Simple Life

The Baker’s Assistant

How sweet it is

by Jim dodsoN Not long ago,

my wife, Wendy, joined 47 million foot soldiers of the Great Resignation by retiring early from her job as the longtime director of human resources for one of the state’s leading community colleges.

She loved her job at the college. It was f un and f ulfilling in almost ever y way.

But something more was missing — and revealed — when COV ID invaded all our lives.

Simply put, it was time to follow her hear t and do something she’d envisioned doing even before I met her 25 years ago: to star t her ow n gour met, custom-bak ing company called Desser t du Jour.

News late last year that an innovative shared communit y k itchen for food entrepreneurs (called T he Cit y K itch, based in Charlotte) was opening branches in Greensboro and R aleigh propelled her into action. She sig ned up for the first pr ivate k itchen st udio and got to work prepar ing for her debut at a popular outdoor weekend market just before Chr istmas, selling out ever y thing she baked in a couple hours. It was a promising star t.

I should pause here and explain that Wendy is no novice or newcomer to the lu xur y bak ing world. Even while master f ully holding dow n a demanding career over the past t wo decades, she made st unning custom wedding cakes, luscious pies, ar tistic cook ies and other baked delicacies for f r iends and neighbors.

A s I say, she was already wowing customers in Syracuse, New York, when we met dur ing one of my book tours in 1998, and she ag reed to go on a for mal first date that t ur ned out to be, as I fondly think of it, baptism by baby wedding cakes.

To br iefly review, on a br isk aut umn evening af ter a seven-hour dr ive bet ween my house in Maine and her home in Syracuse, I arr ived just in time to find Wendy cheer f ully boxing up 75 miniat ure, exquisitely decorated wedding cakes for some demented daughter of a Syracuse cor porate raider. “Oh, go o d,” she b e a me d, flushing ador ably w it h a dol lop of ic ing on her but ton nose, a s I app e are d. “Wa nt to help me b ox t hese up a nd t a ke t hem around t he neig hb orho o d for me ?” How could I ref use? Her neighbors, it seemed, had of fered space in their ref r igerators and f reezers until the cakes could be delivered to the wedding hall in the mor ning.

Tr uthf ully, I don’t recall much about being pressed into ser vice as an imprompt u deliver y man. I just have this vag ue memor y of caref ully boxing up dozens of the beautif ul little cakes and bear ing them all g ussied up with elegant r ibbons and bows to her lady pals around the cul- du-sac. “Oh,” one act ually cooed as she looked me over. “You must be the new boy f r iend f rom Maine. Caref ul you don’t put on 50 pounds. Wendy’s cakes are awesome.”

I gave her my best Joe Fr iday impersonation. “Never tasted ’em, ma’am. Just here to help out the baker lady.”

Happy to repor t, the baby wedding cakes made it safely to the wedding hall the next day without incident. T he g ratef ul baker lady even thoughtf ully saved one of the gorgeous little cakes for the tr ip home to Maine.

I’m embar rassed to say I never sampled it. Cake wasn’t my thing, probably because I g rew up with a mama who annually made me a bir thday cake f rom a Bett y Crocker box mi x and store-bought f rosting that tasted like chocolate-flavored sawdust with icing. I gave Wendy’s baby wedding cake to my children, who absolutely loved it.

A nother issue emerged on my next visit to Syracuse, our cr itical second date. W hen I breezed into her k itchen with a bottle of her favor ite wine before we went out to dinner, I found her putting the finishing touches on another master piece of the baker’s ar t.

Sit t ing ne arby on her k itchen c ounter, however, wa s a b e aut if u l w icker ba sket f u l l of p op c or n, my a l l-t ime f avor ite snack fo o d. A s she op ene d t he w ine, I g r abb e d a big ha ndf u l of what I t houg ht wa s p op c or n.

Her lovely face fell. It t ur ned out to be a g room’s cake that only looked like a wicker basket f ull of popcor n.

Prof usely apolog izing, as I licked the evidence of the cr ime of f my g reedy fingers, fig ur ing this might be our last date, I had something of a desser t awakening.

“Hey, this is really good. I don’t even like cake. W hat’s in this?”

To my relief, she laughed. “Only the finest Swiss white- chocolate, sour- cream cake with salted buttercream. But no wor r ies. I can make another one prett y quick ly. L et’s just get Chinese takeout for dinner while I work.”

I’d never seen such composure under fire. R ight then and there I decided to propose to this remark able woman and even confessed my sad histor y with Bett y Crocker, wonder ing if she would do the honor of becoming my wife and someday mak ing me a bir thday cake.

“Sure,” she said. “I’ll even make you a Bett y Crocker box cake if you want it.”

Talk about a selfless act of love! T his was like inviting a Wine Spectator judge to enjoy a lovely bottle of Boone’s Far m’s Strawber r y Hill or L eRoy Neiman to do a doodle of a racehorse! She act ually made me a box-mi x cake, which I took one taste of and dumped in the garbage.

For t unately, by the time our wedding rolled around t wo years later, Dame Wendy had schooled me up like a pastr y chef ’s apprentice, a culinar y awakening sealed by my first taste of her incredible old-fashioned caramel cake — which she now makes me ever y year for my bir thday (along with a sour cher r y pie).

Not sur pr isingly, the spectacular cake she made for our outdoor wedding beneath a g ilded September moon disappeared without a trace before I could even get a taste. Our g reedy g uests lef t nar y a morsel and even took home extra pieces st uf fed in their pockets.

Since that time, a long and steady stream of fabulous specialt y cakes, cook ies, pies, scones, muf fins and the best cinnamon rolls ever made have flowed f rom her ovens to the tables of f r iends, family and customers f rom Maine to Carolina.

W hich is why the creation of Desser t du Jour is such a milestone for the love of my life. She’s never been happier, launching her little dream company at a time we’d all like to see in the rear view mir ror as soon as possible. In the meantime, she shares her happiness with others, one gorgeous theme cook ie or slice of roasted pecan-st udded car rot cake at a time.

A nd for the moment at least, I have the honor and pleasure of still being her sole employee, the one who puts up the tent and tables at the street market and delivers the goods wherever I’m sent around tow n, a baker’s assistant happily paid in cake tops and lef tover cinnamon rolls.

I ask you, does life get any sweeter than that? OH

For more infor mation, visit thecit yk itch.com and desser tdujour.net.

Jim Dodson is O.Henr y’s founding editor and ambassador at large.

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