The Country Loaf
Our workhorse. Crackling crust, open crumb, gentle tang. Built to be sliced thick, toasted heavy, and topped with whatever you love.
— Established with the love of good bread —
We mix the dough. We let it rest, slow and cold, for two days. Then we bake your loaf when you come to get it — hot from the stone, the way bread is meant to be.
I.
Three loaves. That's it. We'd rather make three breads well than ten breads passably.
Our workhorse. Crackling crust, open crumb, gentle tang. Built to be sliced thick, toasted heavy, and topped with whatever you love.
The oldest cultivated wheat in the world. Easier on the gut, dense in the right way, with the kind of flavor that makes butter feel embarrassed to be there.
For the bag of groceries. For the long lunch. The everyday loaf, done right. Fast in, fast out, walks home warm.
II.
We borrowed it from the pizza place around the corner.
01
Each morning we mix flour, water, salt, and our wild starter. No commercial yeast. The dough rests, folds, rests again.
02
Two days in the cold room. Slow fermentation builds flavor and breaks down the starches your gut doesn't love.
03
You walk in, or you ping us an hour ahead. We pull a dough ball, shape it, score it.
04
Onto the hot stone. Steam, heat, time. Your loaf bakes while you grab a coffee. You leave with a hot loaf in a paper bag.
Why this matters: most "fresh bread" was baked at four in the morning. Ours is baked when you ask for it. There is no comparison. None.
III.
Bread is mostly flour. So we care about the flour more than we care about almost anything else. We use ancient and heritage grains — einkorn, emmer, spelt, heritage wheat — milled by people we can call on the phone.
“Good bread is three things: good flour, enough time, and a hot oven.”
IV.
We're firing up the ovens. Want to know when the doors open?