OUR STORY

It started with one oven and a stubborn streak.

The first loaves came out of a secondhand deck oven that took three of us to carry up the back stairs. We sold them off a folding table on Saturdays, and the line told us everything we needed to know: people miss bread that's made by a person.

So we signed the lease on Mill Street, painted the place ourselves, and kept the rules simple. Real starter, long ferments, local flour when the harvest lets us. Nothing frozen, nothing trucked in, nothing we wouldn't take home to our own tables.

"Come at seven and the whole street smells like breakfast."

These days there are more of us behind the counter, but the mornings look the same: the mixers start at four, the first bake lands at seven, and when the case is empty we flip the sign and start again tomorrow.

If you've been coming since the folding-table days, thank you. If you're new, welcome. The coffee's on the counter and the heels of the sourdough are free while you wait.