missin you sf, lovin you vt

this is what we do in vermont and i love it:

and i also love this crazy frikkin bread that i ate half a loaf of as soon as i got alone with it:

where’d i get the bread? this guy:

gerard rubaud runs a one man wood fired bakery in the hills of westford, vermont. it’s just him, all the way, five days a week.

here are his loaves, just before he starts loading them into the oven, one at a time:

i’d heard rumors of gerard and his amazing bread on various bread sites, and knew that he did his thing a half hour from my house, so i made him my first stop, my first morning in vermont. he was casually doing his thing, loading the puffy dough into the hot oven.

he is fully awesome. he does his thing his way and he does it right. just grains, water, and salt in his breads. he grinds rye and spelt in a manual grinder right before he adds it to his dough.
here’s some of his tools – boards on the left, and pieces of fabric that the dough sits in while it rises on the right (they’re hanging to dry now):

during the two hours i hung with him, various folks from town stopped by to pick up bread. some of them wanted bread for themselves, others as gifts, and one kind girl picked up bread for her farm because it’s part of their CSA. (sound familiar?)
gerard told me that he thinks you can do bread artisan style, or you can do bread industrial style, but you can’t mix and match. for instance, you simply can’t make artisan bread in mass quantities. also, he thinks that bread, by its very nature, is meant to be produced and consumed on a local level.
goodness gerard, you are on top of your sh*t and it makes me feel good about stuff.
look at these gorgeous chubby beauties in the oven, just getting all hot and excited:

i held off on biting into the bread until i was in my car. i think i was a little nervous about eating it in front of him or something. but i literally started groaning and moaning while i ate it in his driveway. i ate half the loaf right there – and it weighed 26 oz. (that’s just under a pound of bread, fatso.)

what can i say, there’s something addictive about real good bread.
even the dogs think so:

see ya soon cutie pies,