Baer Market

Blue in Green is more than just a bakery.

by Kelly White

AMAZING CASE: Your willpower is no match for Michael Baer's baked goods. (CLICK IMAGE FOR LARGER VERSION)

I strongly believe that whenever you buy a muffin, you should be able to look into the eyes of the person who made it.

There are two sides to the 1200 block of Chestnut Street. For some, it's the confluence of cheap buffets, food trucks and a 7-Eleven. You will not find that muffin in any of those places.

But on the corner, in the White Building, stands Michael Baer's Blue in Green, a baking institution with standards. It has survived a stint in Old City, a shift in Jeweler's Row, and finally, this, a four-month-old turn as a breakfast-luncherie.

There you will find that muffin, with a curvaceous top that, when unscrewed, reveals a moist, cakey stump cratered with blueberries and a buttermilk soul. It doesn't come wrapped in plastic and crannied with chemicals.

"I don't sell soda. They want it, they can cross the street," says Baer, a native Philadephian, nodding at a convenience store. San Pellegrino bottles are lined up in his case next to rounded jugs of Martinelli juice.

What does he sell? Personality. Each customer who enters finds an easy rapport with the winsome patissier. He sparkles with every interaction, and before you know it, you've got two of those and one of that plucked from the bakery case. He knocks out breakfast orders, frosts cupcakes and asks about your itinerary. It's a one-man operation, but each smooth transaction makes it seem like the room is full.

There is something old-school about the place, and it's not just the jazzy backdrop, the resistance of strict systems set in business stone. Baer is his own guide, a historian of sorts, a magician who folds omelettes as he unloads stories. Blue in Green is the name of a Miles Davis song. But it's also the name of a java joint with swing.

Employees from retail stores along the block pop up regularly. Baer quotes their coffee orders like finely ground poetry stamped with a greeting he's tailored for each familiar face. There is a lovesick med student with an alluring accent. An Italian businessman who's the arbiter of properly made espresso. Two CBS cameramen on their lunch break. The student departs with a brave smile; the espresso connoisseur offers an appreciative nod on his exit. With muffins like his, Baer doesn't have to say a word. But he does, and your day is better for it.

I ask Baer if I can work with him for the day. He stands in his kitchen, twirling my pesky journalista request in the air. "Sure," he says slowly. "As long as you don't take my picture."

I hadn't been behind a counter in years, always preferring to be on the other side, begging for coffee and conversation. And yes, pancakes.

If you Google hard enough, you'll find that Blue in Green's pancake special is ingrained in the hearts of dozens of writers before me. Yet I recall that when I finally made it to Jeweler's Row years ago, BiG was no more. My flapjack fantasies were not to be.

Those pancakes I'd been taunted with are everything they should be. They're flawless, not overloaded with toppings like certain hyped breakfast spots. The simple stacks are battered up with your choice of real buttermilk, hearty buckwheat or colorful blue cornmeal, with the option of fruit.

"Make smaller balls of dough," Baer instructs. I'm heaping gobs of M&M cookie dough onto large sheets like a true novice. One of the first things he asked on my initial visit was my birthday, and then which hand I write with. We are both left-handed Geminis. My clumsy arm movement is a kitchen anomaly, apparently.

Every time the baked goods display case slides open, a wave of willpower-crushing potpourri fills the air. The selection spans cultures — fancy palmiers, knock-out noodle kugel, golden bars of biscotti. The miniature cookies, sold by the pound, are a common request. I fill the tray with the latest batch of my earnest results.

It's a hot day, one of the season's first steamers. We sell some ice cream cones, but I'm eyeballing the mint-green milkshake machine. At that moment, I want nothing more than to whip up a shake like a Franklin Fountain soda jerk. It is a really hot day.

The chance to bring all the boys to the yard passes me by as the lunch rush stretches into a long afternoon. Sandwiches and salads fly into stomachs. Iced tea and coffee slip down throats. A friend stops by and we sit around to chat. Baer's wife drops in, and before we know it, we are a true coffeehouse gang talking jive on Philadelphia.

We sell every last muffin that day.

(editorial@citypaper.net)

Blue in Green, The White Building, 1132 Chestnut St., 215-828-6435.