I have a love affair with bread, it’s definitely a weird one but I realized this last weekend how universal this weird passion for people is. I can talk comics to my partner for hours , genuinely see the nerd in him come out when he gets talking about story arcs and the value attached to these books. He took a full 20 minutes to explain to me what a variant cover was and why they are rare. It’s like Easter eggs in your favorite Disney film, coming back to them years later and finally getting the subtle joke. We either love it or have become more confident in ourselves to say how much we hate it. We went to friends for lunch and my friend’s dad popped by to pick up something left. He sees me and gets very excited as he knows about my bakery and knows I make sourdough. We chatted like old friends about the types of flour we use and the beautiful places they come from. We chatted about hydration and crumb and how there’s nothing more satisfying than having a bread work after you thought it had flopped. I brought bread from the bakery as a gift and my friend insisted we all eat it with lashings of butter. He is a 60 something little Slovak man and struggles to sometimes find the English word he’s looking for to describe what he’s saying but we both speak bread so I knew exactly what he’s trying to say. This man was like a ray of sunlight with his enthusiasm and it really put a brightness in my day. I had had to try and manually get out of my gate with loadshedding that morning to get to a cold and dark shop. Boil water so I could make dough for the day, then proceeded to knead and mix my doughs, in the dark, on a very cold Sunday morning. It was super bleak. My hands hurt from rolling dough the day before, so not only was I miserable, I was in a lot of pain. In those hours you really don’t think what you do is magical. This bright gap in my day fashioned by a magical human really picked up my week. I’ve been questioning more and more what I do as I’ve been incredibly depressed. I still have a lot of pain from my surgeries and now with winter my old injuries are starting to surface. Add loadshedding, cash flow issues after the renovations and you’ve got a very dreary trifecta. I haven’t quite been able to find someone that I can train to make my bread so I have been making all the bread for the store, so no days off. I know I know, “that’s what owning your own business is” blah blah blah. I’m close to burnout but it’s such a tricky situation because why would I hand over the reigns to someone that doesn’t feel like I do about bread. I’m not sure I’ll ever find that person. Owning your own business is tough, but if I didn’t love my bread this much I really don’t think it would taste the same. We have a rule in the kitchen that you’re not allowed to bake if you’re upset. All of that energy goes straight into the cake and you will taste it. Or your entire cake will flop. I burnt an entire bread order one day because I was dealing with a problem that I didn’t have the capacity to deal with. I was exhausted and it pushed me right over the edge. Sadly, there’s no space to feel in a kitchen. When the pressure is mounting and you have ten or so deadlines per day there isn’t time for a cry or a moan. You’re there to work and get your orders done. But I love baking when I’m upset. It switches off all the anxiety from the day and I can forget about it while I do something that involves me fully. My world consists of simple things I can control. Ingredients, method, skills and chemistry all working together to provide something beautiful in its simplicity. A sponge cake bouncing back when you press it, a cookie rising and falling in the oven to get a perfect chewy bite. The smell of cloves and burnt butter. It’s a sanctuary. My senses feel at peace. More and more people are admitting to how sensory they are and we’re only now starting to accept that some people cannot deal with all of it all the time. We put in our headphones, we look for quiet spaces, we try and dissociate in whatever way we can because sometimes the world is just too noisy. My go to bake when the world is too much are these fabulous chocolate chunk cookies. This recipe has been rewritten so many times just to get the consistency right and balance of it right. Some might laugh because it’s just a cookie, how hard can that be? I have struggled to find anyone that can make these like me. If your butter isn’t creamed to the right level, your flour is not absorbed correctly, which makes your dough dry, which makes the cookie tough. If your butter is too cold or your sugar too fine, the dough doesn’t cream. On and on it goes. If there was ever a recipe to describe how I bake it would be this one. The level of Obsessive Compulsion that this requires, the fact that it’s just a part of my make up is so perfectly matched. I’m not an easy person to work with as I like things just so, things must be clean and packed away where they are supposed to go. I’m certain my level of perfection drives many people away that I train, I know people find it hard to work with me. Instead of seeing this as something I have to fix, I’m going to look for those that see it for what it really is. My utter passion for what I do. Yes its soppy, but my love for this side of me will never waiver. If I stop loving what I’ll do, I’ll quit. I wouldn’t feel like I’m doing the profession any justice if I wasn’t all in. Chocolate Chunk Cookie Recipe 200g Butter 1/2 cup caster sugar 1 cup brown sugar 2 tbl golden syrup 2 free range eggs 1 tsp vanilla 2 1/2 cups cake flour 1 tsp bicarb 1 tsp salt 2 cups chocolate chunks (use Bournville, cut into big pieces) Cream soft butter, sugars and syrup until light and fluffy Add eggs and vanilla Add sifted dry ingredients and mix until just together fold in chocolate chunks, roll into balls and bake at 180C for 10 min (should make 24) profile photo by https://danieldw.co.za/

