Gatineau · Outaouais
The bakery is named after the pan, so I may as well tell you which one. These are the ones I use every day. I don’t keep stock — you order, I bring them in, and you pick them up with your baking.
The small one. Cornbread, one egg, a cookie for one.
The pan you reach for without thinking. Too small for a meal, exactly right for a side, and the one that ends up living on the stove. Comes bare — there is a seasoning guide in the recipes if it is your first.
The useful one. Six cinnamon rolls fit in it exactly.
If you only buy one, buy this one. It is the pan the cinnamon rolls are baked in and the pan a skillet cookie is meant for, and it will outlive everyone reading this.
The big one. Deep-dish pizza, a whole chicken, dinner for four.
This is the one the deep-dish pizza is built in. Heavy enough that you notice, which is the entire point — it holds its heat while the crust fries against the bottom.
All three, twelve dollars less than buying them one at a time.
Six, eight and ten inches, which covers everything a kitchen actually does. Nest them and they take one cupboard shelf. This is the set the whole menu is cooked in, and it is the only wedding present anyone has ever thanked me for twice.
Heavy cotton, crossback, long enough to be worth wearing.
Crossback, so nothing pulls on your neck by the third hour. Two deep pockets, a towel loop, and long enough to cover the part of you that actually meets the counter. The mark is small and on the chest, not across the back — nobody wants to be a billboard in their own kitchen.
Ten days for the pans, because they come in on order rather than off a shelf here. Three weeks for the apron, because it gets embroidered.
