One Part Punk,
One Part Organic,
One Part Integrity,
100 Percent Sustainable

Roscoe Village bakery leads a culinary movement thanks to passion over fashion

By Ellen Thompson

Ah, the sweet sounds of punk rock in the morning.

For an avid fan of the Descendents, the Misfits, and Operation Ivy, there’s nothing better than starting your week off with some of their epic music. Well, unless you’re tearing into an organic vegan blueberry muffin while you listen. For this Chicago insider, the very idea was enough to bring me to Roscoe Village’s Bleeding Heart Bakery (http://www.thebleedingheartbakery.com/) at 6:45 a.m.

This Monday morning, I’m sitting at a cupcake-shaped table, trying my hardest to keep the muffin crumbs from falling on the lime-green wooden floor. And I can’t help but wonder what fuels this Midwestern mecca of punk, pastry, and sustainability.

I quickly scan the matchbox-sized bakery’s walls, glass cases, and countertops in search of answers. It’s obvious that owner Michelle Garcia, who founded Bleeding Heart in 2005, based her business vision on two unique pillars: punk rock and sustainability. Iconic punk album covers cover the hot pink and yellow walls, and pastries fill the refrigerated cases. Garcia’s tasty treats are made from organic, locally grown ingredients that help support small towns and farmers surrounding the city.

Seriously though, what is it about this Food Network-featured bakery that places it at the forefront of the sustainable baking movement?

“Excuse me,” says Matthew Lansing, the bakery’s storefront manager, as he flashes a boyish grin. “I’m sorry, I just gotta wipe this down real quick.”

He runs a tattered rag over the table just as quickly as the guitar chords to the Descendents’ “The One” (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gXbPlFgSfao) blares from a set of crackling, outdated speakers behind the pastry counter. Lansing, 18, bops his head—full of neatly trimmed locks—along with the breakdown.

“You like these guys?” I ask.

“Oh, these guys?” he responds, slightly surprised by the question. “Well, I don’t know who they are. But yeah, they sound good.”

Before I could fill Lansing in on the awesomeness that is the Descendents, a flour-drenched, apron-wearing high schooler invites me back to the kitchen to meet Garcia. The simultaneous smells of spicy pepper and rich chocolate catch me off guard as I walk through the dim, narrow hallway toward the open kitchen.

I’m relieved to find that the flavor pairing is one that works. Garcia, a slender and soft-spoken woman who’s impossible to miss, even as a swarm of interns scurry around her this morning, reassures me the vegan Oaxaca chocolate cake is a top seller.

She’s a 30-year-old with hot pink, tangerine, tea rose, and fuchsia dreadlocks, and a neck tattoo that reads “revolution.” She’s a punk through and through, from her inked sleeves to the pastries that come out of her oven. In baking and culinary circles, she’s been known to challenge the norm, from redefining flavor pairings to pastry design. Whether she’s creating her Sid Vicious Tart or a tomato, basil, and mozzarella cupcake, Garcia relies on the fundamentals of her punk rock upbringing: challenging authority and staying true to your word.

“It’s questioning the norm, but doing something about it at the same time,” says Garcia, who grew up in Chicago’s 1980s punk rock scene. “And that’s what we’re doing, but we’re doing it with organic and locally grown ingredients in a kitchen. We’re making a statement, we’re saying, ‘You can have this cupcake, but look, this is where it comes from. It’s supporting local farmers and not fucking up the environment.’”

So while the bakery staff may not all sport Mohawks or own an extensive Ian MacKaye vinyl collection, they’re more punk rock than they know thanks to their interest in sustainable baking. Sure, they appreciate the experience with experimental pastry designs and the store’s signature soundtrack, but it’s the sustainability component that has them hooked.

For Garcia, she pays the most attention to her employees’ collective diligence. “Whether they realize it or not, that work ethic alone is punk rock,” she says. “Not only is punk about challenging the norms, but it’s also about saying you’re going to do something and sticking to it.”

Lansing, who started at the bakery two months ago, had no idea what sustainable baking was, rarely ate organic, and didn’t listen to many punk bands, if any. But he made it a point to let Garcia know he was paying attention to detail, and his willingness to put in extra hours, that got him quickly promoted to manager.

“The thing is, you have to want to really work to stick around here,” says Bethany Williams, 23, a culinary school intern. Standing around is something that’s not accepted, whether you’re cleaning up the front or in the back helping mix frosting.

“Like Matt was here this weekend mixing cookie batter after his shift, just because he wanted to,” she adds.

I ask Williams what she thinks motivates the staff of 10, who often go above and beyond what their jobs require. She stops and looks up from the cake round she’s slicing through. After a few seconds of contemplation, she explains that they’re like a family, a family that actually doesn’t mind being around another (most of the time, at least) or pulling extra weight when others are struggling.

If Garcia had to pin down why her crew members are so reliable, she said it’s because they’re usually from small towns and raised with a work ethic unlike many of today’s urban youth. It’s a mindset seeped in integrity, which happens to be a defining quality of punk rock.

Lansing, who has no culinary background, came to Chicago from a quaint Ohio suburb. He was interested in pursuing theater and needed some menial work before he stopped into Bleeding Heart one day, on a whim, and applied for a job.

Williams grew up in the Chicago suburbs and came to the city to attend The School of Culinary Arts at Kendall College.

Sara Hensley, Bleeding Heart’s 22-year-old head baker—whose leopard-spotted blonde hair is her only visible punk rock attribute—also came to Chicago to attend Kendall’s culinary school. Raised in a military family, Hensley moved around a lot but spent the majority of her youth in a small town in Kentucky.

“They’re not kids who are sitting around expecting everything to be handed to them,” Garcia says. “They’re actually busting their asses and dedicated to what we’re doing here.” The owner has to cut our conversation short so she can run an order of organic breads out to Oak Park. As she searches for her keys, the music from the front of the bakery falls quickly by three volume levels. I automatically peer down the narrow hallway toward Lansing.

It’s 8 a.m. now and the bakery has been open for an hour, as two customers walk through Bleeding Heart’s front door. “Hey,” Lansing says as he stops wiping down a glass counter. “S’mores brownie?”

“Yeah,” the middle-aged man answers as he shuffles over to the case to get a better look, even though his order rarely changes.

“You need a bag?” Lansing asks him, then quickly glancing toward the other, older man in a suit, who usually pays the tab.

“Yeah,” the middle-aged man says, “quick and short.”

As soon as the men turn for the door, Lansing picks up the rag back up and heads to the cake case. For him, there’s always the concern that the bakery might not look as clean as Garcia would want, which is why he stayed later the other night just to clean the cases again.

“Ugh, just look at this now,” Lansing says to himself, as he pulls cake after cake out. “It’s a mess.”

I try to divert his attention and explain to him who The Descendents are. But before I can tell Lansing they were a punk band that formed in Manhattan Beach, Calif., back in 1978, another customer—looking for organic scones—steals his attention. Just another busy day at their punked-out office has begun.