The farmers who grow the grain for our bread are brave. They all, at one point or another, have started do things in a different way. Different to what is conventionally expected from them. More focused on the common good. This focus on the common good starts with the soil, in which they grow the grain. To our partners the soil is more valuable than their bank accounts.
It does not start here.
It does not start with the bread. And it does not start with us. It does not start with the question, by hand or by machine. It does not start with the oven, not with the recipe and not with the sourdough. It starts somewhere else entirely. It starts, where fear ends. Where a farmer suddenly stops, stands in the field and asks: What is growth?
It starts with the soil
Every single loaf of bread we bake stands for two square metres of soil. Biodynamically farmed, the experts say. Naturally, we say.
Time. Time it takes to sow the grain, harvest the grain, mill the grain; mix the dough, knead the dough. Time the dough needs to prove.
Craftsmanship. Often nostalgically mistaken by urbanites as something to yearn for after a long day at the office. For us? Reality. Demanding, exhausting, strenuous reality. Hard, physical, beautiful work.
Dough after dough. Day after day.
The journey ends here – from the soil to the plate. Freshly baked here it is: bread. It has come a long way consisting of many small steps. Who, if not you, decides if it was all worth it?