I’m still looking for my bakery. Possible bakeries are not thick on the ground. Every time I walk into one of these potential spaces with a friend or contractor, they ask what I want of it. “Will this be sit down or grab and go?” the friend wants to know. “What will it look like up here in front?” “What kind of trims do you want?” asks the contractor. “Will you need structural changes?” All reasonable and important questions, but ones I’ve found surprisingly difficult to answer. The bakery I’ve built in my mind is so detailed and particular, the daydream is hard to cram into the imperfect reality of these spaces. So I tell the contractor about the utility hookups I’ll need and ask about daylighting. I stand by the front door with my friend and look around. “Sit down, for sure,” I tell him. “But no modern cafe minimalist with white subway tile and house plants!” Which gets a laugh, but isn’t a real answer.

If pressed about design and trims, I evade by describing the way I hope the space will feel, filled with light and warmth and the smell of baking bread, with friends and strangers talking over coffee and sweets at the long tables. Or maybe I describe the rough geometric patterns I love: flagstone floors, herringbone brick paths, cobblestones, ikat and shibori textiles, Mayan embroidery, Berber rugs, the sides of Appalachian barns. Perhaps, in a moment of literary overreach, I try to use the country kitchen of the beloved, plodding old books of my childhood as metaphor: the heavy crockery and scarred table, the light slanting across limewashed walls, and just outside the door a kitchen garden, beds lined in low, tidy box hedges and a fig tree espaliered against the sunny northern wall. But these aren’t answers either. These aren’t paint colors or building plans. I’m not sure they’re even a cohesive aesthetic. So, how do I want the retail bakery to look? What trims do I want? I couldn’t tell you. But maybe if you come across a pallet of salvaged brick, or reclaimed lumber with stories written across its grain, or wallpaper inspired by resist dyed textile, give me a call.
See you soon.

Sophie
Owner | Baker

TODAY AT MARKET
Red & White
Rosemary
Mountain Rye
Vollkornbrot
Seedy Buckwheat

Malted Chocolate Chip Cookie
Bittersweet Chocolate Cookie
Gingersnap
Oat Scone
Hazelnut Crumb Cake
Shortbread

ORDER ONLINE:
Wednesday's BAKER's CHOICE: Wild & Seedy
Sign up for the Summer Bread Subscription, June 12- July 31

When the last of the loaves were cooled and packed away, when the floors were mopped, the tables wiped down, the dishes cleared from the rack, I biked home. I was tired, footsore, worrying about the work still undone and the weekend’s weather report. To the east clouds crowded against the foothills. To the west the sky opened. The light was low and warm, setting the firs and the bare branches of the maples aglow against the rain-dark sky. Colors swelled around me, pulling my out of my head and into the world: grape hyacinth blue as the cloak on a Renaissance Madonna, the exuberant green of unfolding leaves, silver bark, the cream white of a wildly blooming magnolia, the crows on the power line so black they could have been cut from the sky. There is a time late in the day that painters and photographers call the Golden Hour, when the colors are so true they feel like “some tragic falling off from a first world of undivided light.” If I could go out walking every morning and evening to catch that perfect light I would, but I’d settle for watching the day change through big windows.

I haven’t yet found any promising spaces for a bakery, and the dearth of options is a sliver of panic through my daydreams and plans. Keep an eye out for me, will you? Big windows, a walkable neighborhood, three phase, gas, and venting, room to grow, a good landlord: all of those would be nice, but I’d make due with one or two.

​After last weekend’s warm sunshine today’s weather is looking decidedly unfavorable, but come down to the first farmers market of the season to say hello anyway. It’s spring in the Pacific Northwest, after all. Rain is to be expected.

See you soon.

Sophie
Owner | Baker

I spent last weekend in Olympia at the Cascadia Grains conference, talking with farmers and bakers and listening to talks on subjects ranging from business finance to climate change, crop rotations, and the centers of origin for the world’s grains. I came home, as I always do from these industry events, fizzy with anticipation and nerves, invigorated by the in person connections in a way I never am by interactions on social media. I want to build this bakery dream into reality. I want so much more than this little market business can hold.

