Bread begins in quiet - flour meeting water, time stretching into patience. It is a simple ritual, and yet it carries something older than memory. Each loaf is more than food; it is a small fire tended, a story risen from the hands.
How It Began
For a long time, I searched for real sourdough - the kind that rose slowly on its own, with no added yeast, no shortcuts, no long list of ingredients. Then one day I stumbled upon a small bakery and a kind baker who gifted me a piece of his starter. He handed it to me with a smile and a wink. I knew it was special. He wished me well, and I left with that small offering, a living gift in a jar full of hope.
My first loaf failed. So did the second. And the third. It took months of rising and falling, of loaves too dense or too sour, before one finally came out of the oven golden and rich, a bread that reminded me of my youth on a foggy pier.
I began sending sandwiches made from these loaves with my husband to work. He told my story, and soon his colleagues were asking if they could acquire a loaf. Orders began to trickle in. Then more and more.
What began with one jar of starter now reaches beyond our table - loaves tucked into brown paper bags, neighbors stopping by for warm bread, the scent drifting into the street like a quiet invitation. The orders come in steady now, one by one, like footsteps on a path that keeps unfolding.
The Process
Sourdough is alive. It asks for waiting, for trust, for a kind of listening that cannot be hurried. The starter grows with care, the dough rests in its own time, the oven transforms it in ways both expected and surprising. In shaping each loaf, I am reminded that imperfection is part of the story, that cracks in the crust are not flaws but openings where the fire has spoken.
The Varieties
From that first simple loaf, others have followed - rosemary and olives entwined, cheese melting into jalapenos warmed with a kick, seeds scattered like stars, a loaf fragrant with spice. Each variety is a different voice in the same conversation, another way of telling the story of grain and hand and fire. The bread on my homepage are only glimpses; the full menu waits on the Shop page, each loaf with its own chapter.
At The Hearth
Bread has become, for me, a way of keeping the fire alive - not just in the oven, but in myself. Each loaf I bake is both sustenance and story, one I hope will find its way to your table, carrying with it the warmth of its long, slow rising.
Sourdough Story
Where It All Begins
"There is not a thing that is more positive than bread." - Dostoevsky
Ingredients That Matter
My sourdough begins with only three simple ingredients: King Arthur bread flour, filtered water and sea salt. While the flour is not organic, King Arthur's bread flour is known among artisan bakers for its exceptional quality and reliability. Its high protein content gives each loaf structure and strength, creating the signature open crumb and golden crust sourdough lovers seek.
I used filtered water to ensure nothing interferes with the natural fermentation process, and a pure sea salt for its clean, balanced flavor. Together, these ingredients allow the wild yeast and bacteria in the starter to work slowly and naturally, producing bread with depth, character, and honest flavor - no additives, no shortcuts, just the simple alchemy of time and care.
Beyond The Headlines
In a world of "200+ year old starters" and "three-day rises," it's easy to get caught up in the drama of artisan bread. But real bread doesn't need theatrics. It needs care - quiet, steady, patient care.
My loaves may not come with grand claims, but they come with something better: a tender crumb, a golden crust, and a flavor that speaks for itself. Because bread should be about nourishment, not marketing.
The Heart of the Loaf
Each loaf leaves the oven carrying more than heat - it carries the soft pulse of time, the quiet turning of hands that shaped it, the fragrance of grain and the fire mingling like memory. Break the crust and you release its warmth into the room, a gift of comfort and care, a small, golden reminder that the simplest things are often the most generous.
