I have never been so excited in my life, about anything, I believe. I walked into the bakery, surround by smells of yeasty breads and sweet, buttery pastries. Loaves of bread covered the walls, sourdough, baguettes, ciabattas-loaves endlessly slide off the baker’s wooden peel.
With my notebook in hand, I walked in with Mr. Granarolo into the back of the bakery, where flour-covered workers were rolling out dough and shaping loaves of bread. I stood awkwardly next to him, and he looked at my clothes and said, “You should have worn white!” He handed me an apron and I immediately knew I wouldn’t be taking notes.
Mr. Granarolo was a great teacher: The first thing we made was a brioche bun filled with golden raisins. I watched him roll out dough on a rolling-machine and through the four foot long dough onto the work bench. With an offset spatula, he spread an almond crème gracefully, the blade gliding over the dough. He tossed on handfuls of golden raisins, and sprinkled clouds of cinnamon over the dough. He showed me how to roll them up, starting a tight coil at the top, and rolling the dough the rest of the way up. He held out three fingers, which represented the proper thickness of the bun. In French, he counted off 24 buns in a matter of seconds, and placed them onto parchment lined sheets.
My turn! I took the dough and placed it on the roller. Nervously, I pulled the lever, and the dough came through so fast, I thought it would fall to the floor. I could never figure remember which way he placed the dough, and I was scared I would ruin the buns with my carelessness. I must have stayed at the machine for five minutes, going back and forth, getting thinner and thinner. I put it through the final time, and tried to catch the dough with my arm, almost dropping it. I awkwardly carried it over to the table, and spread it out so there were no bumps.
Everything movement I made did not have the gracefully confidence of Mr. Granarolo. I apprehensively spread the crème, accidently scraping the top of the brioche dough. He showed me to push the crème, rather than scrape it on. Afterwards, I sprinkled on walnuts, just the right amount. However, he dusted on the cinnamon to ensure that no customer would be stuck with a mouthful of spice when eating a bun.
Marking the width of each dough with three fingers, I cut each roll. I pushed slightly too hard with knife, resulting in slightly flattened rolls. It took me several moments to place them all on the tray. I felt so intimidated by all the baker’s-each move, and every product, perfect.
Next! He pulled out more dough from the refrigerator. Pinwheels! After the croissant dough was rolled out, he cut it with this nifty adjustable-multi-cutter into 24 squares. With a quick hand, he cut each corner of the square on a diagonal. He pulled one diagonal of each corner to the center, and pushed down slightly. Only twenty three more for me to do!
For pain au chocolat, we rolled out croissant dough into a five foot long piece of dough. I folded it horizontally in half for a guide, and then cut it with a pizza peel. About ¾ an inch from the top, I placed two thin bars of chocolate, distancing each bar about ¼ of an inch from each other. Starting at the top, I rolled the dough over the chocolate bar, and then rolled the west of the way down like one does a cinnamon roll. He told me to feel where the chocolate ended, and to cut there. Although I got most of them, sometimes I misjudged and cut through a bar. To make sure they don’t open up when baking, the seam goes on the bottom, and the dough is slightly flattened when on the tray.
More croissants. We rolled out the dough again, until it was about two feet in length, and still pretty thick. Using a croissant cutter (this nifty triangular rolling cutter), I rolled/pushed it through the dough. I didn’t press as hard as I should have, which resulted into finalizing the cuts with the pizza cutter.
Each piece also had a slit at the wide base of the triangle, which would be the top. Using two hands, I pressed and pulled towards me, in one long motion until the half way point. This made the dough look like a rolled cigar. In a continuous motion, I rolled it the rest of the way, the point ending in the middle of the “cigar.” I took both ends and brought them together, to make the classic croissant shape.
At first, I couldn’t do it in two motions, but instead I rolled, and pushed, and made a mess for about five of them. However, Mr. Granarolo told me not to get discouraged-he’d made thousands of them in his lifetime, and perfect comes with practice. After a while though, I got the hang of it, producing much nicer croissants.
Even more! He showed me how to use his apple peeler (put the stem side on the pokers!) and spin the handle in stable motion to both peel and cut the apple into slices. Using a knife, we cut each cored and sliced apple in half, for half moon shaped apple pieces. He cut the dough like pinwheel dough, into 24 squares.
We squeezed about a tablespoons worth of a cream cheese filling on each dough. He told me to squeeze perpendicular to the dough, and drag towards me. Three pieces of apple fanned across the dough complete the filling. We folded these in thirds, bring the dough over top of the apples, and sealing it with the other third.
