Location, Location, Location, but sometimes it can suck.
In my pre-California, pre-weed-bliss life, I lived for a while over a bakery in Switzerland.
I know. Go ahead and say it: Damn! Rough life!
Well, lemme tell you, it wasn't all wine and roses living over a Swiss bakery.
If I was in the real estate business, and I was an investor looking for some hot property, I’d for sure grab up that bakery because of its location, location, location. It was in the dead center of town. You could not get deader than that.
So it would be a sweet investment property for someone looking to host their business downstairs and live or rent out the upstairs.
But I’ll tell you the downside of living over a bakery.
People assume that the smell of baking bread is just faaaaaaabulous. Well, rightly so. I mean, whenever my mom baked bread (in her dress and heels, with her hair done perfectly), the smell of it had me salivating for an hour. I knew how it would taste, hot out of the oven and slathered with butter.
However, let me disabuse you of that particular olfactory picture. Bread baking at this bakery always smelled . . . burned. Yep. Charred. Crisped. Overdone.
The Smell of Burned
Every morning that’s what wafted upstairs: the smell of BURNED.
Nope, not a great smell. I guess that's just how they made the bread, though, because it was that way every day, day in and day out, apparently from a decades-long tradition of bake-it-till-it-smells-like-charcoal.
Now, here’s another thing. It’s kind of weird, and if I was investing in that place to rehab it and flip it or wholesale it or whatever, I’d for sure fix this.
My room was upstairs in the top floor. It was the master bedroom. For some reason, the breakers for the bakery were in a panel in the wall behind my bed. There were several times during my year there that the electricity went out downstairs.
So At 4 AM, baker boy came thundering up the stairs and pounded on the door of my bedroom to ask if he could get behind my bed to flip the breakers on. I always said of course, and he always apologized. But I tell you, it never started my day well.
I’ll give the guy props, though, because he usually made it up to me later in the day. He would bring me a giant platter full of delicious pastries and croissants and bread. With more apologies. That made the inconvenience almost worth it.
Sometimes I peeked into the bakery and watch them making things. I remember watching them make croissants. Do you have any idea how much butter goes into a single croissant? Holy crap. I vowed to never eat another croissant again! Or if I did, to reject butter the whole rest of the month. Oh, by the way, the smell of croissants baking was not like bread. Whole different story, that.
So yeah, that was me and my life over the Swiss bakery.
And just in case you were wondering watch the video on making croissants: