We decided it was best to start small, and so we only paid for 20 hours/week at the kitchen, so I had to plan my bakery production carefully. For our rent of $500/mo (I would later find out they also charged for utilities, which was basically whatever they felt like billing which was almost $200/mo), I got ½ a baker’s rack of storage in the fridge and freezer, plus one long shelf of dry storage. We moved me in and I got to work making caramel and various prep items. First thing I noticed was I didn’t have pans or utensils and I guess they didn’t come with the kitchen. So I borrowed from another renter and tried to make it work for that first day. It was weird because I felt like I had to ask other renters about every little thing, and they didn’t seem to helpful; rather, they were probably busy and very focused on their own dilemmas about running a food business. In a way, it made me feel a bit insecure, but I’ve always had trouble in that area. I also was kind of bummed because one of the reasons I was into the idea of sharing a kitchen was to collaborate with other food businesses, but I guess we didn’t share too much in common.
Anyway, I was very careful making the caramel, and had my glass candy thermometer clipped to the pan. When I tried to brush down the sides with a wet pastry brush, small glass-like bubbles of very hot sugar syrup formed and then exploded everywhere, cracking the thermometer, and scarring the shit out of me. I don’t know what I did with the caramel at that moment (which was filled with toxic mercury from the busted thermometer, but I do remember stepping outside and calling John, crying as soon as I heard his voice. I had this feeling of not wanting to start the bakery. That it was too hard. That it was too dangerous. I was afraid I would get hurt, take an eye out or something! Eventually I calmed down, and John told me to pack up and come home. I had this feeling of defeat, but knew in that state of mind, it was better for me to start fresh in the morning.
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