The art of french pastry phần 4
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• P R E FAC E •
ALIFEIN
PASTRY
I
WASRAISEDINMY
FATHER’SBAKERYina
smallAlsatianvillage
calledMarlenheim.Mybed
wasrightabovetheoven
(wonderfulinwinter,but
notsogreatonhot
summernights,sinceair
conditioningwasnot,and
isstillnot,verycommonin
Frenchhomes),anduntilI
wasfifteen,themagical
aromaoffresh-baked
breadwastheonlyalarm
clockIknew.Myfathergot
upeverydayatmidnightto
tendtohisdough.Hiswas
thescheduleofa
traditionalFrenchbakerin
the1960sand’70s,
workingfrommidnightto
noonandsleepingafter
lunchfromonetofourand
thenagainfromaboutnine
tomidnight.Mymother
ranthefrontoftheshop.
Upatfivea.m.everyday,
shewouldhavetheshop
readytoopenatsix—by
whichtimealinehad
formedoutsidethedoor—
andwouldservecustomers
untilweclosedatseven
p.m.
Mymomknewher
customerswell.Sheknew
theoneswholikedtheir
breadlightbrownand
thosewhopreferreditdark
andbiencuit;sheknew
whoboughtcroissants,and
howmany.Sheknewtoset
asidealargekougelhoffor
thisneighbor,six
cinnamonrollsforthat
one.Alsatiansare
exceptionallyparticular
whenitcomestofood,and
asuccessfulbakermust
servethemwell;theymay
notcomplainopenly,butif
theyareunsatisfiedthey
willnever,everreturnto
yourshop.Myfive-foot-tall
