I was hopelessly lost in the West Village one recent afternoon, trying to find some random street I had never been to. As it often happens, my directions (from Hopstop.com thank you very much) were wrong and I was scrambling to figure out which way to go with only a few minutes left before I was officially late, something I hate being.
I turned down the narrow and quiet Bedford Street, deciding that I would just pop into the first business I saw and ask for better directions. I saw a storefront and pushed the door open enough to lean my head and torso in, when I was suddenly overwhelmed by the warm, comforting, oh-so-delicious smell of fresh baked bread. Train of thought? Completely derailed.
“Wow, it smells awesome in here!” I said to the apron-clad guy behind the counter, who turned to give me a puzzled look, probably wondering why I was awkwardly only half inside. I regained composure and asked him to point me in the direction, which thanfully he did, and then I made a mental note to get back to this bakery as soon as I could.
A few days later, as Flaneur and I hungrily roamed the West Village looking for a place to have Easter brunch, we found ourselves outside of the same small storefront of the Blue Ribbon Bakery Market. (This was no coincidence. I knew it could be a while before we agreed on a place so I steered us over to Bedford St. for a snack .)
The window boasted stacked baguettes and focaccia-like loaves next to rows of mini pies, oozing with dark berry juices and quiches packed with veggies, glowing in the spring sunshine coming in through the window. When we stepped in, I was greeted by that same warm doughy smell, laced with notes of rosemary and and other herbs and spices.
The same way I can’t take my eyes off puppies in pet shop windows, I was smitten with what I’d seen in the window here. We agreed to split a bacon and onion quiche to hold us over while we continued meandering through the cobble stone streets. Inside, the eggy part of the quiche was soft and moist with bits of bacon and onion adding a flavorful mix to the flaky, buttery crust. Flaneur and I passed it back and forth until it was done and then we knew, brunch better be good because although it was small, that quiche would be a hard act to follow.