Country Sourdough
Stone-milled wheat, a 36-hour cold ferment and a crust that crackles when you cut it. Our most-asked-for loaf — we bake forty and they rarely see 3pm.
A small neighbourhood bakery run by two people, one oven and a very old sourdough starter. We bake in small batches, twice a day, and we sell out most afternoons.
Everything is mixed by hand the day before and baked before the shutters go up. If it's not on the shelf, it's still in the oven.
Stone-milled wheat, a 36-hour cold ferment and a crust that crackles when you cut it. Our most-asked-for loaf — we bake forty and they rarely see 3pm.
Twenty-seven layers of laminated dough and cultured butter, folded over three days. Shatteringly crisp outside, soft and honey-sweet in the middle.
Croissant dough rolled with cinnamon, cardamom and demerara, baked in a muffin tin so the edges caramelise. Best eaten standing up, on the pavement.
Milled fortnightly by a small watermill an hour up the road, so the flour still has the germ and the flavour in it.
Nothing here is rushed. Long ferments overnight, cold proof in the morning, baked when the dough says so — never the clock.
One shop, one oven, no second site. Whatever we don't sell by closing goes to the food bank two doors down.
We're a five-minute walk from the top of Ashgrove Lane. No booking, no queue app — just turn up.
Bread is out at 8am and again at 1pm. Coffee from 7.
Ordering a loaf for the weekend, a birthday cake, or a tray of buns for the office? Drop us a line — we answer between bakes.