of my pans of cinnamon rolls and tore it up into bite-sized samples. Those were the first to sell out! The banana bread was also popular, while the white rolls were the last to sell out. I didn't get a chance to take a photo until most of my stuff was gone, but here I am!

Not only did I make back more than enough to pay for my ingredients, I also traded a few items for some produce from my farming neighbors. I got some beautiful, big zucchinis from the cute family to make zucchini bread for the next market. And from the man on the other side, I bought a bunch of peaches to make some Georgia peach bread. I also traded some banana nut bread with a corn farmer so that my husband and I could enjoy some with our meals this week.

All in all it was a great experience, and I'm anxiously looking forward to next week's market. I'm making a wider selection of breads this week and focusing more on loaves, so we will see what response I get on Saturday morning. I'm also excited about continuing to work on my cinnamon bun recipe to get it JUST right! So far, this little piggy really likes to bring her bread to market!!!

To market, to market . . .

This Saturday marks the first week of our local farmer's market on the downtown square. This is going to be the first time that I am officially attempting to sell, market, produce my bread for profit.

Tonight, I planned to prepare some of the dough so that it could ferment or retard overnight and be ready to bake tomorrow.

Right before I walked into the kitchen, though, a tsunami of self-doubt crashed ashore in my mind. What on earth am I thinking, throwing my life upside down based on the delusion that people would actually pay money to buy my bread?!

What if I fail? What if my dough doesn't rise? What if I end up with a bunch of half-baked ideas that I am too embarrassed to sell? What on earth am I doing?!?

Deeeeep breaths. A moment to focus. And a supportive husband. These are what got me into the kitchen to bake tonight.

Much to my delight, my dough rose perfectly, doubling in bulk, pulling together, kneading into beautifully elastic hunks of goodness. My banana bread came out beautifully crisp on top, nicely domed and cracked, decadently moist on the inside. My house smelled like heaven, and I felt like myself again.

I think I'm going to be okay. I really can do this. By the end of the evening, I was prancing happily around the kitchen calling myself "The Master Baker." For now.