Back in 1989, when the La Brea Bakery first opened, we sold only bread. Customers would walk in, look around, and say, “Bread, is that it?” Some would then leave with a loaf; others would advise me that my dark, flour-dusted creations were burnt and dirty; but most were too skeptical to even try one of the large, crusty, hand-shaped loaves. Bread was something most Americans bought in plastic bags at the supermarket. Real bakeries sold cakes and cookies. With my reputation as a pastry chef, I was expected to satisfy their sweet tooth, not to provide something most often used to sandwich ham and cheese. But the demanding life of a bread baker was so new to me, it needed all of my attention. I just didn’t have time for pastries. Besides, our space was too small to accommodate anything more than a display rack and the essential bread-making equipment: a mixer, some worktables, and a hearth-style oven.
Over time, a hard sell became an addiction. The bakery became so successful, we were running out of bread earlier and earlier each day. To keep our customers satisfied, we’d have to bake more. To bake more, we needed extra space. To gain extra space, we were forced to move our production to a larger facility. Suddenly, our tiny, chaotic retail bakery was transformed into a vast and cavernous shell with unused equipment and a lonely rack of bread. The charm of a working bakery was lost. The activity and smells of baking bread were replaced by the fumes of a delivery truck that dropped off the daily bake to be sold in the storefront.
To bring life back, we would have to bake again. And why not bake what people wanted in the first place: sweets? Not just any sweets, but the kind of sweets that I wanted to bake, that I wanted to eat, and that I wanted to look at. I didn’t want refrigerated cases shelved with fragile cakes, elaborately constructed of countless creamy layers, architectural and overly decorated. Those show-off desserts are seldom about texture and flavor, but about the costly tools and learned techniques it takes to make them. Furthermore, fancy pastries would hardly make sense alongside my hearty, country-style bread.
The pastries we make are deliciously simple and rustic and never too sweet. Woven into many of them are my favorite flavors: butter, cinnamon, nuts, and fruit. They’re familiar, uncomplicated, and satisfying. One taste and you’re instantly comforted. Inspired by a sweet memory from childhood, a European classic, or a time-honored bakeshop standard, they are flavors you never tire of. Like my bread, these are pastries you want to eat every day.
Except for a sprinkling of nuts, a dusting of powdered sugar, or a drizzling of glaze, no fastidious finishing work is necessary. Once the pastry is in the oven, the baker’s job is done. As these doughs and batters cook, their intrinsic beauty naturally evolves. Rich colors and alluring textures take us by surprise. Flaky, soft, or crumbly, tender, moist, or crisp, these treats compel you to take another bite. As the sugars caramelize in the oven, they accent the crust with a lustered sheen. Heat and alchemy produce a palate of deep, earthy tones from burnished reds and browns to dull and shiny golds and yellows. Scorched fruit might peek through the top of a Blueberry-Almond Muffin, as it puffs and forms its whimsical, rounded cap. Unpredictable cracks emerge, randomly decorating the surface of Ginger Scones and Rosemary Corncakes. Ripe little tomatoes sit happily on top of a bed of melted Parmesan in a White Lily Savory Tart. Yeasted croissants, Danish Diamonds, and Apple Turnovers rise and swell, each one with a mind of its own. No matter, all are unique. Even when baked in a mold, no two turn out the same.
To this day, my heart still pounds when I walk into La Brea Bakery. I never know what to expect. Like the pastries themselves, each day is different from the last. As I look around at all of the handsome shapes of crescents, twists, and coils and the delightful assortment of cookies, scones, tarts, savories, and confections, I am excited and amazed. But it’s that final glance, that close-up view, that reveals their truth. Simple, humble, and beautiful, this is the stuff I love.