SHORT STORY
La Boulangerie
THE AROMA FROM THE FRENCH BAKERY TOOK OVER OUR LIVES …
When combined with the right timing and preparation, these simple ingredients produced the most captivating smell we had ever experienced:
Sliced Powdered Almonds Confectioner’s sugar Rum Vanilla extract Granulated sugar Blanched almonds processed into almond meal Salt Butter Eggs
These were the ingredients that North Shore La Boulangerie used to make their famed Almond Croissants.
As the croissants bake to their golden perfection, the warm butter wafts with the toasted almonds and exits the rear door of the French bakery, easily passing the alleyway, stepping over the smell of the burnt pizza from Pizza Man, and crawls into the ventilation system of my family’s stationery store. The rich aroma of almond meal combined with the sweetness of butter, sugar and rum, creating a fragrance that gave us all feelings of warmth and comfort. To call it absolutely delightful is an understatement. It elevates me off the ground and takes control of my stomach.
Our customers always commented, “Don’t ya’ love the new bakery? The smell is out of this world.”
“Yes, we love it. The baker and his wife are super nice. A great addition to the neighborhood.”
When the customers left, Dad gruffed. “And their customers park their cadillacs in front of our store and never shop here.”
“Having more people around is always a good thing,” I’d quip.
“Our regular customers deserve to park in the spots in front of our store. That’s common sense. I’m pretty sure anyone willing to spend that much money on the bakery isn’t coming in here. I’m sure they’d prefer shopping at Staples or Office Max.”
It was tough hearing Dad sound so defeatist, but he was right. We were losing customers to the new box stores and Target had started selling school supplies for less money than our wholesaler was charging us. I’d remind him that we could change the inventory to meet the interests of the new clientele. “We could start selling high end toys. Rich folks love wasting their money on that stuff.”
“…And we could start selling ice cream!” My younger sister, Theresa, piped in with her dream.
Dad gruffed again as he walked back to his office to work on a client’s taxes. He’d had been working an extra four hours a day to keep the store afloat.
The cost for a single almond croissant in 1982 was approximately one hour’s pay, $1.25. Dad was blown away when he first saw the price, and he vigilantly reminded us that buying an overpriced “heart attack croissant” was digging your own grave. Who in their right mind would pay that much money for a fancy donut?
For my older brother, John, the smell was too much to resist. He’d gather up spare quarters and even skim some money from the till and sneak over for a special treat. One day I found him indulging on the famed almond croissant while hiding in the alleyway.
“Dad is crazy. Nothing this delicious could be bad for you.”
“I can’t believe you bought that.”
“I can’t resist. This is better than anything I’ve ever eaten.”
“Aren’t you concerned about the cost? You have to work an entire hour to buy that.”
“I stole the money from the till. Dad’s an idiot. This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”
I couldn’t believe his arrogance. “You sound pretty brave for someone hiding in the alley.”
“Fuck you! If you tell Dad, I’ll kill you.” Always looking for a partner in crime, he changed his tune. “You need to try one. You’ll agree with me once you get one.”
As luck would have it, Dad suddenly pulled into the alley driving our rusty delivery van. He looked dead eyed at John yelling, “Mr Moneybags thinks he deserves the most expensive food!”
John didn’t miss a beat. “So, it’s not about the unhealthy ingredients, it’s about the money.”
Dad parked, shook his head in shame grumbling, “Miserable little snob, you’re just like my mother.”
John seized in anger, his eyes welling up, he practically convulsed. Dropping the croissant, he punched the wall.
I bent over and picked it up, shaking some debris off. Its airy lightness surprised me. The almond meal captured me and, without a conscious thought, I took my first bite. “John, you’re right. This is the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted too.”
“Now you’re a miserable little snob too. Welcome to the club.”