Eating has always been a lifeline for me. I have such vivid memories attached to flavours and I think that’s why we make the foods our parents and grandparents made because they feel like home. Food tastes better differently to everyone because it’s not just how your tongue tastes it but how your memory absorbed it. Soup is a big one for me as I still make my grandfathers “vegetable” soup with beef shin and pasta. It reminds me of being a child on the plot. Playing in the veld with icy toes because the dew wet your shoes. Then walking back to the farmhouse with the sun on our backs in the evening. The smell of that soup takes me back to their house when the fire was burning in the old coal stove and the scent permeated the air. The softness of my Ouma’s hands as she ladled into our bowls. Crusty thick bread and so much butter. Soup is a theme in my life, I would look for soup wherever I went. It gave me a little bit of home when I was far away and California gave me some great food memories. Creamy tomato soup with grilled cheese toasties at a Motel in Calabasas. Which meant great views but tiny rooms. I sat outside at a picnic bench with my soup (microwaved in the lobby) a sandwich and breathed in the frozen air off the mountains, the Malibu Hills outline just a blue strip in sky. Wonton soup from Whole Foods, in a tall weird clear container. Delicate prawn wontons floating in a clear broth with bak choi, spring onions and Chinese spinach leaves. I grew really fond of their Asian food offering as they nailed the flavor profile. We didn’t always have a kitchen and eating junk food there is a slippery slope. You can so easily get sucked into terrible habits when a salad is more expensive than a sandwich, you’ll always take the sandwich. Whole Foods became a haven, the food was pricy but always worth it. Matzo ball soup from a Jewish deli. Our sponsor and friend had us over for dinner, He was just getting over a cold and the only thing he wanted was this soup and it had to be from Brent’s deli in Westlake Hills. So we told them to order for all of us and we would pick it up on the way there. The place was madness and had a que out the door, it was in this weird, out of the way, strip mall. Completely unexpected but dinner was just amazing. We sat at their kitchen counter, we were all given spoons to taste each dish. Hot Pastrami with sauerkraut , Beef and lentil soup, and to my utter surprise, one of the best soups I’ve eaten. That Matzo ball soup tasted like a mom had made it. Our host was sent back home with it, telling us stories of his childhood in New York. Vegan Ramen from a foodstall at Grand Central Market, which is a trip in itself. It’s in a historic part of Downtown Los Angeles, it’s a fresh market with old school butcheries and grocers as well as hosting renowned eateries like Eggslut and Ramenhood. It was my first experience of Ramen and it was really bizarre. The egg was made from plant protein in the shape of a real egg, barbequed eggplant that tasted like pork, mushroom broth and handmade noodles. This might sound super gross but it was such an experience. Sitting in the busy market at a bar, experiencing all these sensations with all that noise around you. Pork Tonkotsu Ramen from a restaurant in Venice Beach, with master stocks boiling away in front of you as you eat at a tiny counter facing the kitchen. That was all they served, and there were people on a waiting list just to get thirty minutes inside to eat their soup. It was incredible. Lastly ,but not least, Pho from a strip mall in San Diego. We had had a long day driving from Woodland hills, we were visiting a friend and my partner had a meeting. It was an exhaustively hot day and I felt like I needed something nourishing, maybe tasting a little home made. I saw a sign for Pho close to our hotel, walked across and ordered, of which I pronounced wrong and the cashier had a chuckle at me. It was pricy and I wasn’t sure that this would be worth it. I was handed a massive container of clear broth, thin raw beef wrapped in paper, cut up limes, jalapeño, coriander, ginger, amaranth and Thai basil. Then handed another bowl of noodles. On the table of a hotel kitchenette, I sat and feasted with all my little containers. Trying different garnishes while leaving the beef in the scorching broth to poach. It was such a new but wonderful experience and gave me the confidence to order it out. Pronouncing it properly now I hope. I was very lucky to be able to eat at so many places in LA. Finding eateries on Instagram and trying to figure out how to get there, checking if the area was okay to drive to. Did we need to bus or Uber? Then looking