“People think baking, commercial baking, is just like at home. You come in, put on your cute apron, maybe make a couple different cookies, and then you’re done! It was so, so much more than that. Long hours, a lot of underappreciation, and people thinking they could do it better. Spoiler: they couldn’t. But I wouldn’t have traded it for anything.”
—AstorBakorGorl to her Twitch Chat, 2056
Bzzzt! Bzzzt! Bzzzt!
You ever regret a decision that you were certain would make your life better? That day, my regret was that I had bought this annoying alarm. Did it care that I had been happily dreaming before it rudely interrupted me?
With a groan, I reached over to smack the snooze button. Sure, I had one on my augs, but there was something satisfying about slapping a physical object that insisted it was some ungodly hour in the morning.
Sometimes, those blessed nine additional minutes were worth the jarring sounds.
After a few more rounds with the alarm, I finally managed to drag myself from bed and shuffled over to the small apartment’s even smaller shower. As I let the warm water pour over me, washing away the morning grumbles, I pulled up the day’s bake schedule on my augs.
Nothing too big to worry about, thankfully. Just our standard fare of fresh breads, early morning pastries, and maybe some cinnamon rolls if I felt up for it.
All too soon, the water shut off and I started the process of getting ready.
Drying off, I wrapped my hair in a towel and flipped through a specialty recipe app I had picked up. Physical cookbooks were intoxicating to leaf through, but most included recipes I would never use. This app, on the other hand, organized my favorites and even sorted them for daily use.
Finally feeling more human, I moved to the wardrobe for my self-appointed uniform: chef’s pants (read: black leggings), black socks, white shirt, and a crisp chef’s coat.
Towel tossed aside, I brushed my hair into a quick ponytail, tucked my toque into my bag along with a water bottle and an energy bar, then slipped on my shoes. One last check to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything, and I headed out—down the stairs to the bakery below.
Testing the handle, I was relieved to find the door locked. Credentials sent, the system clicked open, and I stepped inside.
This was one of my favorite times of the day. No one else was here but me. Getting to walk through while it was still dark, the quiet wrapping itself around me, urging me to make no noise. Heavenly.
Navigating the back of house on instinct, I quickly reached the staff room and shattered the small moments of peace found in liminal spaces. A soft “thunk” echoed from the light switch as I turned on the lights in the prep kitchen and moved out to the bakery area to get ready. The ghost of burnt sugar clung to the corners of the trays, lingering in the air.
Powering up the displays along the wall behind the baker’s table, I let the systems warm up as I pulled out the ingredients I had measured yesterday to begin the day’s bake.
Once I was pretty sure that everything was ready, I tapped into the displays. Working quickly, I sent the recipe files to one of them. Having it on my augs was convenient, but I had found that it wasn’t the most practical when it came to actually baking.
Trying to split my attention between reading what was projected and then shifting to actually trying to follow the steps had led to a few headache-filled shifts. The display let me look at the recipe at a glance without forcing my eyes to constantly adjust.
With the “recipe” display taken care of, I shifted my attention to the other. The second display showed my streaming software. I was rather fortunate that my boss had no issue with me streaming my baking.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
Of course, I got the usual “All recipes provided are property of Pacific Rise Breads LLC doing business as Loaf.exe and are not allowed to be shared with others outside of the corporate structure.” But I wasn’t too worried, as I usually only gave out recipes that I was experimenting with.
Getting back to stream setup, I spent a few moments adjusting the cameras and editing the stream info before going live.
“Gooooooooood morning, my little loafs!” I said with a smile. “Let’s get ready for the day! Does everyone have some coffee, tea, energy drink, or water before we start? Hydration is important, both for people and for dough!”
As I waited for viewers, I finished my prep by tucking my rainbow colored hair into the toque, threading my ponytail through the back.
Within moments, thirty “viewers” filled the feed. Thirty viewers, all bots hawking shady links. The curse of every small streamer. No matter what I did, they were back in minutes.
Ignoring them, I focused on guiding my eventual real viewers through the joys of baking. The magic of turning simple ingredients into something warm and alive never lost its shine.
Bread dough, scones, coffee cake, and my secret cardamom-kissed cinnamon rolls—each step had its rhythm. I danced between my station, the ancient Electric General convection oven, and the display cases, keeping one eye on chat as I worked.
These quiet mornings, before the others arrived, were bliss. I could lose myself in the science and art of baking, share it with the world, and just be.
While I wished these moments could last forever, all good things had to come to an end. That day it was at 6:03 AM, when the first of three co-workers entered and greeted me.
Dizzy was our line cook and, in my humble opinion, was worth probably more than she earned. Not to mention, she was probably one of the best line cooks in the area. Who else could flip three omelets at once without breaking a sweat?
As was her custom, she waved to me before beginning her morning ritual to get everything ready for breakfast service. Of course, as with every new arrival, chat went nuts, demanding that we say “hi” to the tattooed line cook.
I thought her silence intrigued them, as she never directly acknowledged them when they tried to elicit a reaction.
Settling into our comfortable and familiar silence, we continued our work as we got closer to opening. Scones cooled in their display case, coffee cake was ready to be sliced for customer orders, cinnamon rolls were about ready for the oven, and I had the bread on its final rise.
The heady aroma of baked goods, melting butter, and fermenting yeast permeated the premises. I thought this might be as close to heaven on earth as I could get. The only thing better would be… a fresh cup of coffee. Which was exactly what I turned around to find in the hands of our talented barista, Riku.
Bowing slightly at the waist, our mechanic-turned-barista offered me a steaming mug of chai.
“Good morning, Ms. Ambrosia. May your day be filled with peace and harmonious baking,” they said by way of greeting before turning to chat. “And good time of day to all of you lovely little internet gremlins.”
This was easily one of the highlights of the morning for both me and for chat.
[06:32:17] YeastBeast88: yo riku’s got the fancy drinks again ??
[06:32:25] WhiskTaker: ??? chai o’clock!!
[06:32:33] Snackrifice: i swear that’s not just tea, that’s therapy in a mug
[06:32:49] GlitchyOtter: riku always be pouring like they’re defusing a bomb ??
[06:33:02] CrumbSnatcher: Amby bout to get buffs from that cup ??
[06:33:18] NeonTrout: GIVE THEM THE SPICY MILK JUICE ??
[06:33:29] ButterPirate: ???♂???
[06:33:41] 0venL0rd: chai.exe initiated ??
[06:34:04] RainyDayRaven: ngl i’d let riku hand me tea at 6:30 am ANY day ??
Yeah, it was a good day.
Two co-workers were there, just one left, and each day it was a gamble whether she would arrive before we opened.
Five minutes before opening, our own Cascadia-stereotype cashier slipped into the building. Sea-foam green hair peeked out from under her knit cap and oversized hoodie covered in various patches.
Ash dashed into the staff room to stash her stuff, shouting “I’m here!” before passing by. With her bag tucked away, she grabbed one of the “mistake” scones on her way to the register.
“You forgot your apron again,” I shouted to her as she ran by, scone already half gone.
Not too long after, the sound of lo-fi music filled the lobby. She had once again found a way around Tessa’s latest update to keep the tech-savvy tinkerer out.
With a warm drink, a case full of pastries, and a sizzling griddle, it was finally time to open for whatever the day might bring.
