…a meal? …a cookie? …a craving?
There are plenty of terrific restaurants within a mile of our house, but it’s still not uncommon for us to travel across town for my favorite cheesy grits or pollo a la brasa. Though only 10-11 miles away, these typically half hour trips can take closer to an hour (or more!) during rush hour or on a game day. On weekends, we’re known to venture further, 20 miles to Woodinville Cafe for eggs scrambled with hashbrowns, or hop a ferry to Bainbridge’s Streamliner Diner for one of their massive signature omelets.
Recently, I had a craving that I just couldn’t shake. I’ve told you about Breadfarm. We visited on a recent day trip to the small town of Edison. The taste of their incredible little kouign amann had been on my tongue for weeks. That buttery, melt-in-your-mouth pastry dough. The crispy, caramelly exterior. The first time we tried it we had bought the last one and had to share. Tragic. Ever since, I couldn’t shake the taste. So, I finally decided to jump in the car and drive 62 miles to track another one down!
Of course, such whims are gambles. Will they still be open? Will there be any in stock? Was the entire experience nothing but a dream and I’m simply chasing fairy dust?!
As it turns out, Breadfarm now makes two varieties of kouign amman – traditional and chocolate. Oh. my. goodness. Why is it then, dear baker, that are you telling me this when neither are available today?! That’s right. I drove 62 miles for a pastry and came up empty handed. Well…not entirely. To console me, she pulled out a long basket filled with golden palmiers. OK, fine, twist my arm – I’ll take two, thanks.
It was all I could do not to immediately shove them both straight into my mouth, but I had traversed the lower part of Chuckanut Drive in this quest and knew that there were vistas worthy of a few extra miles. With the little brown bag on the seat next to me, I set off.
The road cut through fields thick with corn stalks, perfectly planted rows of oversized sunflowers, and recently tilled land spotted with newly baled hay. Back on Hwy 11, I rounded a mossy, fern-lined series of turns and switchbacks in search of the perfect spot. Ah, yes, the pullout I remembered from another day trip finally appeared. I circled in past a man propped against his bright orange bike, helmet in hand, towards a stone ledge. I stopped and climbed up on a section of rock partially shaded by a rustling oak, looking out across Bellingham Bay at Lummi Island and beyond, and – finally – savored each sweet bite.
Worth every single mile!