up the reviews on Yelp to make sure it wasn’t dreadful and a waste of time. Finding so many unexpected and wonderful spots, it was a food adventure where I knew I would be eating something that was good for my soul. Take me a home for a little while. I wanted to include my Oupa’s soup recipe here as it means a great deal to me. Spreading joy in food is why I love eating and making soup for people. This kind of food is what is passed down through families because it’s easy and can feed loads of people you love. Oupa’s “vegetable” soup 2 shin bones A little olive oil for browning Soup pack from Impala grocer ( celery, carrots, turnips, parsley ) About 4 tablespoons of Ina Parma’s beef stock Water to cover About a Handful of Pasta (what ever you have, Oupa always used macaroni) Peel and chop vegetables in similar sized cubes and set aside Heat a little oil in a large stock pot and brown shin quickly both sides Remove beef and add a little water to deglaze the pot, fry vegetable with a bit more oil until they start to smell good Add the beef, water and stock and simmer on low for about 3 hours. When the meat has fallen off the bone add pasta and cook for a further 7 minutes. Add more hot water if there isn’t enough to submerge the pasta. Serve hot, enjoy, smell and taste a little moment of my history PS. Always pick out the sad looking veg. If it’s not fresh it’s bitter.

So it took us 8 years to put walls in our kitchen. I laugh because this wasn’t even a hint of a possibility last year this time. We have never had investors. We’ve never had cash injections. We’ve had the ability to save a little spend a little. It only gets you so far though. COVID hit as we were starting to get busier in our café and then it didn’t feel like we were going to make it through that whole debacle never mind trying to expand our business, or even save a little to do some improvements. Things got progressively better after that mess. We’ve been getting busier and busier. We decided to formalize the business and separate it from ourselves. If you own your own business you’ll know what a massive step that can be. We started focusing more on our goals and less on the present worries My situation personally dramatically changed. I had just come out of a very toxic relationship where it felt like every penny I saved would be used for bettering their situation and never mine. I met a person who has a business mind like mine, who insists we split every cost in half. He’s been a a huge catylist in changing my mindset, he’s helped me become grounded. Being told you are worthy and can accomplish big things helps you to believe in it. Stepping back and looking at what me and my mom have accomplished is pretty great. I’m not trying to toot my (our) own horn but we’re proud of our place and we thought it was time to give her a fresh coat. The walls on the kitchen have been in the pipeline for a very long time. The walls around our scullery were planned from the beginning, but other costs were always prioritized before that. It’s a small thing but the anxiety that comes with a noisy scullery and a quiet café is quite immense  We had become a little famous for changing our store around and hearing customer after customer walk in and say “you’ve changed it around again!” became commonplace. We don’t mind, it’s awesome that people notice those things. So to appease everyone, this is the store layout forever now, may the ever-roaming furniture take a bow. We have a plan for a display cabinet coming in, a lovely glass box that holds all of our cakes and pastries. A real counter that wraps around the coffee machine and till. Then we have some clever furniture coming in as soon as we have a bit more to spend. It’s really exciting and we’re thrilled that you can be part of all of this. We can only make these goals real because of all of you and your continuing support. This is stage one of two but this was the big one and ,oh boy, I’m so thrilled its nearly done. Many tears were shed, of happiness and stress in this last week. I don’t think building is fun for anyone. I think it’s always a thing that tests your patience ( and as some of you know I have very little of that) It’s like a painful state you have to go through in order for it to get better. It’s not exactly as I wanted it (one room is smaller than it should be) insert rolling eyes here. But we’re thrilled she came out prettier than what she did going in and that’s a huge win in 6 days. We look forward to this new chapter with you and we hope you spread the word about our fancy new place. We love it and we hope you do too. Onward and Upward! PS. I’m sorry for the lack of blog posts, you can’t write when your head isn’t right <3

