Sentimental farewell

Although I’ve been procrastinating and putting off the inevitable, the time has finally arrived for me to bid farewell to The Pot Kiln, and consequently my online baking alias. The last few months have been a formative time for me, from the disastrous courgette bread of my first day, to customers asking to buy individual loaves to take away; from balking at the deer carcasses staring blankly out of the fridge, to proudly purchasing my own boning knife. Before I began I had no style of my own to speak of, but out of the garden and the expansive countryside and the response from the restaurant, I now have a much clearer idea. In the surroundings of The Pot Kiln I have been on a continuous learning curve, not from having chefs breathing critically over my shoulder, but from being given freedom to experiment. As far as my baking is concerned, the mere fact that I’ve been able to practice the process everyday will I know be invaluable. I am pleased to say that the task never remotely strayed into chore-territory. Bounding in each morning in anticipation of how my tea towel-shrouded sourdough has fared overnight, or standing by the glass-fronted oven watching it rise majestically in the first blasts of heat, is something I will miss greatly.

I would like to thank all the staff at the Pot Kiln for making my time there such a positive experience: in particular to Katie and Mike for taking a gamble and employing a relative novice. Thanks also to head chef Phil, for not only allowing me access to his magical camera, but for not screaming too loudly as I danced around five minutes before service, frantically trying to photograph bread destined for the board. I know that whatever I do now I have to work with food. I will continue to have flour on my clothes and dough under my fingernails. I will be watching the seasons and the hedgerows. I will be writing ideas in my shark-patterned notebook and taking cookbooks on train journeys.

This is the Pot Kiln Baker, signing off.