The Bakery Box

He wasn't a baker, but he loved the idea. Cakes and pastries and breads and cookies—some of the best things come out of an oven! But baking takes patience and discipline and thumbs, and Bear was just a bear.

Still, he was determined to make something beautiful, something to finally repay the Baker for all the delicious treats she'd put in the big metal box out back for him every night since the bakery had opened. He would try and fail and try again—as many times as he had to—until he figured it out.

He knew the first step was setting up his mise en place. He may have been a bear, but he wasn't uncultured. First, the dry ingredients: flour, sugar, salt, baking powder, baking soda, wheat germ, and cream of tartar. If only he knew how to read, figuring out which of these white dusts was which would be so much easier. Ah well. Such is life, thought Bear. All we can do is our best.

At least milk, eggs, and butter were easy to find. Why couldn't everything come in clear containers? It's so much easier when you can see what you're after. He didn't let his lack of thumbs bother him as he gathered everything together; after all, the eggs had to get cracked open either way.

His massive paws gingerly placed a mixing bowl on the table before him. He found mixing spoons and measuring cups and laid them out in neat rows on either side of his workspace. He lumbered over to the rack by the door and, in one deft motion of his muzzle, slipped an apron off its hanger and over his head. He tucked his ears under a white baker's toque and set to work.

His first attempt was a failure, but he chalked that up to the oven not having been turned on—a simple oversight, one even experienced bakers must make all the time, he was certain. It took some time, but eventually he managed to find the right combination of buttons, knobs, and switches to get the oven preheating. Why was this process so confusing? Bear decided to do the Baker a favor, and removed the other knobs and switches from her overly complex oven. Simplicity is happiness.

His next attempt, he had to admit, could use significant improvement. The crumb was tough and dense, the flavor lacked nuance, the egg shells did not add the most pleasant texture, and the vanilla beans were stringy and unpleasant. After he finished eating the entire batch, he returned to the prep table—to his canvas—and applied what he'd learned.

Throughout the night, the whole next day, and into the following night, Bear baked. He tested different recipes, made batch after batch, tweaking and refining his process, tasting the results, noting the incremental improvements. Bear worked nonstop for 26 hours (not counting a few brief, four-hour naps). But whenever he considered giving up, he’d think of the countless, tireless hours the Baker had put in on his behalf, making sure the metal box was stocked for him six nights a week. He knew she gave herself only one night off, and he was determined to finally repay her, whatever it took.

***

The Baker was in shock. Her kitchen was in shambles. Baking sheets, muffin tins, and mixing bowls were strewn everywhere. Drawers and storage bins of measuring cups and utensils had been upended on the worktable and violently rummaged through. Every surface was covered in flour, like something from a cartoon.

She stepped carefully through the carnage, her shoes sticking sickly with each step. The oven was on, but the controls looked like someone had taken a pickaxe to them. She looked around helplessly, aimlessly, which is when she saw the trail of red leading to the walk-in. Her heart hammering in her ears, she pulled the door open.

Nothing. Thank goodness. She knelt down, touched an anxious finger to the streaked tile, and brought it to her nose: raspberries. Given the state of the...well, everything, that was hardly a surprise.

She continued moving through the kitchen, surveying the wreckage. Sheet pans bent in half, different colors of batter streaking the walls, the smell of spoilage having seeped into the pores of the place. Who would have done this? Who could have done this?

Eventually, she made it back around to the prep table in the center and saw what had been left for her, but it raised more questions than it answered. In the center of the maelstrom that had once been her workspace, in a patch of table wiped almost strangely clean, was a plate of muffins. On the cutting board beside it, it looked like someone had dipped a screwdriver in molasses and scrawled a single word:

TAHNK

***

Bear was a mess. He couldn't stop pacing. Had muffins been the right choice? Would she know they were from him? Would she be able to read his note? He should've done more test batches, refined his process better. He should have cleaned as he worked—oh gosh, what had he been thinking, you always clean as you work, he knew that! 

Eventually, his nerves ran out of energy. He'd just have to trust that he'd done the best he could, and that his best had been enough. He'd believed in himself, and sometimes that's all it takes.

***

The Baker cautiously, curiously broke off a tiny piece of a muffin. Against her better judgment, she popped it into her mouth.

It was, without question, the worst thing she'd ever tasted. Right into the garbage, along with...well, a lot of other stuff. It was going to be a long day, but she'd make it work. People were counting on her. They would understand—or they wouldn't—but she believed in herself, and sometimes that's all it takes.

***

That night, Bear almost couldn't bring himself to check the bakery box—but as he cautiously lifted the lid, he saw that the Baker had filled it for him once again. 

His heart soared.