As mother’s day is this weekend, I thought it was only appropriate to shed a little light on the wonderful human that is my mom. She is the face of our company and a veteran in this industry. I believe she’s also the only reason I’ve made it as far as I have in my career. My mom is the reason I’ve picked myself up over and over again after every fall, because that is who she is and I’m so honored to be her daughter. A little history on Sharon van Tonder and why she is who she is in this industry. A very long time ago, when me and my sister were mere pipsqueeks: My Mom and Dad took on the Tea Garden at Lifestyle Garden center. They ran it and they ran it well. It was packed every weekend and it desperately needed an upgrade. So plans went into motion to build a bigger restaurant, one of the highlights to this plan was the Tea Room upstairs. If you know my mom, you’ll understand how important a good pot of tea is. It was an elegant spot that served loose leaf tea and cake, served with silverware and linen napkins. You know… as it should be. The restaurant expanded into a 450 seater, the kitchen was enormous, there was a cold room, 2 cold kitchens and an extensive hot kitchen. Sadly during the renovations my father passed away in a very tragic and horrific car accident. So much so that it derailed all of us. My mom broke her vertebra just below her neck, her hands and wrists were damaged and my sister’s jaw was shattered. It’s still too hard to talk about the details 24 years later but we were in hospital together for over 3 weeks as they couldn’t move my sister until she was stabilized. My aunt moved in and helped us back on our feet. The restaurant opening was a little bittersweet as he never saw their dream fulfilled. My father was a horticulturist as well as a restauranteur and the restaurant was named after his favorite, The Silver Birch. The bench dedicated to him still stands, even though the plaque is tarnished. It was a huge part of all of our lives. Once this place opened though, it pumped. And it did not stop. We were full every weekend. Even so that I was given booking duty as a small person. People laughed but I never got their bookings wrong  My mom and my Aunt ran this place well, the food was excellent and we started getting a great reputation. The lemon meringue ( my Ouma’s recipe) was famous and had to be served from a deep pie dish. Just delicious. My point about this is more that my mother was recovering, physically and emotionally, and still making sure that this enormous restaurant was the best she could make it, every single day. Every morning she welcomed customers with warmth no matter how stressful or painful things were for her. Fast forward a few years and my mom feels she’s had enough. They have a buyer and she reckoned it was time to move to new things. Onward and upward. My mom bought a café in Illovo that had a good passing trade and serviced all the surrounding offices. The food was great and the hospitality was above par but it really wasn’t the right fit. My mom was familiar with eventing so offered her catering services to the surrounding offices. These platters were exemplary, and my mom quickly built a reputation for her offering. Oregano Catering kicked off with a bang! We had a large kitchen at home and enough storage space so my mom decided that a location in Illovo was just a waste of money and time. We were catering full time from home and did from 2002, so 20 years this year. So much happened in that time. My mom put me and my sister through private school, ran a successful business and still managed to be a great mom to us. We could never want for anything. She built a business through reputation and referrals alone. Her catering was bespoke and personal. Her name and the name Oregano became synonymous with excellent catering. We still do catering but on a small scale and when we decided to open the bakery it started as a catering kitchen and then just grew into the lovely space it is now with catering taking a a bit of a back seat. I think my mom likes the personal service more anyway, she knows our regulars by name, remembers details about them and genuinely cares about them and their wellbeing. I wanted to write this to show the pure stamina and will of my mom and how big her heart is. Today we had a massive setback and it almost broke me. My mom picked me up and told me we could manage if we were together. She had terrible tooth ache and her hands hurt from her arthritis but she put on a big smile and served customers as she always does. My mother is in her sixties now and still works most of us under the table. She was baking and cooking and making stellar coffee while all of this chaos was happening. And no one knew the wiser because she’s a Pro, always has been and always will be. I strive to be half the woman my mother is, she really is a hero to me. “ One of the most calming and powerful actions you can do to intervene in a stormy world is to stand up and show your soul” Clarissa Pinkola Estés ‘Women Who Run With Wolves’

We can reminisce on that first week of lockdown now because it’s not so painful to look back two years on. At first I was positive, we were all going to isolate and this thing would blow over quickly. We all stayed at home and made banana bread. Then we were bored of banana bread so we made pineapple beer and sourdough. I mean they should of just given us yeast at least. Then everyone then figured out how hard it was to make bread with out yeast-my feed was a stuck record of unproofed bread. I want to highlight the mental health side of it though. I don’t think we’ve all come to terms with the psychological trauma that we all experienced. We’re all still going through it, just coping differently I suppose. Our joint depression should of brought us together but it didn’t; it drove us all further apart. I was