Most bread is made in a few hours. Ours takes three days.
That's not a quirk or a gimmick — it's just what it takes to make bread the way we believe it should be made. And if you've ever pulled apart a slice of our sourdough at the counter and thought, why does this taste different, this is why.
It starts on Friday.
Every week, our bakers begin feeding the levain — our live starter culture — two days before the loaves go in the oven. The starter is, honestly, the heart of the whole thing. It's a living culture we've been keeping alive and feeding for years, and its job is to slowly, naturally leaven the dough without any commercial yeast. This takes time. You can't rush biology.
Saturday is for mixing and folding.
Once the dough is mixed — flour, water, salt, and the levain — it doesn't just sit there. It's folded at intervals through the day, building structure and strength in the gluten. That evening, the shaped loaves go into the walk-in cooler for a long, cold overnight proof. Slowing everything down at this stage develops flavor. The cold temperature lets fermentation happen slowly, and that's what gives the bread its depth — a slight tang, a complexity you don't get from a quick rise.
Sunday night into Monday morning: the bake.
The loaves come out of the cold just before they go into a screaming-hot oven. The crust blooms and cracks. The inside sets up open and airy. By the time we open at 7am Monday, the bread is rested and ready.
This is the bread that goes under your eggs on the Steak Benny. It's what we use for the Tuna Toast. It's on the table when you sit down with your coffee and your kids in the morning.
We do it this way because shortcuts show up in the finished product — in flavor, in texture, in the way a slice holds up. We're not trying to be precious about it. We just care about what's in front of you.
Come in any morning this week. The bread will be there.