P is for Pumpernickel
Pumpernickel the baker was up at dawn each day. She kneaded, she proved, she glazed, she measured. Every day was a work of art and she loved her job. What she didn’t love was the ghost she had inherited when she bought the shop – Willem. Never a good word to come out of him – just followed her around like a little cloud of 15th Century misery.
“Your bread….your bread it is like a stone” and “I have seen better glazing in deserted monasteries than on these buns,” and so on. What riled her the most is that Willem wasn’t even a baker – he had been a bookkeeper and thus had never even been within a metre of specialist flours. He thought he knew exactly what the outcome should be though, he made that very clear.
“I would say no-one will be fond of this fondant. Re-torte all you like, but they are not bon-bons.”
As time had passed and Willem had picked up more English from her, his puns had got tortuous.