Laminated · 27 layers
The croissant
Three days of folding French butter into our own flour. Shatters at the first bite, then nothing but warm honeycomb inside.
We mill our own flour, build the dough the night before, and pull the first tray at dawn. Everything you taste was warm an hour ago, and there is only ever as much as the morning allows.
Out of the oven, 7:02
The board changes with the season and the proof. These are pulling first today, while they last.
Laminated · 27 layers
Three days of folding French butter into our own flour. Shatters at the first bite, then nothing but warm honeycomb inside.
18 hr levain
Our mother starter, a long cold proof, and a blistered crust. Open crumb, gentle tang, and a loaf that keeps all week.
Seasonal · new
Almond cream baked into pâte sucrée, crowned with fresh raspberries and a whisper of icing sugar. Tart, sweet, just enough.
No improvers, no shortcuts, no day-old trays. Just flour, water, salt, and the time it takes.
Whole wheat and rye, milled on a stone wheel in the back room, so the flour still carries its bran and its sweetness when it meets the water.
The dough rests overnight in a cool room. Eighteen unhurried hours of fermentation give the crumb its open structure and the crust its deep, slow flavour.
Into a stone-floored deck oven before the city wakes. We open the doors at seven, and we close them the moment the last loaf is gone.
One room, one mill, one team that has risen before the sun for eleven years. We bake what we can do well, sell it the day it is made, and start again tomorrow.
We are a corner shop on a quiet street, a queue out the door by half past seven, and a counter that empties by noon. Reserve a loaf and we will keep it back for you.