The Organic Garden Chef

 Stories to Share

“Can we make bread today, Chef Shannon?!” asked 7-year-old Addy. Her mother, Clare, quickly whisked her out of the kitchen—as she usually would—to resume her endless procession of after school extracurriculars. Addy reminded me of myself at her age, curious about everything in the kitchen. Since Addy didn’t have her grandma, like I had, I decided one day that she should have her time in the kitchen with me. After some repeated prodding, Clare reluctantly realized that Addy was genuinely interested in cooking so we made a date for 3pm on a Monday to learn to bake. I heard Addy and her sister storming through the front door. “Take off your shoes and go get your snack, then homework, ” her mother shouted. “Addy, come here” I said. I let out a sing-song cry, “WE'RE MAKING BREAD TODAY, ADDY!” “We ARE?!?!” she shouted back. “Go wash your hands, we don’t have much time” . I went into my chef bag and took out an apron I had brought for her. It was one I had worn many times, with little patches sewn over the holes. It was the smallest one that I had, so it was perfect for her. “I LOVE it!” she exclaimed. Clare quickly ran through the kitchen and shot me a look as if to say, “let me know when she gets to be too much work… ” For the next 25 minutes, Addy and I prepared my grandma's bread recipe. Carefully adding yeast to the water, layering with flour and carving a well for the salt, her small hands making the same motions mine did with my grandma all those years ago. I let her do most of the work so she could call it her own. While the dough was rising, she asked me why I became a chef. I explained that I always loved being in the kitchen with my grandma, and being able to teach others—just like her— brought me so much joy that it didn’t seem much like a job at all. She smiled and said “I hope Mommy lets me cook with you more. ” “Me too, Addy” , I replied. read for Addy Shortly after we shook all the flour out of our aprons and hair, the timer went off. Addy raced to the oven door. Excitedly we pulled the bread from the oven as its intoxicating smell started to work its magic. It didn’t take long for the smell of fresh bread to permeate throughout the entire house, bringing in the staff from outside who had smelled it through the cracked window while they were working on the guest house. “Save a piece for us, Addy!” they all shouted as they passed by the window. "Go sit down at the table, everybody!” Addy demanded of her family. We gently placed the warm bread on the wood cutting board. I wanted Addy to carry it out to the table and share the preparation details with her parents and sister. “Look!” Addy proudly exclaimed. She set the board down right in the middle of the table, almost knocking over her sisters’ water glass and startling her parents with the loud thump. I helped Addy slice the warm bread, it was really too warm to serve, but she couldn’t wait another second. She put a fat square of cold German butter on each slice, followed by a pinch of sea salt. She passed out each plate to her family, “here you go…and here you go” she said smiling proudly. Everybody put the warm bread up to their nose to take a deep whiff. “Mmmmm”, they all chimed. The family's brief interaction, (in their elegant dining room with its crystal chandelier and stark eggshell white walls) was the most conversation I had heard around their table. While preparing meals in their kitchen I was always mindful of my noise because it was always so incredibly quiet in that dining room. A pin could hear a crumb drop. That night I left the dining room to finish the details on the main meal. I could hear the family laughing, talking about school and the bread and the upcoming weekend activities, the excitement— that seemed lost for such a long time— had returned. I was so distracted by this new version of the family I had forgot the pan on the stove to sear my scallops. My grandma's bread brought them together that night. As I cleared the bread plates and served dinner, there was a new vibration in the air. The family was smiling and bussing their own table(!) After that night, every day I came to cook, Clare allowed Addy 15 minutes in the kitchen with Chef Shannon before starting her homework. Most times we would make bread together. She served every loaf with the same excitement as the very first loaf. In 2018 I ran into Addy in Menlo Park, an affluent city on the San Francisco Bay. It was 12 years since we made our first loaf of baked bread and she’s still baking. She explained the different variations she tried over the years, waving her hands just like her 7-year-old self, excited in the kitchen. She taught her sister how to make the bread and it’s my hope she will teach her own children to make it one day, sharing the story of how she learned and how it changed the dynamic of her family’s dinnertime together.