The art of french pastry phần 4

• P R E FAC E • A LIFE IN PASTRY I WAS RAISED IN MY FATHER’S BAKERY in a small Alsatian village called Marlenheim My bed was right above the oven (wonderful in winter, but not so great on hot summer nights, since air conditioning was not, and is still not, very common in French homes), and until I was fifteen, the magical aroma of fresh-baked bread was the only alarm clock I knew My father got up every day at midnight to tend to his dough His was the schedule of a traditional French baker in the 1960s and ’70s, working from midnight to noon and sleeping after lunch from one to four and then again from about nine to midnight My mother ran the front of the shop Up at five a.m every day, she would have the shop ready to open at six—by which time a line had formed outside the door— and would serve customers until we closed at seven p.m My mom knew her customers well She knew the ones who liked their bread light brown and those who preferred it dark and bien cuit; she knew who bought croissants, and how many She knew to set aside a large kougelhof for this neighbor, six cinnamon rolls for that one Alsatians are exceptionally particular when it comes to food, and a successful baker must serve them well; they may not complain openly, but if they are unsatisfied they will never, ever return to your shop My five-foot-tall ... was fifteen, the magical aroma of fresh-baked bread was the only alarm clock I knew My father got up every day at midnight to tend to his dough His was the schedule of a traditional French baker in the 1960s and ’70s,... lunch from one to four and then again from about nine to midnight My mother ran the front of the shop Up at five a.m every day, she would have the shop ready to open at six—by which time a line had formed outside the door—... Alsatians are exceptionally particular when it comes to food, and a successful baker must serve them well; they may not complain openly, but if they are unsatisfied they will never, ever return to