A technical term, yet also a description of who I am.
Whether in grandma‘s kitchen or in professional ones, bakers often perform “blind baking“ when they want an even-baked, tender crust that doesn’t puff in the center, and that doesn’t slump over in the pan or lose height. Do this, they put some parchment paper or other liner on top of the crust inside of the pie pan, and then fill it with some sort of weight, be it rice, beans, manufactured pie weights, or even sugar.
The pie then gets baked for half to 2/3 of the total time it would need, or until it is just beginning to Brown along the edges. When the weights are removed, you’ll have a pale cross with just the slightest give in the center, not done to the point of being deliciously edible, but ready for fruit fillings, or to be fully baked in preparation for delicious custard.
Bakers know that this practice, called such because you’re blocking the crust from some of the light and heat of the oven, prevents too much steam from escaping the crust and pushing the dough upward and weird spots that then later collapse, instead letting the butter or other fat, milk, more evenly and a tender, even though.
Continuing the metaphor, the cross isn’t totally blind, however, because the edges are usually exposed, which is becoming more crisp and golden throughout the baking process. (something that must be carefully watched by the artisan) And, if you’re using a glass dish, you’ll also be able to see the entire outside of the pie.
“Blindness is not easy, but it’s not a death sentence. It can result from very painful conditions that can persist, but it makes one see life differently, have more resilience, and feel your way through it.” – Carina Comer
Such misconceptions exist in the world of visual blindness as well. I get “you’re not blind“ all the time, and it’s kind of a joke amongst my blind friends. There are as many forms of blindness as there are recipes for pies.
Line the temporary Cloak of blind baking, a person can have night blindness or other regular but temporary conditions, can have full-on blindness with no light perception, to ever-widening dots in the middle of one’s vision.
For me, it’s like seeing through a one-sided tunnel, with my left eye completely blind, in my right eye, only seeing I on the side towards my nose. So I have no peripheral vision, and what I do have does get taxed and probably slightly weekend overtime, but I can see most close-up objects as long as they don’t come from the side.
There are many blind people with this kind of vision, often due to retinitis pigmentosa, but for me, it was caused by brain cancer. I was lucky enough to survive my astrocytoma, which was first discovered when I was nine months old, but I live life in an adapted way.
Blindness is not new, yet you wouldn’t think that if you followed me around for a whole day. I often feel like more walls are created in front of me than the ones I naturally bump into (often knowing they’re there but misjudging the distance).
I see things differently, but that doesn’t mean my hearing doesn’t work, or that I can’t catch up to you, from blindness is nothing new. From Homer and Greek mythology to St. Lucia in Christianity, blindness has made subtle appearances throughout religious texts, and ancient those seldom said out right.
St. Lucie is bringing the light to Sweden, for example, came after her own trials that eventually left her blind, but she kept fighting for her life and those of others.
On a lighter note, I am a self didn’t know that Claude Monet was visually challenged and gradually lost more of his sight throughout his career, his pointillism style painting a symbol for how many people with blindness see the world.
And lastly, there’s Mary Ingalls, who became blind from Scarlet fever at the age of 16, causing her to leave her pioneering family to attend what was becoming the first school for the blind and later become a teacher there.
History likely contains thousands, if not millions, of stories like these of illness or accident causing people to go blind or be born blind, and yet we tend to forget all that, shut it out, cast it off as too different. Life was once much less well lit, so getting around with limited vision was more normal.
Blindness is not easy, but it’s not a death sentence. It can result from very painful conditions that can persist, but it makes one see life differently, have more resilience, and feel your way through it.
Grandmas everywhere always know when their pie crust feels right, having just the right mix of butter knobs and moistened flour, like a familiar but rocky road. She tastes her filling for sweetness, adjusting to the tang of today’s freshly picked berries rather than a strict recipe. She would not be told she can’t stand there in the kitchen and make a pie because she can’t see when it’s done. And yet blind people do hear those things.
Perhaps it’s fitting that, though my family has never been big on pies, blind baking (the technique) is regularly used at my bakery.
As I press shortbread dough into tins or use rulers to carefully roll out finicky pie dough, I work in the love of mom’s hands covering mine as she taught me to bake family recipes, of the creativity that sparked as I tasted the world and added it into the dough, and the resilience gained through everyday of pastry school and internship kitchens where the clock was always ticking and shame was oven lit like sugar.
But how many of my peers can say they are in their seventh year of business running their own bakery?
As a member of the growing population of people with sisABILITIES (the last number I saw was 1 in 6), I am far from the first to take my own path towards independence, self fulfillment, and hopefully self sustainability, but I see the power in what I do every day in giving hope to a group of people who have to work so hard to get where we are and who need a voice in the community for so many are blind to us and our potential.
We just passed through a disability pride month, which is represented by a black, green, blue, red, white, and yellow diagonally striped flag, in which the copious amounts of black represent the the vastness of people who died because they were single out for their disability, as well as the white representing those who are too afraid to expose themselves, and the periods of other colors showing the diversity in types of conditions and abilities.
After all this, you may be wondering who I am and where you can find me.
My name is Carina Comer, and I am the owner of Carina’s Bakery in downtown Beaverton, Oregon, since opening in October 2017. I have a team of 10, of which more than 60%. I have some sort of disability, and yet we are the happiest place you’ll find around.
We sell vegan, Scandinavian-inspired bake goods that bring together my heritage with the allergy-friendly needs of our community and the holistic ethics that make our treats so irresistible.
Carina is a 33-year-old cancer-surviving woman from Connecticut. Hailing from two strong-minded, entrepreneurial families, it is no wonder that when life dealt Carina a cytoma at only nine months old, she could do nothing but persevere through many surgeries, difficult diagnoses, and lifestyle prescriptions. It was family support, academic challenges, and the solace of baking that kept Carina going. Whether in the kitchen making tiny Swedish Christmas cookies, saving simple meals with her grandfather while hearing stories of his childhood in Sweden, or peddling baked goods from a tricycle to raise money for cancer patients, Carina’s life revolves around food. So it shouldn’t have been a surprise when, at the slightest encouragement from her high school culinary Teacher, Carina enrolled in the early enrollment program at Johnson Wales University for a degree in baking and pastry arts. Entering the hands-on classroom was like entering the most prestigious firm in New York City: fast-paced, no-nonsense, and waiting for nobody. No matter their accommodations (on paper). Carina had to learn to take the classes in her own way and navigate around time limits and expectations. When an internship opportunity allowed her to travel, she sought out the welcoming domain of Oregon and friends. She had to create an internship for herself and a way to explore more of the country. When, back in New England, Other internships and finally one simple job did not create the promise of a career, Carina flew back to Oregon and attended grand school at Willamette University with 83 international colleagues working for real nonprofits and real strategy. In the middle of that, Carina dealt with another brain tumor and help setback, but somehow still managed to graduate with her class. But was graduating on time really worth it? There were no jobs to be had. Hundreds of applications and at least 50 interviews later, Carina felt dejected, having heard all of the excuses in the world rather than someone admit, they were afraid to hire a blind person and the so-called liabilities it might bring. Meanwhile, Carina is renting a commissary kitchen and taking Ubers to sell at farmers markets and events, and finallyshe and her family had enough. Thanks to all of the support from family and her first customers, Carina was able to open her shop in downtown Beaverton in 2017. It’s been a rocky road. Carina now has a team of 10 eager employees who create Scandinavian-inspired treats that are 100% vegan, 99% soy-free, 90% gluten-free, and otherwise allergy-friendly, and 100% rooted in Oregon ingredients and the unique skills of employees with disABILITIES.
