"If thou tastest a crust of bread, thou tastest all the stars in the heavens." - Robert Browning
That's the quote above the mill at the True Grain bakery. Frankly, I'm pretty blown away that this tiny bakery in Cow Bay mills their own grain, and even more surprised that the mill is tucked away in a side room where it could so easily be missed by city slickers like me in hurried search of baguettes and sourdough.
Every surface in the room is covered with flour, even the ceiling. The quote is painted high above the mill, and is partly obscured by it. Obviously, it's intended to be seen by the mill operator, rather than customers, leading me to realize that it's more of a quiet blessing over the flour than a marketing ploy. I've only come here in search of snacks so I don't have to resort to ferry food on my way home, and now I feel like a fraud. Kind of like assuming the Mona Lisa's the only thing to see in the Louvre, and racing past everything else. I mean, how can I think of my baguette as just a snack after seeing that someone milled the flour and then lugged it 20 feet into the kitchen? It's not just a baguette; here it's an act of love.
Bread has always been a transcendent food for me, and I have great respect for its ancient roots. I think of its use in solidifying bible-era contracts, of breaking bread with friends and family, of Jesus' loaves and fishes, and of how Jews fleeing Pharaoh's Egypt didn't have time to let their bread rise. We were pretty happy to leave Egypt, but no one's happy about matzo, "the bread of affliction". If you've ever made bread at home, you'll get what I'm talking about. (I'm pretty sure Robert Browning made bread, or he at least milled around when Elizabeth did.) There's something about the yeast action, the rising and the kneading that makes you connect with it, and understand that it's alive and needs to be cared for. I even know a chef who named his sourdough starter, and brings it home to look after it over the holidays.
I'm not sure if those are the thoughts and feelings my mom was trying to instill in me when we read the Little Red Hen, but they stuck anyway. Doesn't the Island Fresh sign make you think of that story? http://www.bres.boothbay.k12.me.us/wq/nnash/WebQuest/little_red_hen.htm
Those of you who read this far are avid readers indeed, and as such probably know that the Browning quote is slightly off (“in” should be “and all”). If you caught it, you have a better eye than I. Mine was fixed on the bread.
That's the quote above the mill at the True Grain bakery. Frankly, I'm pretty blown away that this tiny bakery in Cow Bay mills their own grain, and even more surprised that the mill is tucked away in a side room where it could so easily be missed by city slickers like me in hurried search of baguettes and sourdough.
Every surface in the room is covered with flour, even the ceiling. The quote is painted high above the mill, and is partly obscured by it. Obviously, it's intended to be seen by the mill operator, rather than customers, leading me to realize that it's more of a quiet blessing over the flour than a marketing ploy. I've only come here in search of snacks so I don't have to resort to ferry food on my way home, and now I feel like a fraud. Kind of like assuming the Mona Lisa's the only thing to see in the Louvre, and racing past everything else. I mean, how can I think of my baguette as just a snack after seeing that someone milled the flour and then lugged it 20 feet into the kitchen? It's not just a baguette; here it's an act of love.
Bread has always been a transcendent food for me, and I have great respect for its ancient roots. I think of its use in solidifying bible-era contracts, of breaking bread with friends and family, of Jesus' loaves and fishes, and of how Jews fleeing Pharaoh's Egypt didn't have time to let their bread rise. We were pretty happy to leave Egypt, but no one's happy about matzo, "the bread of affliction". If you've ever made bread at home, you'll get what I'm talking about. (I'm pretty sure Robert Browning made bread, or he at least milled around when Elizabeth did.) There's something about the yeast action, the rising and the kneading that makes you connect with it, and understand that it's alive and needs to be cared for. I even know a chef who named his sourdough starter, and brings it home to look after it over the holidays.
I'm not sure if those are the thoughts and feelings my mom was trying to instill in me when we read the Little Red Hen, but they stuck anyway. Doesn't the Island Fresh sign make you think of that story? http://www.bres.boothbay.k12.me.us/wq/nnash/WebQuest/little_red_hen.htm
Those of you who read this far are avid readers indeed, and as such probably know that the Browning quote is slightly off (“in” should be “and all”). If you caught it, you have a better eye than I. Mine was fixed on the bread.
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