Authentic. It’s a powerful word. It can be applied to a million different things, in a million different ways, but has just one universal, accessible meaning. Authentic. Genuine. Real. Right.
We spend a good amount of time in Vermont (authentic state) and at some point started to patronize a sandwich shop that offered “sourdough wheat” as one of its bread choices. It was amazing.
After a few dozen memorable sandwiches, we finally asked about the source of the bread, and were told it was the creation of a local baker in West Rupert, VT named Jedediah Mayer (authentic name) and was also available in a handful of stores in the Manchester/Dorset area under the name Rupert Rising Breads.
That was about a year ago. We found the bread and started buying - many loaves of the flagship sourdough wheat, he calls it “Pain Au Levain” - and also probably the best cinnamon raisin we’ve ever tasted, appropriately named Rupert Raisin. When we hit town, probably 10 times a year, finding the Rupert Rising is always at the top of our “to do” list, and this local artisan has become a mini celebrity to our foodie daughters, 9 and 11.
There’s an e-mail address on the Rupert Rising label, and last spring I sent Jed a message to confirm his delivery schedule and the list of shops lucky enough to get a piece of his very limited distribution. Got a very nice response. Picked up the thread a few weeks ago to let him know we had hit our summer Vermont phase and would love the opportunity to stop by and see his operation, maybe grab a loaf right out of the oven and just say hello and express our thanks in person for the many, many overachieving egg sandwiches he had enabled.
That visit happened Thursday, one of the three days each week he dedicates to making this incredible bread, in a town of about 700 people, surrounded by mountains and farmland. When we arrived, around 6 p.m., he had finished his dough work and already formed the thick loaves of sourdough wheat, the smaller baguettes and cinnamon raisin rounds. They were waiting in linen (sourdough), or in small wicker baskets (cinnamon raisin) to be carefully placed into the wood-fired oven he had made by hand almost a dozen years ago. Authentic.
Watching Jed make bread reminded me of watching Anthony Mangieri make pizza, which - unfortunately - is not something you can see in New York anymore. Simple preparations, high-quality ingredients, an exacting, single-minded approach, and complete commitment to the product, which defines the product. Authentic.
He makes about 200 loaves on a production day. When we got there he said he started off in this little room off the back of his house, which used to be the kitchen, around 5 a.m. He and his family could not have been more gracious or welcoming to a group of strangers known only through appreciative e-mails.
The only slightly awkward moment across our entire 45-minute visit was when we asked about buying a little stockpile for ourselves and for friends, and it quickly became clear every single loaf in the room was spoken for. He tried to give us one - oddly shaped, a factory second - we insisted on paying, and once we started tearing the thing apart it didn’t stand a chance of making it to our car.
Authentic.