In the middle of a cold day in February, Claudette Danis and her husband, Bryan Shwartz, stepped off the airplane and were welcomed by Bay Area fog. Bryan, originally from Berkeley, had moved to the countryside of France in his late twenties. That is where he fell in love with Claudette and her bread-making skills. They happily married in an old brick chapel and found their callings: Bryan as an engineer, and Claudette as a cartoonist. Ten years passed and, itching for adventure and a chance to be close to Bryan’s family, they sold all their belongings, though each chose one particular item to remind them of France. Bryan decided on a rusted doorknob from their old cottage, and Claudette brought her beloved sourdough starter.
As they settled into their Berkeley neighborhood, Bryan quickly became friendly with all of their neighbors. Claudette with her quiet ways made no friends, but she was perfectly happy working on her first graphic novel. She spent most of her time in the darkly lit office, but sometimes she would venture to Zeppola, a French bakery that reminded her of home.
On a beautiful summer day, Claudette was driving home from Zeppola and nibbling on a candied orange peel scone. Her thoughts then were: the scone is too bitter, the sugary top is cutting the roof of my mouth, I am going to die.
Claudette awoke in a drab hospital room and had a pounding headache. These were the last seconds in the phase of Claudette’s life when she did not appreciate the little things.
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Claudette’s screams were so loud that a team of nurses charged into her room. Expecting to find the worst, they were relieved to find a scared patient discovering the reality of her injury. When Claudette looked down, both of her hands were wrapped completely in bandages. She later learned that a drunk driver had hit her car, and both of her hands were severely broken.
Once out of the hospital, Claudette spent months weeping in her bed. Bryan was patient with her, and slowly together they learned how to adjust to her new temporary impairment. Bryan brought home her favorite crisp white roses every day after work. While she healed, he tried not to show off the advantages of his hands and often found himself hiding them. Even with his efforts, Claudette felt total emotional numbness, which led to extreme boredom.
One Thursday morning, for the first time in months, without the efforts of Bryan, Claudette stumbled out of bed and found herself in the kitchen. She had just painfully changed her bandages and was feeling down. She looked hopelessly around her countertops until her eyes drifted toward her beloved sourdough starter. A full smile appeared on her face when she realized Bryan had been feeding the starter all this time. He hated feeding it, she thought. The smell always made his nose scrunch up and his eyes teary. Feeding it was also a tedious process, involving discarding some of the starter, adding water and flour, and thoroughly mixing until combined.
With sudden drive, she slowly started to scoop out some of the sourdough starter and gather the ingredients for her secret bread recipe. Although it took four times longer than before and her countertops were caked with flour and oil, the loaf came out perfectly, to her surprise.
Once she started making loaves, Claudette noticed that she could find happiness in something even with her temporary obstacle. She loved to knead the dough with her elbows and shoulders, and felt that her technique was one of the secrets to her bread. She stayed in bread-baking mode for weeks, making loaves for her neighbors and for Bryan’s family. Bryan stopped bringing roses home and started bringing loaves to work. The kitchen was always a disaster, which drove Bryan mad, but all he wanted was for Claudette to be happy. And it did help that the bread was incredible.
One bright spring day, a stranger knocked on their door. She had heard about Claudette’s bread, which was now known as “the best bread in Berkeley,” and she offered to pay Claudette ten dollars for a loaf. Claudette happily took the cash and started in the kitchen right away, until she heard another knock at the door and opened it to find another stranger requesting to buy a loaf. The word soon got out that there was a gifted French baker in Berkeley. Through word of mouth, Claudette began to get dozens of orders per day for her delicious loaves.
Even when her hands were healed, she preferred to knead the dough with her elbows and shoulders, which made her bread truly special. When asked about her underground bread business called No Hands Needed Bread, Claudette explained, “initially I was thrilled about the income, especially since I could not work on my novel for so many weeks. Soon, however, I came to realize that baking bread was more than a hobby or business; it taught me the importance of using your strengths to overcome difficult times.”
As they settled into their Berkeley neighborhood, Bryan quickly became friendly with all of their neighbors. Claudette with her quiet ways made no friends, but she was perfectly happy working on her first graphic novel. She spent most of her time in the darkly lit office, but sometimes she would venture to Zeppola, a French bakery that reminded her of home.
On a beautiful summer day, Claudette was driving home from Zeppola and nibbling on a candied orange peel scone. Her thoughts then were: the scone is too bitter, the sugary top is cutting the roof of my mouth, I am going to die.
Claudette awoke in a drab hospital room and had a pounding headache. These were the last seconds in the phase of Claudette’s life when she did not appreciate the little things.
5
4
3
2
1
Claudette’s screams were so loud that a team of nurses charged into her room. Expecting to find the worst, they were relieved to find a scared patient discovering the reality of her injury. When Claudette looked down, both of her hands were wrapped completely in bandages. She later learned that a drunk driver had hit her car, and both of her hands were severely broken.
Once out of the hospital, Claudette spent months weeping in her bed. Bryan was patient with her, and slowly together they learned how to adjust to her new temporary impairment. Bryan brought home her favorite crisp white roses every day after work. While she healed, he tried not to show off the advantages of his hands and often found himself hiding them. Even with his efforts, Claudette felt total emotional numbness, which led to extreme boredom.
One Thursday morning, for the first time in months, without the efforts of Bryan, Claudette stumbled out of bed and found herself in the kitchen. She had just painfully changed her bandages and was feeling down. She looked hopelessly around her countertops until her eyes drifted toward her beloved sourdough starter. A full smile appeared on her face when she realized Bryan had been feeding the starter all this time. He hated feeding it, she thought. The smell always made his nose scrunch up and his eyes teary. Feeding it was also a tedious process, involving discarding some of the starter, adding water and flour, and thoroughly mixing until combined.
With sudden drive, she slowly started to scoop out some of the sourdough starter and gather the ingredients for her secret bread recipe. Although it took four times longer than before and her countertops were caked with flour and oil, the loaf came out perfectly, to her surprise.
Once she started making loaves, Claudette noticed that she could find happiness in something even with her temporary obstacle. She loved to knead the dough with her elbows and shoulders, and felt that her technique was one of the secrets to her bread. She stayed in bread-baking mode for weeks, making loaves for her neighbors and for Bryan’s family. Bryan stopped bringing roses home and started bringing loaves to work. The kitchen was always a disaster, which drove Bryan mad, but all he wanted was for Claudette to be happy. And it did help that the bread was incredible.
One bright spring day, a stranger knocked on their door. She had heard about Claudette’s bread, which was now known as “the best bread in Berkeley,” and she offered to pay Claudette ten dollars for a loaf. Claudette happily took the cash and started in the kitchen right away, until she heard another knock at the door and opened it to find another stranger requesting to buy a loaf. The word soon got out that there was a gifted French baker in Berkeley. Through word of mouth, Claudette began to get dozens of orders per day for her delicious loaves.
Even when her hands were healed, she preferred to knead the dough with her elbows and shoulders, which made her bread truly special. When asked about her underground bread business called No Hands Needed Bread, Claudette explained, “initially I was thrilled about the income, especially since I could not work on my novel for so many weeks. Soon, however, I came to realize that baking bread was more than a hobby or business; it taught me the importance of using your strengths to overcome difficult times.”