A Story of Love and Lamination
A few years ago, a handsome man with kind, sparkling blue eyes walked into the bakery. It was early fall in Portland, when the air was crisp and the sunlight streamed in through the window casting it’s warm, golden light through the middle of the bakery. The day was late and the pastry counter was nearly sold out. He came for an almond croissant—a mutual friend had sent him—and not having one on the counter we told him we would bake one fresh. Oh, and he wanted to say hi.
Hmmm. I looked up, not recognizing him and wondering what brought him in. I was at the back work table, browning butter for apple pies and baking quiche in the oven. Up I went to meet him, only to find out that we had both moved to Portland from Los Angeles. During our time there our worlds overlapped in various ways, but we had never formally met. We had 24 minutes while the almond croissant baked, and we filled that time reminiscing over meals we’d eaten, jobs we’d held and people we knew in common. Needless to say, the butter, forgotten on the back table went from pale straw gold to deep brown, and eventually burned black.
A deep friendship laid the groundwork for what would bloom into an engaging relationship. We connected over food, wine, and the great outdoors. After careers in music, tv and film, he pursued a long held dream to open a Spanish restaurant—which he successfully did to raving reviews. We paused in surprise when we both described the suspenseful moment just before a restaurant opens as being like theater: the actors all in their places, the curtain about to be pulled back and butterflies of excitement.
Every outing we were hiking trails or eating at restaurants and bars, adventuring to towns near and far while bonding over food. Each trip was centered on picnics of Spanish Chorizo, spicy calabrese salami, salty marcona almonds and dark nubs of chocolate. Plans were made around fresh steamed crabs, lighthouse picnics and waterfall hikes that would commence with grilled porterhouses over an outdoor flame. We regaled one another with stories of our past while making plans for our future.
And now quarantine, where Stephen and I fill the endless days and weeks with cooking projects. Homemade dumpling wrappers filled with gingered ground pork, pan-fried scallion pancakes, pasta dishes made famous on the internet and bread of every kind—thin, crisp matzah freckled with black pepper, challah with it’s signature pull, endless loaves of sourdough, craggy english muffins, thin, crisp pizza with cups of pepperoni pooling with oil, and chewy poppyseed bagels. We’ve grilled ourselves to oblivion tasting various cuts of beef from butchers across the country, comparing sausages and snappy hot dogs. Corn always accompanies these meals along with a crunchy, vinegar streaked salad to offset the richness.
Cut to a call from his neighbor across the street. “My plum tree is overflowing, would you and Kim like some fruit?”, they asked. "Yes, yes!", we exclaimed, "and can we come help you harvest?!". And that’s how, one hot late summer day we found ourselves up ladders against a tree grasping for and twisting purple orbs of fruit and dropping them into our buckets below as we shared stories with new friends, also from California.
Back to the bakery we carried the fruit, rinsing off the fine dust of bloom and leaving them to dry and ripen on the speed racks. Over the next few weeks the bakers and I picked through the plums, refrigerating the darkest purple fruit while waiting for the rest to go from firm chartreuse to a softer, juicier violet. The plums were then split lengthwise, pits removed, and frozen to use in the coming weeks in pastries.
The ripening of the plums has coincided with the return of our lamination team. I’m so excited to be back here. We’ve been testing new flours, new butters and new methods as we train new hands to craft the crisp, butter rich, honeycombed Croissants that we work so tediously for. This weekend, we’ll be celebrating the comeback of this coveted pastry with Italian Plum Puffs as our exclusive newsletter item.