Post by Hannah Green on Apr 11, 2012 14:50:45 GMT -5
The windows were hardly ever shuttered, and in the early evening candles were lit on the tables, coupled with the glow of the oven, it offered an open invitation to both guests and customers. On most days the smell of warm bread would come anywhere from early morning, to near midnight, apparently depending on when there was time and cause enough to begin production.
Once inside the shop, the first thing that could be noticed was the collection of fresh breads and rolls. Edible versions of the varnished monstrosities that had been there before now sat on the counter. The once ever-present smell of burnt fur had been painstakingly scrubbed from the ovens, walls, and floor. Hand woven baskets were occasionally seen behind the counter with proofing loaves waiting to be baked, and raw salt hung from the ceiling in baskets by vines, or poorly woven rope.
Little pieces of paper had been carefully stuck into baskets, indicating what kind of bread was located there, and a larger sheet had been dedicated to the price list, and sat happily at the end of the counter. White, wheat, and fruit bread were available, as were baguettes, and cookies.
Perhaps the only thing that hadn’t been scrubbed, changed, or re-woven, was the odd rabbit who still stood at the back of the shop, seeming to constantly stir that large pot. If the shop owner was out and about on other daily duties, Mr. Armstrong would still be happy to take your money, but it was best not to linger alone with the man for now.
Once inside the shop, the first thing that could be noticed was the collection of fresh breads and rolls. Edible versions of the varnished monstrosities that had been there before now sat on the counter. The once ever-present smell of burnt fur had been painstakingly scrubbed from the ovens, walls, and floor. Hand woven baskets were occasionally seen behind the counter with proofing loaves waiting to be baked, and raw salt hung from the ceiling in baskets by vines, or poorly woven rope.
Little pieces of paper had been carefully stuck into baskets, indicating what kind of bread was located there, and a larger sheet had been dedicated to the price list, and sat happily at the end of the counter. White, wheat, and fruit bread were available, as were baguettes, and cookies.
Perhaps the only thing that hadn’t been scrubbed, changed, or re-woven, was the odd rabbit who still stood at the back of the shop, seeming to constantly stir that large pot. If the shop owner was out and about on other daily duties, Mr. Armstrong would still be happy to take your money, but it was best not to linger alone with the man for now.
