When I started working at Magpie, my expectations were low. I’d never worked in the food industry, so I didn’t know what it’d be like. Would I hate the repetition? Would the work be too tiring? Would I find the bakery’s vision compelling? Would I get bored? 

For the first few weeks I remained firmly on the fence. A newcomer, I was just learning the ropes, doing as I was told, and familiarizing myself with the bakery techniques. Also, I was learning a little about how the diner worked, and the Magpie enterprise as a whole (all three entities run by gifted and incredibly hardworking kickass women). 

But then something started to shift. I began to distinguish between failed pastry and okay pastry and holy-heck-this-is-awesome pastry. I learned how to rotate, double tray, and foil cover the morning buns to get their bottoms a “just right” caramelly golden brown. I learned to sheet pastry and work the computers and dock sourdough. I began to trust my instincts, and instead of just learning, I began to contribute. 

In recent weeks, I’ve been given opportunities to be a little more creative. I’ve played with the pastry scraps, added scones to the rotation, tested zucchini breads, and tweaked my peanut butter cream pie (which is on the diner menu this week!). 

pastry scraps #1: pie with plums and nectarines (or was it peaches?)

pastry scraps #2: feta and sausage cups

pastry scraps experiment #3: cream cheese and jam

testing, testing, one, two, three…

winner on the right: to be served in the diner sliced, grilled, and topped

with blueberry compote, whipped cream, and a sprig of fresh thyme

As a result, I starting returning home from work energized. Exhausted, yes (especially the day I got up at 3:45 and then pulled a 12-hour shift), but with my brain spinning with new ideas and far more plans than any sane person ought to have. In my spare time, I fiddle with the discard from the bakery starter, make shopping lists, daydream how to make the bakery more efficient, mess around with old recipe favorites and geek out over new ones. It’s glorious.

lavender blackberry scones, maybe?

peach hand pies?

I’ve always loved feeding people — and one of my biggest griefs is that my family fills up so terribly fast, thus limiting my baking opportunities — so having a steady stream of appreciative eaters is pretty much heaven.

nearly every weekend, five minutes before opening

I’m energized by the customers’ questions and comments, the high demand, and — best of all — watching their faces light up when they learn that yes, there is fresh sourdough available, or when I surprise someone with a sample from a test bake. (“It’s been a hard week, and this is the nicest thing that’s happened to me,” said one mother gratefully — she actaully sounded like she might have been on the verge of tears — a toddler on her cocked hip.) 

I even like the repetitive nature of many of the tasks (except for slicing sourdough, which fills me with rage, and pounding the butter blocks for pastry). The first several hours of the baking shift — the early morning one — is a marathon of hot ovens and pastry, sourdough, hand pies, scones, and cookies. 

The pastry shift, which starts when the bakery opens, involves a couple hours of standing in the corner, zipping pastry back and forth through the sheeter to laminate it, and then a couple more hours of shaping. 

I find the rhythmic nature of the work soothing. I love being with the dough. The feel and smell of it. The tending of it. 

Now the bakery almost feels like a second home. Arriving in the early morning when it’s still dark outside, the hum of the refrigerators and the click of the ovens as they heat the only sounds, I transfer pastry from the fridge to the proofer, put away the last night’s dishes, and pull hand pies from the freezer.

While I mix the dough for the next day’s sourdough, eggwash the hand pies and sprinkle them with fresh thyme, and dry mise a batch of scones or cookies, I sip my coffee, the heat of the ovens warm on my back. Sometimes I even come in extra early so I can have more time alone in the night kitchen, just me and the ovens, and the pastry and bread.

This same time, years previous: the quotidian (9.23.19), a bunch of things, grape pie, better than cake, test your movies, the run around, candid camera, when the relatives came, painting my belly.

A working breakfast: my husband says I’m spoiled.

Confirmed: it’s a strong starter!

Krispy Kremes, dived.

My younger son attempted to repurpose a few in a Dutch Puff. . . and failed. Way too sweet. 