living by myself at this stage in a tiny apartment with a tiny courtyard, my fish as my company. My figurative child (Oregano) was closed, so I had nothing I could pour my heart into, nothing to get me out of bed. I was just alone in my tiny space with no drive, it was a new and terrible feeling for me, the hurdles were just too overwhelming. Since there was no income it was terrifying to spend any money. It was really hard and I think everyone reading this can relate to how devastating those first couple of weeks had been. I’m lucky I’m someone that can only feel sorry for myself for a set time and then I get sick of it so I had to get up and do something. I picked up my notes from years ago on my social media marketing class. I still had the slides on my laptop and I got to work rehashing my course. I needed to find some way of getting out of this hole on my own. I reread all the academic bits but knew it was time to do something. I took a leap of faith. I asked a simple question on our Social pages if anyone was keen on ordering sourdough from us. I would only be able to make limited quantities and since I wasn’t going to risk anyone getting sick I wanted to do it on my own. It was like a light had switched on, a glimmer of hope from people I only knew through orders and passing hello’s. The response was amazing. My mom came and washed dishes because she wasn’t so clued up on the bread but was determined that she wasn’t going to let me do this on my own. Those breads saved us. It was small quantities, it was all by hand and it was all naturally risen but it meant I could pay my staff and my bills. Turning and kneading that dough meant I could physically and mentally move again. It gave us purpose and Oregano could wake up .We then started with bags of flour then frozen pies and meals. We started selling local products and food boxes on our site, making deliveries ourselves. I had to quickly learn about payment gateways and running an online store. Sink or swim at this stage . Our social media became our lifeline, the responses our only real communication with the world. Those orders brought us back. Two years on I thought I would repost this recipe I shared in those first weeks, a trip down memory lane, if you will Oat Crunchies dipped in dark chocolate 1 cup rolled oats 1 cup @champagnevalleyflour cake flour 1 cup brown sugar 1/2 cup coconut 150g butter 4 tbls golden syrup 1tbs water 1/2 tsp bicarb Chocolate of choice for dipping 1. Mix flour, oats, sugar and coconut in a bowl 2. Melt butter and syrup together, add water and bicarb 3. Stir into dry ingredients 4. Roll walnut sized balls and place onto baking sheet with space to spread 5. Bake at 180C for 15-20 minutes 6. Dip in chocolate once cooled or you can just buy them here :)

Finding symbolism in Easter led me down a pointless rabbit hole, I’m not religious but everyone who surrounds me is and I wanted to write about history and religion and realized all the half facts and weird nuances made my story seem shallow. I wanted to write about something I know and something that matters. I was privileged enough to spend Easter with 7 families this year. My sister's and her extended family at a pre-Easter gathering as they were away for the holiday. My mother and her partner for a Good Friday celebration and a Sunday lunch with my partner’s extended family. It’s been busy and it’s been wonderful. Some family members were sorely missed and I realized this time of year holds a lot of heart ache for me as its close to the time my father passed away 24 years ago. I think the reason this year was incredibly special for me was that I felt so honored to spend time with all these wonderful humans and sat and ate at groaning tables. Children ran and played, old people got drunk and cheeky and I could just sit and revel in the glorious situation I was in. My previous situation with my ex was hard, every time there was a big gathering with his family the food and décor had to be done “just so”. Silverware had to be polished and guests had to be dutifully doted on. It was exhausting. My family was usually catering in between all of this as we would feed the VIP tent at the St. Stithians Easter festival. So besides making food for hundreds of people I would then come home to more cooking and running in circles. Again… It was exhausting. This year, I had so many customers wishing us well and telling us how good it was to see us take a break and some family time. I was doted on by friends and family, constantly making sure my glass was full and then being driven home by my exceptional partner because I was just too tired to do so. Coffee in bed and cuddling with my furchild was a restorative gift to myself. I really felt looked after and it’s a strange sensation when you’ve had to always be tough and independent. I was fortunate enough to have my partner's family here from Wales and it was the first time I was meeting them, tensions were high as I had only had bad experiences previously, but I think I got lucky with this one, we all just got along. When you come from a conflict relationship driven background this “amicableness” is very weird. And I have to laugh because trying to explain this to someone as not being your normal is so ridiculous when you think about it. Why