Tuesday, June 11, 2013

There Goes The Neighborhood

Photo courtesy Flickr

Living on the Hill since 1972, I’ve experienced the life cycle of a couple of bakeries. Sivertsen’s of blessed memory sold traditional Swedish breads. The ace head baker at the Great Huge Supermarket Chain led me to develop the doughnut diet: eat as much of what you really really like until the body is satisfied and hungry for poetic nutrition. It works but requires careful attention. When the baker went to his heavenly reward, the whole parish mourned. 

That loss led me to ignore baked goods for a couple of decades, although from time to time I shared a styrene clamshell of chocolate cake with rubber frosting. Last fall a sign went up on a corner storefront in a new building on Fifteenth, the rustic back street of Capitol Hill. The sign promised a snazzy new bakery, vaguely exciting news tinged with apprehension: the place is close enough to the house to permit a cookie run during a TV commercial. 

The shop has been open for a couple of months, and official house policy has been to deny its existence. We know ourselves. As expected, the go-fer picked up an experimental loaf of bread last week and pronounced it Good. One of the factors keeping us out of the place has been the long lines snaking out the door.

For a recent birthday, the go-fer brought home one single confection. Cautiously I carved, and we pronounced it Good. So good, in fact, that it does not trigger a binge. I feel safe now.


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