I’ve been deep in the numbers all week, building foolishly complicated spreadsheets, researching costs, working out financial projections. Next up: financing, real estate, incorporation, interviewing contractors and designers and accountants and attorneys. When I think about all the steps between here and my cheerful, light-filled bakery, I want to climb back into the dough tub (metaphorically) and just hang out with the bread. Bread is so wonderfully complex, but also simple, you know? Tangible. Immediate and satisfying in a way the business planning is not. To fight the paralyzing size of this new project, I make task lists. Lots of them. In notebooks, in spreadsheets, on loose scraps of paper. I make task lists for making more task lists. That way, I have one step to take, and then the next. And when the nerves overwhelm the anticipation, I have the stories I’ve written to myself about the bakery. Dozens of little stories, each a window into the dream bakery, to remind me that at the end of the lists is a business as tangible and immediate as the bread it will produce. But bigger. And not at all simple.

​Sophie
Owner | Baker

​THIS WEEK's WEDNESDAY BREAD
Order by Sunday night to pick up Wednesday, Jan 30
Red & White
Mountain Rye
Baker's Choice: Farmer's Bread 1.0 - a crusty rye & wheat boule, inspired by the Austrian Bauernlaib. Eventually, I'd like to add a rye boule like this to my weekly bread lineup. Help me develop the recipe by letting me know what you think of the sour balance (lactic/acetic), the spice mix and strength (currently a little fennel, caraway, and blue fenugreek), the texture (moisture, density), the keeping quality, and anything else you think is important in your daily bread.

NEXT WEEK's WEDNESDAY BREAD
Order this week for pickup Wednesday, Feb 6
Red & White
Mountain Rye
Baker's Choice: Farmer's Bread 2.0

WINTER BREAD SUBSCRIPTION
6 weeks left!
RED & WHITE subscription
MOUNTAIN RYE subscription
BAKER's CHOICE subscription: a new rye every week

Order ONLINE and pickup on Wednesdays from:
Downtown: Cafe Velo, 120 Prospect, 9am - 7pm
Fairhaven: Shirlee Bird Cafe, 1200 Harris, 7:30am - 5pm
Birchwood: the front step, 8am - 8pm

The Ocean at the End of the Lane is the truest story about childhood I've read in a long time. It is a dark fairy tale, a story of monsters and magic, of wonder, and terrible powerlessness of childhood; a story about a time when magic is as likely as any other answer, before the hard edges of facts push the impossible out of the world.

There is a scene early in the book when the little boy sits down to eat in the neighbors' farmhouse kitchen:

"The daffodils sat like patches of sunlight, making that dark wooden kitchen even more cheerful. The floor was made of red and gray flagstones. The walls were whitewashed. The old woman gave me a lump of honeycomb, from the Hempstocks' own beehive, on a chipped saucer, and poured a little cream over it from a jug. I ate it with a spoon, chewing the wax like gum, letting the honey flow into my mouth, sweet and sticky with an aftertaste of wildflowers."

And now, every time I think about pastries, about new recipes, and what I role I want sweets to play in the bakery, I remember that scene. That's what I want in a pastry: comfort, substance, and flavor, with the satisfaction and sensual pleasure of cream running down a honeycomb. I want pastries that belong in a kitchen full of daffodils and sunlight, with a pot simmering on the stove, and muck boots piled, muddy, outside the door. I want pastries for wet fields and mountains, for hard work in all weather, for children in the street on a summer evening, and winter evenings that smell of woodsmoke, for kitchen gardens and old apple trees and bumblebees in the lavender and hyssop. Does that make sense? I can see it all so clearly in my mind.
​
See you soon.