shouldn’t family gatherings and events be lovely, and generous and full of laughs? I’ve recently grasped that being welcomed into a new family makes you want to change your narrative and not that many are privileged to do so. I have a core memory as a child, sadly my memory is shocking so there are very few of them. We were woken up really early on Easter Sunday morning for service and I remember being wrapped up in blankets and coats. Taking our camper chairs to the edge of a misty lake , in the dark noggal, and the minister would start his service on Christ’s resurrection. By the time he got halfway through the service the sun was just starting to rise on the lake, the sunlight capturing our breath and the warmth finally hitting our cold noses as if this was everything we had been waiting for. And in that moment all you could focus on was that exquisite orange bursting over the horizon and how whole it made you feel. The event was euphoric; and I think about this service every Easter. I can’t remember anything the minister said or what happened afterwards, just those first moments of sun breaking through. Like a gift from the universe. My meaning has come from finding new family, new traditions and cherishing old ones. Moments and pieces that haven’t been forgotten. I will always be grateful to my parents for dragging me to the side of that lake, in the cold and being miserable because the reward was so worth it. All of the heartache and grief I’ve experienced with my father’s loss and the anniversary of his loss will never be as devastating for me because I remember him in those moments they gave me, those remain.

This miserable weather coupled with an equally miserable furchild had me melancholic this last Monday morning. Constant rain and cold make me feel like Autumn came and went in a flash, no warm hues in the trees, no brisk afternoon walks in the park looking at cosmos. Just sad… but then I found inspiration for the week. The leftover babka that I baked for Saturday morning. I cut myself a “dik” slice, microwaved it, threw on lashings of butter and made myself a strong cup of tea. Fine layers of chocolate with pannetone like pastry, apricot glazed crust and darker sticky bits where the sugar meets the corner of the bread tin. Just sublime. Monday’s aren’t so bad, they just need some treats. I happened on babka in my travels to California. I was lucky enough to come across a Persian bakery that sold Jewish goods, I know I know, very different parts of the world but California feels like a hodge podge of rich culture. Anyway… California educated me on Jewish bread, and really fantastic Jewish bread. I think the idea is that because you are competing with generations of baking quality passed down, you have to be great to stand out. Like a bagel is always boiled, no question. Otherwise it’s just bread. Babka is always sticky and light and delicious, otherwise it belongs at Costco and not a gorgeous little bakery in the heart of Woodland hills in the Armenian strip. There is a point here, I promise. I love babka because its rich heritage is filled with history, revelation and remaking. From what I’ve read babka originates in the early 1800’s in Eastern European Jewish communities and comes all the way to America along with Jewish immigrants in the early 1950’s. With immigration came an increase in exposure to Jewish food and culture, opening bakeries and deli’s seemed natural and thus recreating homemade favourites for retail. Some of the oldest deli’s in New York use recipes passed down from their grandmothers and are kept family run ( Russ & Daughters; Oleg Heimische Bakery) The word babka derives from the Yiddish word bubbe (an affectionate word used for grandmother) and babka meaning little grandmother. The description could come from the pleats in the dough looking like the pleats in grandmother’s many skirts or from the fact that only grandmothers and mothers used to make them. In any event, this gorgeous little bread is named after something synonymous with a feeling of home. For Sabbath, extra dough would be made for challah (kitka in RSA) and then braided with cinnamon or jam and baked as a treat There is great Seinfeld episode that takes place in a Jewish bakery where Elaine and Jerry need to purchase a babka to take for dinner and because they’re so busy chatting they forget to take a ticket. Fight ensues as they realise they only have one chocolate babka left and after wasting time drooling over it, they miss it. It literally sells out just before they get to the counter. The frustration relates . The episode aired in 1994 and some food writers say (Gil Marks) that Babka’s popularity in mainstream food culture started here. It was a highly sought after bread but only really found in Jewish bakeries. From 2005 babka culture started to boom and in 2013 The New York Magazine deemed The Breads Bakery babka, the best in the city. Babka was officially on the map and finding specialty bakeries around New York was extremely on trend and their success in the hands of influencers. If it was decadent and ridiculous, it went in or on babka. Imagine French toasted babka ice cream sandwiches and Nutella and orange laced babka. It became so trendy that bakeries dedicated themselves to it like a delicious deity. The chocolate babka we serve is far from the Jewish dessert found in the 1800s. The introduction of butter and moreish chocolate spread has made it a classic and family favourite on our Easter table. We are not a very religious family, but at Easter time we all celebrate together and hunt eggs. We bake things that make us happy. My role is always to bring a chocolate babka to the family table and for this reason it tastes like home. References https://food52.com/blog/18792-the-babka-you-ve-seen-everywhere-isn-t-really-babka-after-all https://books.google.co.za/books?id=gFK_yx7Ps7cC&q=babka+&redir_esc=y#v=snippet&q=babka&f=false https://www.russanddaughterscafe.com/#history-section

