Just woke up to a beautiful october morning on our little island. And even better: friends from Berlin are making coffee in the kitchen! Those who know always bring bread. Heavy whole grain German bread. Mmmhhhh. With butter and quince jam.
This one is round with a dark crust and comes from a Bavarian bakery called “Hofpfisterei”, which only recently opened a shop in Berlin.
“Do you make the bread here, or do you ship it over from Munich?” – asks Peter, seeing in the bakerygirls face that he sounds like a potential environmental freak.
Peter learns: they have tried to bring the dough to Berlin several times, but it dies every time. Withers and decays. The sourdough has been made in the same Munich bakery for centuries (first mentioned 1331 ad) and it can only live there. So now they have to pre-bake all loafs in the old vault, carefully ship them across the country and warm up the round babies in Berlin.
What a wonderful story: The breads’ soul dies when removed from mother Bavaria.
My bread came to Sweden healthily. Our breakfast picknick resembles a real Brotzeit (bread time), a tradition from the days our folks worked out on the fields. Women would come with big baskets of bread, butter, salt, radish and milk, served on red and white plaid linen. Still a meal high up in my top five.
Baking industry has taken the art of emotionalizing buns to a new extreme. I claim one of Swedens big bread manufacturers deserves a naming award. Parts of their spongy wheet slices identify as “Longing”, “Splendid”, “Of course!” and “Finally”.
Going back to good old baking methods has become a trend in Stockholm. Small bakeries start popping up all over the place, selling sourdough bread, made of flour, salt, water – and not much more. No additives, no vitamin-e-yogurt-lactobacterial-lowfat-harmony bullshit – found in todays’ supermarket shelfs.
Just bread. Just like home.
A list of good bread in Stockholm here.