Country Sourdough
Our every-loaf. 36-hour cold ferment, blistered crust, an open custardy crumb. The whole bakery starts here.
$9per loafEst. 2012 · Cedar Hollow
Slow-risen, neighborhood-baked, gone by noon. A wood-table bakery built on a single twelve-year-old starter.
Out of the oven · Saturday
Our every-loaf. 36-hour cold ferment, blistered crust, an open custardy crumb. The whole bakery starts here.
$9per loafA dense, dark, deeply sour rye rolled in flax, sunflower and caraway. Keeps for a week, better on day three.
$11per loafLaminated sourdough croissant dough, rolled in orange-zest sugar and baked in a muffin tin so the edges caramelize.
$14four-packCastelvetrano olives, garden rosemary, flaky sea salt, torn open in a leaf shape. We only bake twelve.
$10eachHand-tied, brushed with brown butter and dusted with crushed cardamom and pearl sugar. Sticky on purpose.
$12three-packToasted walnuts folded through a touch of wildflower honey. Made for sharp cheese and a quiet evening.
$12per loafThe Levain
We don't add yeast. We feed a starter we began in a borrowed kitchen in 2012 — and it has woken up every single morning since.
It started as stubbornness. We wanted bread that tasted like the loaves we grew up tearing apart at the table — not the soft, sweet, week-old kind from the shelf, but something with a back-talk crust and a sour you could feel in your jaw.
So we made a starter from flour and water and time, named it "Doris," and learned to listen to it. A levain is alive: it rises faster when the kitchen is warm, sulks when it's cold, and tells you exactly how the bread will turn out hours before it does.
Everything we sell is built from Doris and four ingredients: flour, water, salt, and patience. No commercial yeast, no dough conditioners, no shortcuts that would let us bake twice. We mix in the afternoon, the dough proofs cold overnight, and we score and bake before the sun is fully up.
We bake what one oven and two pairs of hands can make well. That's usually around two hundred loaves. It's why we're often sold out by noon — and why, honestly, we wouldn't have it any other way.
Reserve your loaf
Pre-orders open the night before and hold your bread behind the counter, dusted and bagged. No payment now — you settle up at the shop.
Come by
We're the little blue door on Mill Street — look for flour on the sidewalk and a chalkboard that's usually wrong by 10 a.m. Knock if the sign says closed; we're probably just elbow-deep in dough.