The brick oven was in the basement of the bakery on First Avenue. Four hundred degrees. Oak and cherry wood. The baker started the fire at three in the morning and the oven was ready at five and the bread came out at six and the block smelled like civilization. The brick oven was the heart of the bakery and the bakery was the heart of the block.

The bricks held the heat. That was the secret. The fire burned out and the bricks kept cooking. A steel oven heats up fast and cools down fast. A brick oven heats up slow and cools down slow. The brick oven had patience. The brick oven did not rush the bread. The bread came out when the bread was ready and the brick oven decided when that was.

My mother bought bread from the bakery on First Avenue every Saturday morning. She sent me down with a dollar and I came back with a loaf that was still warm. The crust crackled when you broke it. The inside was soft and the steam came out and the kitchen smelled like the bakery. That loaf lasted until Tuesday. The supermarket bread does not last until Tuesday. The supermarket bread does not crackle.

The pizza oven is the brick oven's cousin. Coal fired. Seven hundred degrees. The pizza went in pale and came out black and orange in ninety seconds. The coal oven pizza is the best pizza in New York and the best pizza in New York is the best pizza in the world and the coal oven is why. The coal oven does not negotiate with the crust. The coal oven makes demands.

They tore out the brick oven on First Avenue in two thousand and eight. The bakery closed. A juice bar opened. The juice bar has a blender. The blender does not heat up the block. The blender does not make the sidewalk smell like bread at six in the morning. The blender makes a noise and then it stops. The brick oven made a silence and the silence was warm.

See also: Coal Stove, Deli Counter