Imagine if you will:
The crisp cold air of winter. The warm sun shinning. The drip drip drips of icecles melting from rooftops. The excitement in the air as folks who have been stuck inside from the cold weather over the week are finally out of their houses on a Saturday morning.
You walk up to a bake shop you have never been to, unsure of what you are about to experience, knowing your hungry and want something filling, simple, cozy and homey. You don’t want something commercial, you don’t want something greasy or half attempted or on the other hand over done.
You grab the cold handle, and the first thing that hits you is the simple smell of fresh baked goods. Nothing too sweet, or overly coffee smelling clouds your senses. Warmth, calm music, bustling bodies, the charm of a friendly staff. Brick walls with art and chalk, french themes, a tall ceiling… Delectables displayed with a tasteful eye. Not overwhelmingly crammed together with more options than you can count on both hands.
You order and then make a tasteful dash for the next open seat, acknowledging that the popularity of the place will leave you with a kid on your lap while you both juggle tea/cocoa and food, but you don’t mind at all because suddenly you feel comfortable, like really comfortable…almost guilty because you realize you could probably stay all day tasting and sipping and smiling despite the fact that more people are coming in, also looking for their own Saturday experience.
That was my experience this morning at the Little Bird Bake Shop. A much needed one, and one I know will never exist again but I can’t wait for the next experience there.