The Hippie Bakery 1970s, more about my memoir.

Some of my funniest stories come from my eight year tenure at The Staff of Life Bakery. Yes, today it is called a grocery store with a bakery but when I worked there (1974-1980) it was a natural foods bakery and deli. 

We were a tight knit family of sorts...several of us lived, worked and played together. It was a fun atmosphere to learn baking and life skills. Yes, there were lots of parties! Lots of weed! But we managed to get the work done and get the orders out to the stores and the people who loved our food. 

On Fridays several of us would head down to Happy Hour at the Catalyst. One dollar pitchers of beer and great company made it a ritual for many years. After too much cheap beer we somehow made it out to Aptos to Manuel's Restaurant for their Friday night special; red snapper with a sour cream sauce on a bed of rice with salsa and hot tortillas. Every Friday night. I miss those days. Those days of freedom. And I am thankful for them as well. It was my young adult up-bringing. Since my parents were gone, I had to learn my lessons on my own. Having a group of good friends was my answer to family. It worked for me. 

We formed a co-ed softball team and I volunteered to play. You need to know something about me... I am not sporty or have I ever involved myself in sports. So when I said I would play, I was wanting to be included. I am a slow runner, can't throw a ball far, and can't even hit a softball. The guys helped me by coaching me on batting and throwing the ball. I got a little better. 

During a game, I actually hit the ball and made it to first base. I was so excited my heart pounded in my chest. The next one up hit the ball to shortstop and as I was running to second base he tossed the ball the the second base player. I turned on my heels and began to run back to first. The guy on second then threw the ball with all of his force to first to get me out... and he did. The ball hit me square in the back of the head. I hit the ground face first. Out cold, everyone came running up to me and pulled me out of the dirt. I was seeing stars. I decided that would be my last game playing softball. 

I learned to love the craft of baking. Its early hours, heavy bags and boxes, dangerous equipment, tasty treats, team work, quality ingredients, and creativity. 

 In the picture above, I was seven months pregnant with my son. Easter was it's way and I was the sole baker to produce the hot cross buns that are traditional for the holiday. The conical shaped machine I am throwing dough into is called a rounder. It spins around and when the dough is thrown into the center, it rolls around the outside guided by the metal spiral and then flies out onto the tray. 

In order to cut them evenly we used a machine called the Dutchess. I weighed the dough and pressed it into the round pan, slid it under the cutter, grabbed the long metal handle and pulled down to press the dough and cut it into thirty-six equal pieces. Today they are automatic presses. 

After rounding the pieces, they went on a tray to rise and then bake. After baking, the traditional cross was piped on top. 

These pictures were taken for an article written for the local newspaper about hot cross buns. Circa

 1979.

The little boy came in to ask me for a taste of the icing I put on the buns. His parents would not let him eat any type of sugar outside of fresh fruit. I gave him a taste each time he came to see me. 

In the beginning I had the good fortune to work with a gal who was a chemistry major at the university. She taught me the science of baking. A foundation I used to grow in the business. Ultimately, it led me to teaching pastry arts. I am forever grateful to that woman, whose name I don't remember.

I loved learning about all the clever bakery machines. Even if they were antique. The more I learned the more I wanted to know. It was the 70s and women were not considered capable enough to work in traditional bakeshops. I was so lucky to have started in an alternative business. One where my talents were appreciated and I was encouraged to create. 

I remember working at the Staff and someone told me about how croissants were made by layering butter into the dough. I wanted so much to learn the fine art of French pastry, I thought I would try. I made a yeasted whole wheat dough and  melted some butter. I rolled the dough out and painted the melted butter over the dough and then folded it into three. I kept doing that five or six times. Then I rolled the dough out an cut out my croissants, rolled them up, let them rise and into the oven they went. I was so saddened when I opened the oven and saw these crescent style rolls with no layers. Many years later when I learned how to layer pounds of cold butter into the dough, I laughed at myself for trying something I knew nothing about without a recipe or directions... but I tried. 

Again, luck came my way after my son was born. A woman-owned French bakery called Gayle's opened up in the late 70s. When Ian became one year old in 1981, I decided to go back to work (I had to really). Gayle's trained me in the art of French pastry. I was thrilled. It was my springboard to finding my passion. I loved the precision and all the new ingredients I had not had a chance to work with as of yet. Chocolate instead of carob. White sugar instead of honey. Butter instead of oil. It was a huge and wonderful change for me. These ingredients offered a lot more variety of products. Cake decorating was taken to new heights for me with European style buttercreams instead of cream cheese icing. I learned to make laminated doughs such as croissants and danish in the correct manner. 

I was on my way to becoming a classically trained baker and pastry chef.