Wrath

Hello, dear reader, allow me to introduce myself (I beg your pardon if this isn't the first time for us and is redundant), my name is Davey, and I make bread. I've made bread in several contexts; first at my parents' house in Oregon out of probably Julia Child Bakes With Friends, then as a young unpaid intern at a little little restaurant, then at a real bakery I somehow tricked into employing me, then again at home, then a little illegitimate bakery I started for myself after I erected a brick oven, then at an Italian restaurant in Menlo Park, and then there was a break, and then at my Oakland home, and then, now, Pizzaiolo's Charles Hallowell permits me to mix flour and water how I like, and use his oven. I write this in the interest that may appeal to those that like bread, and would like to remain informed on "From: Davey Re: Bread". I'm shy with my words at the moment, but I suppose this will change as we get to know each other. At the very least, I hope there's opportunity for you, dear reader, to give consideration and discern to the edible work I create; I'm putting myself, chameleon voice as it may be, funneling my passion, into it. Perhaps those are the words, the language of food, I wish would speak for me now, but for now, the internet doesn't necessarily transmit much in the way of information for the taste sensors, so I have this and these words, and a little wish to connect. Such venues like this have worked before for that end, right?

May you not be bored yet,

Davey