11 Mar Daniel Leader: The Bread Philosopher
When I set out to create this bread issue, the first person who came to mind for “Behind the Toque” was Daniel Leader. His bakery, Bread Alone, has become an icon in the Hudson Valley (and nationwide) for beautiful artisanal breads, and his creations can be found on the tables of many a Manhattan restaurant.
As I dug into my research, I discovered a fascinating story about a passionate, philosophical young chef who was in the midst of Manhattan’s culinary glory, but found himself yearning for a simpler, purer existence.
In his book, Bread Alone: Bold Fresh Loaves from Your Own Hands, he captures his evolution from city star to country esquire, and the powerful lure that brought him to the Catskill Mountains during his time off from the glitter of New York’s restaurant scene:
“Each time I came back to New York, I knew I had to find a way to get my life back to the basics. Perhaps a bakery of my own, perhaps a small country inn, maybe a little restaurant in a quiet spot. With the first extra cash in the bank I bought a small summer cottage near Woodstock, New York.”
His disenchantment with creating food that was “too pretty to eat” continued to intensify, and with the birth of his second child, Daniel decided to change his life and become a baker. After purchasing a building on Route 28 in Boiceville, NY (near Woodstock), he hired a mason and set to building a wood-fired brick oven — made of stones hand-carried from the grounds surrounding his house. His first efforts at bread were purely trial and error, and as he says, “we baked a lot of bad bread those first few months.” The dream oven also turned out to be a nightmare of unpredictability. But with complete tenacity and dedication, he developed a repertoire of creations he was comfortable with, and found a way to tame his wild oven.
And though the Bread Alone Bakery is now filled with clients who will go to great lengths to get inside (including jumping over bags of flour and climbing onto the loading dock), its original sales came from the trunk of Daniel’s Mazda. He peddled his wares like an old-fashioned artisan, and began to develop a loyal following.But it took a European gastronomic adventure to get his breads to the level of taste which now lures hungry consumers with the fervor of groupies. Following is an excerpt from Bread Alone:
One afternoon in Paris I stood talking with my friend the baker Basil Kamir, in front of the brick oven in the basement of his bakery, Le Moulin de la Vierge on rue Vercingetorix. A hundred loaves had just come from the oven. They crackled as they cooled in willow baskets, and I watched as the tiny cracks appeared in the thick crusts. The pronounced aroma of sourdough wafted to my head. It permeated the air and stayed in my clothes until the next laundry.
When Andre LeFort, the famous oven mason whom I had yet to meet, descended the stairs, Basil was quick to introduce me as un boulanger Americain. His tone was tongue-in-cheek amazement as if it were a small wonder that America could produce a real baker.I had heard of LeFort and of his fine work. He had rebuilt the oven for the celebrated Lionel Poilane. I felt honored to meet him, and told him so as we shook hands in front of the iron plate on Basil’s oven wall, which read “Jean LeFort et Fils.” Then Basil popped a sudden question.
“So, Andre, do you want to go to America and build Dan an oven like mine? Imagine a LeFort in the United States! Wouldnt that be something?”
I laughed at the question and the total improbability of it. Andre didn’t laugh.”But I don’t have a passport,” Andre said, looking seriously at Basil.”
Oh, dont worry about the passport,” Basil said, comforting Andre and putting his arm around his shoulder. He knew Andre had never been to America, had never been far from Paris at all.”
And who would take care of Madame, my cat, and the bird?” Andre went on, truly concerned.
I really had no idea or hope of ever replacing the old stone oven at Bread Alone. After all, I had spent five difficult years learning to deal with its limitations. Even to imagine having an oven built by LeFort was like dreaming of a move up from a Volkswagen van in need of a valve job to a Rolls-Royce. But because Basil is rarely serious about anything, always setting up jokes, it was easy for me to be a player in the scene that was unfolding. I added my bit.
“Do you think,” I asked Basil, “if Mssr. LeFort comes over to build one oven, might he just as well build two?”
“Well, what do you think, Andre,” Basil laughed, “will you build one or two ovens for Dan?”
Andre smiled at us both and said, “Well it is a long way, a very great distance to travel. I may as well build two ovens.”
Daniel is now the king of a bread empire, with stores in three locations and a fleet of delivery trucks that travel as far away as Boston each morning. His mail order business is also thriving, and people from around the country order their daily bread from a man who once hawked his wares from the trunk of a car.
Now that’s progress.
What I find interesting is that the underlying passion of his customers is one that continues to amaze him (I told you bread does something to people). In his book he waxes poetically about a customer’s zeal for conquering any kind of weather to get a fresh loaf of bread from his bakery. In regaling the tale of the man who climbed over the flour sacks and jumped a rain puddle to get a fresh baguette, he captures the essence of the bread phenomenon:
“I like that kind of passion for bread, not just because it’s good for business but because there’s something magical and paradoxical about it. I still don’t get it myself. A desire for something as simple as a loaf of good-tasting, freshly baked bread makes one willing to take a long drive on a country road or climb over a stack of flour sacks.”
Or inhale it so hard that one burns the tip of one’s nose. It just can’t be helped.