How It Began
A notebook, a kitchen,
and a lot of flour on the floor
It started with a question:
Why does the best bread feel like a secret? Jan spent years hunting for loaves that actually tasted of grain — not just color and crust. When she couldn't find them in Geneva, she decided to bake them herself.
What changed everything:
A sourdough starter named after her grandmother. A notebook filled with failed loaves and one perfect recipe after another. Neighbors who came in for one roll and stayed for the warmth of a kitchen that felt like home.
What's different now:
Nothing and everything. Still small batches. Still no shortcuts. But now there's a door on N 12th St, a bell that rings when you walk in, and a counter full of things that took all night to become something worth eating in the morning.
— Jan
