Posted by: normanlgreen | September 25, 2011

Dream, September 25, 2011 bakery school

Dream, home:

lost for having waited too long to drag myself from the couch where I slept – teeth grinding driving me from my bed a t 12:48 am

from 2010: A peach pit planted in an ant farm – it will give those little farmers something to attend.

 I have left my job as a baker and have gone to work for an older European gent who has an operation out of his home. The pastry dough is staged, allowed to rise, on racks spread through the house . It is hung across hangers as though they were mink stoles on display. I prod and pinch the dough lightly to check its progress. The gent – perhaps Fahri, does not want too much of that. He is obsessed with only selling and producing the highest quality. He has no patience for good enough. a new apprentice is also there. His pastries always get dark spots, and though the trays are lined with silicone baking sheets, he leaves little trails of carbon on their undersides. Fahri is insistent that the apprentice take care of this himself. Fahri catches me about to open the oven – the light is too low to check through the door’s window. He chases me away from the stove. I go to a different part of the house to keep myself busy. Fahri tells me that the student is too easily distracted – I think he is talking on the phone and ironing at the same time – and that he needs to learn from his mistakes. I go just to the side of the house where there is a brick floored courtyard, and an out-building that has been turned into a bunk house for the apprentice and I. It is a rainy day so the light has a lot of blue and green in it. The out building still has the original biffy from when Fahri first brought his boys to the house and began renovating it. Now it has all the modern conveniences though it looks more like a post-war ranch style with seven-foot ceilings than the shack it had been or the modern house that it might be transformed into. I quietly sneak back in to find my co-worker with a towel draped around himself – he is dancing, and I am certain that the pastries are being over cooked in the oven. He assures me that they are perfect, though I do not see that he has removed them. Fahri is preparing for wealthy Canadian guests. He prepares an intricate snack-fruit tray with carefully sliced pieces and meticulous stack that will make an impression of grandeur – at least until they start eating from it. Making the right impression on these guests will make a big difference in all of our lives. I am still unsure about the apprentice’s pastries and wonder about where the dough racks have been wheeled.


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