After using all the croissant dough, I went with the pastry chef who was working on miniature baguette, breadsticks. I dipped each dough ball into a bowl of flour, and pushed the heel of my palm in the ball. Pressing and rolling outwards, I formed each ball into a baguette/stick about 8 inches in length.
Using the machine again, we rolled out another piece of dough about 5 feet in length. On this dough, we spread pastry cream on the top 2/3 of the dough. Then, we liberally sprinkled them with miniature chocolate chips, which the chef spread out in a flick of his spatula. We folded the dough over, like a letter again, until they were sealed. Using three fingers as a generous guide, I cut each piece slightly less, into 2 ½ by about 6 inch pieces. After cutting all the pastry, we flipped them over and put them on baking trays. He insured me that by flipping them around, the pastry would bake evenly and not open up while baking.
He showed me the walk-ins in the back of the restaurant. I was in total awe walking in, fresh butter, cream, eggs and other ingredients lined the walls of the walk in. In the back fridge, bread dough retarded in the cold temperature, resulting in more flavorful bread.
Next we would be working on an almond and apricot tart, so he removed his tart crust from the refrigerator. Since this would also go through the rolling machine, it needed to warm up. In order to do so, he took a gigantic rolling pin, and used his body weight to pound it out. He handed me the rolling pin and told me to give it a try. Using to hands, I wielded the pin like a sword, and tried to hit the dough. But my puny hits did nothing in comparison. After a minute of struggling, he took the pin back and finished in a matter of seconds.
This dough was hard to deal with-it was very buttery, and when warm, easily tore. We put it in the roller, and this was much slower than normal. The dough was so thick; it took minutes to thin out. However, by the time I reached the proper size, it had become so long I could not handle it. He showed me a cool technique- while the dough came out, he rolled it around the rolling pin, so he could just unravel it on the bench.
As we began to fit the dough into tart shells (I was making a mess), the bread baker called me over and asked if I wanted to help. I almost slid on the flour covered floors running over to him.
This is from the bakery's facebook
On these pizza peel like sheets (which were lined with fabric), he placed batards, ciabattas, sourdough boules, etc. on the peel. He held his lame in his hand, the curve away from him, and using the corner, pulled it effortlessly through the dough. He made simple cuts, from tip to tip, or more exotic ones like a 4×4 cross hatch pattern. The sourdough boule has a slit around the side of the dough, making it look kind of like a hamburger. I tried though, but my cuts were not deep enough, and I did not go end to end. Also, while making the cross hatch, he told me to cut away from myself, and to use my hand as a guide, but to also take caution.
He slid these into the 4 deck oven, and released steam to help the dough rise to its fullest potential. After we loaded all four decks, it was time to remove the breads. With an 8 foot long pizza peel, he pulled out row upon row of baguette, and placed them on a cooling rack. My turn!? He handed me the peel, and it wobbled awkwardly from my weak arms. Slightly overhead, I pushed the peel in, and once the ciabattas were secured, I pulled out the peel, my arms wobbling even more with the added weight. I did this row after row, until all the bread was removed from the oven.
When I went back to the work bench, the pastry chef already completed his beautiful tarts and was glazing them with apricot. He told me the next thing on his agenda was baking biscotti. We used immense amounts of butter, and copious amounts of sugar, but it’s a cookie, right? I had to crack thirty-six eggs, but I need to use two hands. He tried to convince me to use only one, telling me it was like using chopsticks (but I can’t do those either!) With an egg in each hand, he cracked them seamlessly, not one shell landing in the container. It’s amazing how a professional can become so efficient and so skilled.
I learned to use his baker’s scale, zeroing it out, and changing from metric to US Standard measurements. He told me about the horrors of the old mixer: It doesn’t have a stop mechanism, so if a bowl falls in, it would be bent into a deformed metal blob. Right now, I’m not sure if I trust myself to use it, and I doubt Mr. Granarolo would feel safe with my arm dangling in the mixer.
However, I had already been there for about 4 hours, and this time, my mom drove me to the bakery so I wouldn’t get lost. I folded up my apron and got ready to leave. I felt bad abandoning him during our biscotti making, but he assured me, the show would go on.
Next week, I’m going to arrive at seven rather than eight, so I can see how the dough is actually made. Everyone was so nice and understanding at Witherspoon Bread Company- I couldn’t have asked for a nicer sponsor. Not only did they show me, they made sure I was applying proper technique and corrected me for the future. Mr. Granarolo’s wife handed me a Witherspoon Bread Company shirt as I was ready to leave. Honesty, I’m so grateful for W.I.S.E. for providing me with this opportunity. I haven’t been this ecstatic or passionate about anything in along time. Every moment working on the dough made me yearn for a future in a bakery.
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