There is quite a story behind 376 Ocean Ave., although the address doesn’t exist just yet.
When it opened in 1899, the village of Carmel had yet to be officially established. Carmel Bakery was one of three buildings on that side of the block, needing no other identity. In more recent decades, guests looking for pastries or a giant pretzel have been directed to Ocean, somewhere between Dolores and Lincoln.
According to Gian Pepe, the bakery has the distinction of being the oldest business still in its original location in Carmel – the Pine Inn predates Carmel Bakery, but moved into a different space more than a century ago – and likely the oldest such bakery in the state. The approval of street addresses for the village means he will experience the first “first” for the building in 127 years.
“We just bought our new numbers,” he says. “We think it’s going to happen any day now.”
Pepe serves as CEO of Pepe International, the company started by his father Rich that operates Carmel restaurants Little Napoli and Vesuvio, along with the popular bakery. He has been an advocate of addresses since the debate began in earnest several years ago.
“I’m really looking forward to having packages delivered,” he observes. “It’s amazing how much time you spend on the phone: ‘OK, what’s your address?’ Then the explanation starts.”
Opponents of the decision clung to the charm associated with numberless streets. And Pepe understood their argument, at least from a nostalgic point of view.
“It’s a little sad. It’s one of the last quirky things about Carmel,” he says. “But it’s hard to run a business without an address.”
Admittedly, Carmel Bakery has been doing quite well without a numerical identity. Lines form throughout summer days, spilling out to the sidewalk. A tempting display of danishes, bear claws, doughnuts, biscottis, cannolis (naturally) and other treats – gelato made in-house, for example – fill the display case. The cozy aroma of butter wafts from the kitchen.
During tourist season, Pepe adds 15-20 employees to the team in order to keep pace with demand. “I think we’re Carmel High’s number one employer,” he says with a laugh. Pepe credits the bakery’s original owner with setting the establishment up for success. “The way Fritz Schweninger built it is really smart,” he says. “If you notice, the door has a wide opening. It draws you in. And the big window – people are always stopping, taking pictures.”
In 1917, when Schweninger’s children decided to turn their full efforts to the family’s nearby grocery instead, the Carmel Pine Cone marked the occasion with the headline “It Is To Weep” and lamenting the absence of the bakery’s doughnuts, Parker House rolls and “crooked breakfast snake” – presumably in pastry form.
Fortunately another baker filled the void. Four families have owned the bakery since Schweninger died. In the 1980s, Rich Pepe had established himself at Wishart’s Bakery, also on Ocean Avenue. Presented with the opportunity to buy Wishart’s, Pepe consulted a friend who told him, “No, you should buy the other one.”
According to Gian, his father approached Hector DeSmet, then owner of Carmel Bakery, but was turned down. DeSmet intended to pass the bakery on to one of his daughters. So in 1986 the elder Pepe ended up owning Wishart’s – temporarily.
“Two years later, Hector DeSmet knocked on the door,” Gian Pepe recalls. “He said, ‘My daughter doesn’t want it.’”
Pepe notes that apart from additions made to the rear of the building to extend the kitchen and a few bits of cosmetic work over the decades, it retains the same footprint and the same facade as in 1899. Indeed, above the bakery in the apartment once occupied by the original owner, is a piece of the ladder used by Schweninger each morning to climb down to his kitchen.
“At some point stairs were added,” Pepe observes.
But the building has always been a bakery. And seen from the street, it is almost identical to the image from 1906 on the wall behind the counter. For the first time in its history, however, Carmel Bakery will have a street number.
“We haven’t decided where to put it,” Pepe says. “But the door frame makes sense.”