Sourdough has been rising and falling in popularity and since lockdown has become the"it" bread to eat. Besides its health benefits we believe that we're supporting a dying art and a small artisan behind that trade. Unfortunately that's not always the case, the popularity of sourdough in supermarkets has led to commercial bakeries making "sourdough" and selling it as the healthiest option. Sadly when sourdough is made on such great scales with giant machine mixers, it no longer has all the health benefits we believe it does. There's a bit of science here so I'll keep it simple. The research done with IBS has shown that phytic acid (which is found in the bran part of wheat causes us to bloat and digestive discomfort (ie gassy AF) this phytic acid does this because it inhibits enzymes that are needed to breakdown the proteins and starches we put in our stomachs. When we don’t have enough of these enzymes we struggle. Bread that is made commercially strips so much of these enzymes away through bleaching, heating during milling and wheat grain washing. This is where Sourdough can save the day. The wild yeast found in sourdough alongside the lactobacillus (healthy bacteria) helps to neutralize the phytic acid. When the sourdough is fermenting and rising it acidifies the dough causing this super calming affect on the phytic acid which is helpful when the all those acids get to the stomach because it is now partially neutralized (or how I like to think of it- partially digested). This pre digestion bit is also super important because it means that the flour in the bread releases all the micronutrients that we normally can’t absorb, these are now readily available for our gut to take in. Commercially made bread has sugar, flour improvers, loads of yeast, the flour is bleached so has low nutritional content to begin with. I think what’s really scary about our commercially made bread is that our gut is absorbing all the rubbish in bread before it gets to all the goodness. Small artisan bakers use excellent flour, salt and water. That's it! That is everything that goes into your bread. The point I’m trying to make (sorry for the preamble) is that making bread is wonderful and when you do it with fantastic ingredients you know that you are turning out a fantastic product. The simpler, the better. Our Sourdough culture is about 4 years old, Old “Leonardough” has been a fantastic companion through the Great Yeast shortage of fall 2021 and generally the most reliable relationship I’ve had in the last 10 years :) (I digress). Our sourdough ferments for 2 days, which is a long cold ferment, we knead and turn by hand, in small batches. We've been told it is gluten free from our longstanding customers and easy on your gut. Support small, local bakeries. Ask questions, bakers love talking about what they do. Your heart and your health with thank you. If you want to read more about the science of sourdough , Vanessa Kimbel is fantastic to follow and a leader in the industry in the UK https://www.sourdough.co.uk/about-vanessa-kimbell/ If you would like to try our sourdough, order online https://www.oreganobakery.com/product-page/sourdough-bread

I had to get someone to explain this to me, because even though I know a ton about bread, stock prices and commodities baffle me. Wheat is a commodity and its price fluctuates according to supply and demand. If the market is flooded with any particular commodity the market will drive the price down to push the supply chain. In this same vein, the instance a commodity is in low supply the demand increases, so the price increases. South Africa produces its own wheat but is still governed by the market. Flour distributers store their grain at the AFGRI (a very large agricultural support and storage company) which is then sold back to the farmers for them to mill. The price at which the wheat is bought and sold is determined by the commodity price. The unrest in Ukraine has caused the price of wheat to fluctuate because their production has been disrupted. Ukraine represents 10 percent of the global wheat production and Russia represents 20 percent. If both of these supplies are suddenly cut off there is significantly less wheat available. This sudden demand causes price increases, this affects all of us- from farmer to retailer. Our supplier Champagne Valley have been fantastic in keeping us updated and helping us understand what all of this means to us as South African producers. Heavy rains last year have affected the crop yield and now with this sudden increase it means that wheat price has risen significantly.