There is gravity to a good bit of bread—it carries a sort of sacramental heft that doesn’t fool around. The way the outside shatters like a mosaic as you take a carnal rip off the crust, or the way it springs forth like a cloud into your mouth, swirled with a slug of olive oil. Great bread tethers you to your mortal coil—to your teeth and tongue and bones and blood and the all the things and conversations going on around you. It keeps you from floating away into the zeitgeist and leaving nothing but status updates to show for it. Pair it with nice beer, friendly people and some amicable herbs and vegetables and you pretty much have another reason to live.
This is why we have vaulted Sonoma’s Mike [the bejkr] Zakowski to the echelon of artisanal god. What can we say? He maketh good loaves, the sort of bread that bores into your psyche, the sort that would keep ancient fishermen alive when adrift at sea or something. I guess what we’re trying to say is that there are a lot of breads out there, but his breads feels divinely necessary.
“Every town needs a good baker,” intones Mike from the shipping container in his backyard he’s converted to a professional, artisinal bread-baking shop. We agree and we feel very blessed that Sonoma’s good baker is Mike!
Indian Valley Line
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