Detroit reminds me of my parents. Just like Detroit, the road was not always easy. They went through hard times and things did not always look bright, but much like this city, they were determined. They fought, prayed, and had faith in God that things would get better; and they did. My father was blessed with an amazing job at Ford, and my mother was able to stay home and take care of us. However, in doing that, she sacrificed her dream of opening her own pastry shop to raise my four siblings and me.
My parents arrived from Bucharest, Romania to Detroit in 1988. My mother was 26, like myself, and my father was 28. With two small children at that time, no money in their pockets, and no knowledge of the language, they set out into the unknown, determined to give their children a chance at a better life. My father started working minimum wage for $5.45/hour, to put food on the table for the family. My mother would ride the bus to work in downtown, and the kind bus driver would let her ride free. When my parents told me these stories, I knew that I had to open this pastry shop in Detroit-where it all began.
When I think about how my love for baking started, I think back to when my mom would call me into the kitchen to help her. I remember watching her and the knack she had for baking. It came so naturally, and I wanted to be just like her. She would explain the basics to me as she was creating these amazing Romanian pastries, and the more I learned, the more I fell in love with baking. And just like that, my mother’s dream became mine too.
