Afterword

In those days we were still a restaurant serving barbecue, gumbo and soups, salads, and homemade sodas as well as making fresh breads and rolls. We used to make ten loaves of French bread, a tray of rolls, and about twelve loaves of Struan, selling off whatever we did not use for meals. We did all of this in a tiny café with six tables, one convection oven, and barely enough room to turn around. We would roll out the breads at night and run them across the hall to our neighbor, a florist shop appropriately called Heaven Sent, where we would retard them over night in the walk-in refrigerator. The next morning we would arrive early, retrieve the dough, and bake off the bread while we did our lunch prep.