78 AUGUST 2020
THERE ARE THOUSANDS OF DESSERTS HERE: slices of olive oil layer cake
from Sasha Piligian, formerly the pastry chef at Sqirl in Los Angeles; loaves
of sprinkle cake, their edges running with glaze, from Briana Holt, of
Tandem Bakery in Portland, Maine; savory turnovers called fatayer from
Zoë Kanan, former head baker at Simon & The Whale in New York City. The
lineup reads like Coachella for pastry chefs, with dense crowds fawning
over cookies and tarts instead of rock bands and rappers. This is the scene
at Natasha Pickowicz’s 2019 Planned Parenthood of New York City bake
sale. The line to get into the event is 90 minutes long, snaking down the
block outside of Altro Paradiso in Manhattan, where Pickowicz helms the
pastry program. By the end of the day, Pickowicz and her pals—60 pastry
chefs, plus a couple of savory chefs and cookbook authors—would sell out
of nearly everything and raise $100,000.
Pickowicz threw her first baked goods–fueled fundraiser in 2017
in response to actions by the Trump administration. “I wanted to do
something based on my love of community [that would] rally people
together,” Pickowicz says. Since it first began, Pickowicz’s event has grown
exponentially, now requiring multiple detailed spreadsheets, intricate floor
maps, and nearly a year of meetings to plan. It has also sparked a national
movement of pastry chef–led bake sales, which have gained momentum in
cities like Denver, New Orleans, San Francisco, Detroit, Los Angeles, and
Birmingham, Alabama. They’ve become a powerful fundraising tool, col-
lectively raising hundreds of thousands of dollars for causes that include
AIDS organizations, women’s leadership programs, disaster relief, and—most
recently —bail funds for Black Lives Matter protesters. It’s easy to see their
appeal: For about $5, attendees can pick up a high-caliber dessert—such
as a custardy slice of turmeric and raspberry pie or a roasted red grape
margarita paleta—made by pastry chefs who work at fine-dining restaurants
whose confections otherwise can only be accessed via a meal that might
cost hundreds of dollars.
They’re also an easy, fun way to support a cause—for chefs and attendees
alike. “I am not interested in these grand galas and political benefit dinners
where it’s $10,000 a table to have things cooked for you,” says Pickowicz. “I
wanted to create something that would be really accessible for everyone in
my community to participate in.” In this sense, the modern bake sale has a
lot in common with the original model: Bake sales originated in the 1800s
as a way for women to organize and raise money for charitable causes. Dur-
ing the Civil Rights era, bake sales were a powerful political tool, helping
to fund the Montgomery bus boycott when Georgia Gilmore, a cook and
single mother, organized a robust underground network of black women
to sell sweet potato pies and pound cakes door-to-door.
The COVID-19 pandemic hit when Pickowicz was already several months
into planning this year’s bake sale—set to be the biggest version yet. While
her plans are now on indefinite pause, she has faith that the momentum of
the movement will continue. “We might be forced to reinvent the idea,” she
says. “It will become something else, but hopefully it will still feel the same.” FOOD AND PROP STYLING: CHARLOTTE AUTRY