Mornings at the Oven
The best bakery hours are the ones nobody wants. Before dawn, the shop is all steady heat, measured water, and dough that has been quietly fermenting while the rest of town sleeps. The mixer hums, the ovens come up to temperature, and you can actually hear yourself think. It is the calm before the line and the soundtrack of the day.
Mornings are logistics disguised as romance. Levain to the bench, dough to the divider, shaped loaves into baskets, trays rotated, timers set. When it is done well, it looks effortless. When it is done poorly, you learn how fast you can move while pretending you are not stressed.
I like shaping in that early window because the dough tells you the truth. If it is underdeveloped, you feel it. If it is overproofed, you see it. There is no crowd noise to distract you from the cues. It is just you and a living dough, negotiating a good crust.
And then people arrive, and the quiet turns into hospitality. The shop smells like bread and coffee, and that is the point. The early work makes the later warmth possible. Also, yes, I have worn my apron backwards. The bread does not judge. The staff absolutely does.