Grain milled two valleys over
Every loaf begins with grain we can point at on a map.
Thirty-six hours, not thirty
The long ferment is what gives the crumb its open, honest structure.
Baked while you sleep
Loaves go into the deck oven hours before the street wakes up.
Warm when the door opens
Everything on the shelf was made in the same building this morning.
Bread worth the walk
A dark crust, an open crumb, and nothing in it you cannot pronounce.