Our Kitchen – Pure Bake

My Grandmother’s Old Wedgewood. I played under it with my toy cars while she baked.

Pure Bake happens in our home kitchen. We bake in small batches. The advantage to our customers of baking in small batches is that each loaf takes on more importance. Each loaf gets attention. We are not a factory. We quality check, picking each one up for a close look. Sometimes, a loaf just won’t make the cut. When that happens, we take the loss. That’s alright with us. Makes us better, stronger, more careful. To us at Pure Bake, “artisan” is not a marketing ploy. Artisan means attention to details when creating the best sourdough in the Monterey peninsula area.

Our kitchen is just a 1950s, working class kitchen. The countertops are a bold red formica trimmed in ordinary aluminum moulding. The surface is worn and has years left in it. The windows over the sink are difficult to open, with wooden frames that jam. The floor is linoleum, well worn, old-fashioned. And the cabinets have been painted over and over, many times. White.

Nothing fancy, our kitchen, nothing much ever upgraded except the faucets and the ovens. We do have two modern ovens that sit side by side. It’s quite a sight. And we did replace the cabinet hardware with the exact same kind as the original. As plain as it is, we kind of love this kitchen. Lots of good comes out of our kitchen. People tell us so. In this challenging time, it’s good to hear that our bread is “essential”.

On the wall is a framed graphic that encapsulates our philosophy regarding bread: “Pure Bake. Pure Evil.” The bread is pure with only three ingredients. And it is evil in the sense that it simply compels you to have another slice, then another, until the loaf is gone. It’s a good kind of pure evil. Anyway, we didn’t make up that phrase, our customers did. “Your bread is pure evil! I can’t stop eating it!”

At four a.m. we begin. The ovens had been set on a delay timer so they are hot and ready for us. We push the brew button on the coffee pot. We put the first batch of loaves into the two ovens. It is a happy scene, a warm, bright room in the middle of the night, filling with that baked bread aroma. Sometimes, Cathy and I look over our mugs at each other and smile. Our kitchen is a fine place. From it, we send out our little bread warriors into the world to bring some real comfort.