Bringing home the bacon. Or the watermelon, as it were. 

Two breasts!

Her school commute. 

Mac Pack

Labor Day Weekend, COVID Edition.

Homemade light powered by a solar-panel and car battery. 

Kitchen window turned COVID confessional (haha). 

Now that he’s got 4-ply masks from his clinicals, he occasionally graces us with his presence indoors.

Last Sunday of summer: Hello, Fall!

Another day, another sunset.

photo credit: my younger son

This same time, years previous: family night, bottle calves, cast iron skillet steak, black bean and veggie salad, stop and sink, in defense of battered kitchen utensils, baking with teachers.

Yesterday after a morning of writing, I heated up my lunch of leftovers and drove over to my mom’s to sit on her porch in the sun and eat it. While I shoveled my spinach and rice into my mouth (first setting aside a sample for her to taste), she scurried around, collecting her lunch, making coffee, running back into the house for brownies and chocolate, shouting at my dad to tie Buster before he drove off, untying Buster after Dad drove off, and so on. We sat there on the porch for a long time, sipping coffee and running our mouths about all sorts of things: writing, books, food, friends, kids, the works. 

“You have to post about that spinach stuff,” she said when I was leaving. “And if you don’t post about it soon, please send me the recipe.”

Which was just the incentive I needed to get back to this space. Thanks, Mom.

I’ve made this spinach dish — saag paneer, but bastardized à la Priya Krishna of Indian-ish Cookbook fame — two times now. The first time I used whole coriander seeds, as Priya said, but they didn’t blend up in the food processor so it was like eating a delicious gravy that’d been mixed with dozens of little pebbles. The kids were not impressed.

But the flavor was good! So I made it again, this time using ground coriander instead of the seeds — much better. 

Spinach and Feta Cooked Like Saag Paneer

Adapted from Indian-ish by Priya Krishna.

To make your own ground coriander, toast a few tablespoons of coriander in a dry cast-iron skillet until the seeds have darkened a couple shades and are fragrant. Poor into a separate bowl and cool to room temp. Grind in a coffee grinder or blender. 

Also, I’m not convinced that the cumin needs to be cooked separately and added last, along with the red pepper. Why not toss them in at the beginning along with the coriander and cardamom?

6 tablespoons olive oil, divided

2 tablespoons ground coriander

¼ teaspoon ground cardamom

1 medium onion, rough-chopped

1 tablespoon (maybe more) fresh ginger, rough-minced

1-2 garlic cloves, minced

1 pound fresh spinach

1 tablespoon fresh lime juice, about half of one lime

1-2 teaspoons minced jalapeno

1 teaspoon salt

6 ounces feta cut into ½-inch cubes

1 teaspoon cumin seeds

¼ teaspoon red pepper flakes

Heat ¼ cup of the olive oil In a large soup pan. Add the coriander and cardamom and cook for 1-2 minutes. Add the onion, reduce heat, and cook for 5-8 minutes until soft. Add ginger and garlic and cook for one more minute. Add the spinach and cook until wilted. Turn off the heat and add the jalapeno, salt, and lime juice. 

Transfer the spinach to a food processor and pulse until nearly smooth (a little chunkiness is fine). Transfer the spinach mixture to a suitable kettle (the original one will feel much too big), add ½ cup of water, and gently stir in the chunks of feta. Cook on low heat for another five minutes, stirring carefully every couple minutes until the cheese has softened and everything is nice and hot. 

In a separate small kettle, heat the remaining 2 tablespoons of olive oil and toss in the cumin seed. Simmer briefly, just until the seeds begin to brown, and then add the red pepper and pour the mixture into the spinach sauce. 

Serve with rice, dhal, pita, chicken, whatever. 

This same time, years previous: a hernia, hip-hip, coco, lemony mashed potato salad, what they talked about, nectarine bourbon pie, playing catch-up, regretful wishing, ketchup, two ways.