The gift of giving… cookies

One of the ways working in a professional bakery differs from baking at home is that you do not get to choose what it is you bake.  If you’re a lowly prep baker, like myself, you simply prepare the recipes you’re given.  You’re not eating the product, so you don’t have to like it.  And this is neither the time nor the place for experimentation.  The benefit of such a seemingly restrictive environment is it forces you to learn techniques you might otherwise miss.  I can guarantee I never would’ve learned as much as I have about lemon meringue if I hadn’t worked in a bakery.  The thought of lemon meringue sets my teeth on edge.

But even the owner of the bakery is restricted in the types of goods that they bake.  Ultimately, the customer base is going to determine what is made and how.  If you cringe at the amount of icing on your cinnamon rolls, but your customers complain and stop buying them when it is reduced, you’re probably going to have to start drenching those rolls in icing again.

The benefit here comes in the form of the sense of satisfaction you get from knowing you have brought enjoyment to others.  The marvelous thing about baked goods is they are often a treat, a reward—an eagerly anticipated indulgence or a consolation.  A flaky croissant can be that moment of stillness on a Sunday morning.  A slice of pie can be the satisfaction of a recent triumph.  A warm brownie can be the comfort you need during a stressful or dark time.

And then there is the community.  Food builds friendship.  It starts conversations; it builds bridges.  It’s an immediate commonality—a shared experience.  A sweet treat can bring people together like conspirators, as if they share a secret, a secret between strangers.