I love load-shedding!

What's great about load-shedding and chronic shortage of electricity?

(This is a near carbon-copy of a question a friend of mine posed recently when addressing a university in Shanghai (see the full story here: http://coachbay.com/). On the face of it, the question seems to come from a stand-up comedian or a satirist in the press. But the question is genuine and flips a situation 180 degrees. There is much to be said about asking the right questions, as the questions you ask will guide the direction of your thinking and through that your ability to find one or more solutions. But my friend speaks better of this than I do, and I recommend you peruse the link above.)

We live in Nepal where load-shedding is endemic. We are without power 45 hours per week. The lack of investment in hydropower and the required transmission infrastructure means that demand by far outpaces supply of power. Hence load-shedding.

It is easy to grumble about it, when the lights go out, the wireless router stops working, the TV goes off and so on. So what's great about it?

Well, for a start it keeps certain traditional artisan crafts intact! Only today I discovered a small bakery tucked away from the narrow lanes of Lalitpur. It has lots of wooden benches evidencing years of labour and toil over doughs, spices, fillings and yeast. Dominating the room in a corner is a huge wood-fired oven.

I start talking to the proprietor (a name with a quaint, traditional lilt to it) about this hidden gem. He is happy to meet an interested and engaged customer, and we soon have a good conversation going. With the lack of electricity, the only way he can reliably produce his goods is by sticking to woodfiring. He also finds that wood-fired breads have a subtly different flavour when compared to the breads spewing forth from electrical ovens.

As we talk, he opens the cast-iron door to the massive oven. Inside I see a baking-area of at least 4-5 sqm, and it's festooned with goodies: There are fresh herb-foccaccias, cinnamon rolls, croissants, pain-aux-chocolat, breads - even pizzas. Now, most of you know that I'm a food-addict and I can only say that the flavours wafting forth from this oven were otherworldly. The faint smokiness of a wooden fire, the zesty fragrance of fresh bread baking, the herbs roasting on top of the foccaccias, the trace of cinnamon, the sting of tomato-sauce baking...

For a few moments I was transported back to a time where people knew the person who had made their bread, their sausage, their chairs. A time of craftsmanship, a time of taking pride in what you do and a time where time itself was of less importance. On the spot I was moved back to when I was a young boy of around 11 years of age: My father had found a nearby farm where they still had a traditional wood-fired oven for baking, and he brought me over there as he was making breads the old-fashioned way. The smells, the textures and the taste are still with me today - and it all comes rushing back to me as I stand surrounded by these heavenly aromas.

As I place my order for a croissant and a pain-aux-chocolate, the baker tells me I will have to wait another 2-3 minutes as he can see they are not fully done yet. When did you experience this last? In an age of instant gratification, being asked to wait for a product lovingly prepared and shaped seemed liberating. Exactly 3 minutes later, the baker starts wielding what looks like an oar from a boat. In an elaborate shuffle of baking trays and molds, the ready items are lifted out and placed on the wooden benches around me. My steaming order is wrapped in a little paper and handed to me. In a spur-of-the-moment decision, I ask to add a small tomato and olive pizza which had just been taken out.

I return to the office with my treasure in hand and sit down to enjoy what very few can enjoy these days: A genuinely hand-made work of craftsmanship, made by someone who takes pride in his profession. The croissant is crispy, flaky, yet substantive and with that elusive flavour which speaks of just enough butter. The pain-aux-chocolat is evidencing this same flavour, accentuated by molten chocolate in the center. The small pizza has achieved caramelisation of the sauce on the edges, adding a sweetness to the sharp tomato-sauce which was hugely pleasing. In a wood-fired oven, it takes a high level of skill to achieve this without burning the crust.

So one good thing I can say about load-shedding is that it preserves a traditional craft like this. Once electricity is endemic, odds are that the rules of mass-production and economies of scale will take over and the artisan baker will be a part of Nepal's history.