Sophie
Owner | Baker

TODAY AT MARKET
Red & White Wheat
Mountain Rye + Vollkornbrot
Malted Chocolate Chip + Bittersweet Cookies
Breakfast Scone (apple butter, raisins, hazelnuts, oats)
Raspberry, Rhubarb, Buckwheat Scone
Lemon Rhubarb Bar
Shortbread

PRE-ORDER for Wednesday 5/30
(place order by Sunday night for Wednesday pickup)
Chocolate ($10)
Mountain Rye ($7)
Vollkornbrot ($8)

On long days in the commissary kitchen, I daydream about my bakery. The fluorescent lights above me hum and flicker, casting my workbench sickly yellow against the tan and stainless steel of the windowless room. I daydream about light: The walls of my bakery, I decide, are warm white, catching light from the high windows even on rainy days. I can watch the sky lighten in the morning through those windows. I can watch the days pass, and the seasons change. There are no fluorescent lights.

The kitchen I share smells of cooking meat, fish sauce, and bleach. I daydream about the smells of my bakery: Baking bread. Butter and chocolate. Coffee. A little wood smoke, as I dump the smoked rye berries into the batch of vollkornbrot in the mixer. And the front windows are open, letting in the sun-hot scent of lavender and rosemary from the brick planters of herbs just outside. One of the neighborhood kids pinches off a sprig of mint coming in the front door, and carries the bright scent with him as he meanders to the counter, crushing it, furtively, in his hand.

Here, in the commissary kitchen, it’s always loud. The lights hum, water runs, the dishwasher whooshes, the fan in the convection oven whomp whomp whomps slightly off-center, pans clatter, the hood roars, and in the prep room, the restaurant cooks are blasting Journey so loud I can feel it through my whole body. I daydream about the sounds of my bakery: I get in early to begin the day’s bake alone. I have a few hours before anyone else arrives. Later, perhaps, we’ll put on music. The bakery will fill with voices as the benches of the long, battered wood table in front fill with customers sitting down together over coffee and pastries, as the regulars stand chatting in line, catching up on the neighborhood gossip, as we stand together over the mixer, talking about yesterday’s dough and troubleshooting the new batch of flour. But in the early morning I work in silence. The sun is just lightening the sky when I pull the first bread out of the oven. It’s so quiet in the bakery I can hear the crust sing.

My days in the commissary kitchen are brutally long. I begin the day up to my elbows in rye, and end some 14 or 18 hours later as I pull the last batch of wheat bread out of the too-small convection oven. I daydream about the bakery’s equipment: We have a mixer, of course, to save hands and wrists from injury, and for the efficiency of large batches. The work benches are smooth maple, and long enough to hold all the shaping dough. And the oven: a real deck oven! With a loader! Perhaps it’s a Bassanina, fueled now by natural gas, but in a few years converted to wood when the mill starts making pressed sawdust blocks from their offcuts (what do the lumber mills do with their waste?). And by that point, we’ll have gotten a grant to put solar panels on the roof (can you get 3 phase out of small scale solar?). And between the waste-wood fueled oven, and the solar/hydro electricity, and our small fleet of delivery bikes and trailers, and our locally grown (with conservation ag practices?) and milled grain, our little bakery will be well on its way to carbon neutrality.
​
Baking is hard, physical work, even with the help of the right equipment, but in my bakery daydream, our striving to become better bakers, better community members, better environmental stewards, keeps that work engaging. There is space for new dreams in the bakery: a new bread, evening baking classes, a cafe opened next door by a long-time employee. And no one working in the bakery goes hungry for lack of bread. We pay a living wage, from dishwasher to manager, with benefits. This is my daydream, after all. From where I’m standing, anything is possible.

See you soon.

