Hoarders - Special Bakery Edition

I’m not back in the kitchen yet since I’m still on the road to recovery pedaling away on Father Time’s creepy bicycle, so I decided to do little market research this week instead. No, this was not just a flimsy excuse to stuff my face with overpriced cupcakes and an elusive Hungarian apple strudel – this was an honest to God attempt at …stuffing my face with overpriced cupcakes and an elusive Hungarian apple strudel (so sue me -Victoria’s Secret never called me back). This was a very enlightening exercise, and while the two establishments I visited shared a common bond of flour, butter, and sugar, they couldn’t be more diametrically opposed in terms of a little thing called sanitation.


The first joint – man. The location was great. Corner spot in a place full of old world charm, big sign advertising homemade apple strudel. And it was open! Every other time I’ve been there the damn place has been closed.

Well, remember how I said I’m a germaphobe that can switch off the OCD in the face of hot deliciousness? Not this time. While the lady I met was perfectly lovely and filled with a wealth of knowledge on how to peel apples for Hungarian – not German – apple strudel, I was too distracted by the clutter littered throughout the bakery. How could anyone sit at the tables when there were boxes of crap everywhere? It wasn’t as if they had just moved in. That place has been there for awhile now. Nate picked up an apple that was trying to escape the building and sat it next to a bowl of congealed Cheerios. How does that even happen to Cheerios? I kept an eye out for cat carcasses and cockroaches brave enough to face the light of day, but luckily I didn’t spot any. When she was telling me they also served wonderful, freshly baked croissant sandwiches as if we were standing in the middle of a high end tea salon and not a real time episode of Hoarders, I kept thinking, “Who in their right mind would ever eat here?” Not me, and I’m pretty crazy.

I won’t go into too much detail about the next place I visited since they’re famous, overrated, and overpriced. Nice place with cute girls in matching shirts and ribbons. Cute cupcakes sprinkled with lots and lots of sprinkly goodness. Did I mention overpriced and overrated? I’ve never been impressed with the actual cake part of their business, but I do like their frosting, especially the orange flavor. I asked how often they bake, and the girl said every hour. Every hour??? People really like cupcakes, damn.

If God smiled down upon me and gave me a million bucks and the choice of which bakery I’d like to own, I’d pick the first place hands down. For real. I would demolish it and start from scratch. It would be elegant yet cozy, like Barefoot Contessa but with bigger portions and better theme music. It would smell wonderful and more importantly, be clean, with nary a rodent hair in sight. It would be mine and I’d be so thankful. It’s amazing to me how much potential is sitting right there in that owner’s apple peeling hands. So much potential. Oh well, maybe someday.

Felled by gluttony and sloth - capital vices make not a capital day

There are quite a few things in life that scare me, but here are just a few: sharks, using public restrooms, eating where a public restroom is in my line of vision, standing too close to a trashcan, eating where a trashcan has me in its line of vision, carbon monoxide poisoning, spiders hiding in shoes, people who talk on their cell phones in restaurants, people who laugh really loud in public, people who talk during movies - wait, wait, wait - I’m starting to pull from the wrong list now. The last few are from my “Things That Really Suck” list, which is rather long.

So public restrooms…trashcans. Yeah. Germaphobe here. In my home library, I have a shelf dedicated to books on bacteria (the bad kind) and other infectious diseases. “Going viral” has an entirely different meaning for me than it does for Rebecca Black. Hand washing? I take it to another level. However, there are two things that cannot be shaken despite the incessant 5-alarm panic bells in my brain that caution me to be ever vigilant against the nefarious Germ Nation: my love of buffets and my obsession with 1-hour $15 reflexology massages.

These things render me stupid. Some kid sticks his fingers in the mashed potatoes? Didn’t Jesus say to turn the other cheek? My “masseuse” (I use this term loosely) takes a quick break in the mysterious room in back to finish her lunch and forgets to wash her hands before coming back? Okay, as long as she gives me extra time.

You know, now that I think about it - as much as I love getting massages, I find myself unable to completely relax for fear of falling asleep and snoring so loud I am shaken awake (because THAT hasn’t happened before). I also have a compulsive tendency to stare at the clock every few minutes and tell myself, “It’s almost over. Why?!? Why is it almost over? Damn you, Father Time..............and your really creepy scythe."

found on: http://mt.wiglaf.org/aaronm/2009/09/father-time---uk-circa-1900.html

Wow. I think I'll go ahead and add this picture to the list of things that scare me.


Anyway, I went to a buffet AND got a massage this past weekend and now I have a cold. See what happens when you are more Rhythm Nation than Germ Nation? When you chuckle in the face of an iceberg, Titanic style? Okay, I think it's time for some meds.

I need to get better soon. I have some orders to fill this weekend and I also need to get cracking on the little cupcake project I mentioned yesterday – the 1000 cupcakes project (damn, that’s a lot of cupcakes). 


Immune system, please don’t fail me now! I don’t bake when I’m sick because I don’t want to put others at risk of catching my germs - no matter how many times I wash my hands. That’s just how I do... especially now that I have a certificate saying I passed the ServSafe California Food Handler assessment test. Look out, world!