Sophie
​Owner | Baker

TODAY AT MARKET
Red & White Wheat + Garden Herb
Mountain Rye + Vollkornbrot
Malted Chocolate Chip + Bittersweet Cookies
Raspberry Jam & Oat Scone
Sour Cherry & Buckwheat Scone
Lemon Poppy Teacake
Shortbread

PRE-ORDER for Wednesday 5/9
(place order by Sunday night for Wednesday pickup)
Toasted Sesame ($8)
Mountain Rye ($7)
Vollkornbrot ($8)

Customers ask me all the time at market if I bake in a wood fired oven. Maybe this is because my breads are large and rustic, but I like to think it's because I look like the kind of baker who would work with masonry and fire. “No,” I reply, shaking my head and grimace-smiling. “I don’t have a wood fired oven.”

What I have is a slightly run down commissary kitchen in downtown Bellingham that I share with two restaurants and a handful of other food businesses. On a winter night the kitchen temperature might dip to 45 °F  (I keep my sourdough buckets on a plant heating mat); in the summer, temperatures rise to 95 °F , even with the hood on. There’s no proofer to rise the bread, no walk-in cooler space to hold the dough cold, no mixer, and certainly no bread oven. But it’s affordable, and has approval from the various goverment agencies that have to approve such things. It’s a few blocks from the Saturday market, and within a 15 minute ride of most of my wholesale customers. It’s been my incubator: a safe place to learn and grow as I’ve felt my tentative way into this business.

I’m immensely grateful to have had the opportunity to build Raven Breads to this point on a shoestring budget, and without debt. The commissary has made that possible. But there’s only so much bread I can shove through its little convection oven, and only so many hours I can bake in a day. Now (or at least soon) it’s time to move on. Bakers and business owners, if you have advice on growth and finance, old business plans to look over, opinions about local real estate and contractors, or even if you just want to kvetch about the struggles of bread and business, I'd love to talk to you.

Next week, I'll tell you about my dream for the new bakery.

Sophie
Owner | Baker

TODAY AT MARKET
Red & White + Garden Herb Explosion!
Mountain Rye + Vollkornbrot
Malted Chocolate Chip + Bittersweet Cookies
Oatmeal Marmalade Scone
Buckwheat Rhubarb Scone
Breakfast Scone (oat + fig + hazelnut)
Lemon Poppy Berry Tea Cake
Shortbread

PRE-ORDER for Wednesday 5/16
(place order by Sunday night for Wednesday pickup)
Polenta ($8)
Mountain Rye ($7)
Vollkornbrot ($8)

Sometimes I find it useful to ask myself very obvious questions. The back of my kitchen notebook is full of scribbled answers. Where is home in five years? What's the purpose of this bakery? What do you want your bread to be?

The answers to the first two were pages long and surprisingly soul-searching, but the answer to the third is straightforward enough:

I want my bread to be beauty and function. To be just a little too dark, cracked from the heat, with a thick crust, brown-black to tan, and the alveoli opening like eyes in a moist, uneven crumb. I want table bread. Dinner bread. A loaf to drop in the middle of a family meal of crossing voices, reaching hands, and passed dishes. A loaf to wrap in brown paper and tuck into a pack, to eat fast on a windy ridgeline, or beside a snow-rimmed alpine lake. A loaf to cut into sturdy slabs for a sandwich, for searing brown in a buttered skillet, for dipping in thick soup, or for wiping clean a plate. I want my bread to be satisfaction and flavor. I want my bread to be food.

See you soon!

Sophie
Owner | Baker

TODAY AT MARKET
Red & White, Mountain Rye, (Smoky!) Vollkornbrot
Malted Chocolate Chip Cookies
Bittersweet Chocolate Cookies
Orange Buckwheat Scones
Black Sesame Buckwheat Scones (see above)
Shortbread

PRE-ORDER for 4/25
Blue Corn Nixtamal ($8)
Mountain Rye ($7)
Vollkornbrot ($8)

POST SCRIPT
Sometime last year, two WWU students visited the kitchen and market to shoot some video and interview me for the student publication, The Planet. I didn't know they'd decided to use the material till one of them stopped by the market last Saturday. Check out the sweet VIDEO they made about the bakery! My favorite part is the stop motion bike trailer load/unload.