A CRACKLING CRUST and a moist crumb. A deep, earthy, wheaty flavor. The ineffable complexity of natural fermentation, its whiff of alcohol, its merest hint of natural sugar. True artisanal bread, made with wholesome ingredients and passionate craftsmanship and available fresh, locally, is easily one of life's great pleasures. Yet even amid the nationwide embrace of all that is authentic and healthful in food, it's been hard to come by. We can read about famed bread makers in Berkeley, Calif., or New York City, but what good does that do for the rest of the country? Most bread doesn't ship well. And the best bakeries rarely franchise.
Yet quietly, just in the last year or two, there's been a subtle revolution in American bread. Around the country, in Phoenix and New Orleans, Tulsa and Portland, Asheville and Austin, and cities throughout Ohio, Connecticut and Utah, tiny bakeries are cropping up. The bakers are self-taught: Most of them got started by reading books by master bakers like Peter Reinhart or Nancy Silverton, and gleaning tips online. They sell at farmers' markets, on local food websites or to nearby shops and restaurants. Many operate out of their residences, under new laws that allow them to sell food made in home kitchens.
Mark Stambler, 60, who hand-kneads whole-grain bâtards (shorter, wider baguettes) and sourdough rye boules at his home in L.A., exemplifies how these microbakers are putting pressure on legislators to greenlight this homespun mode of production. A few years ago, the non-profit consultant began selling the naturally fermented breads—made with freshly milled flour and baked in his backyard oven—to a few local shops. Two years ago, the health department caught on and shut him down. He lobbied for a change in the law, in the process helping to form Los Angeles Bread Bakers, a meet-up group for serious amateurs, and successfully shepherded California's first Cottage Food law into being in January of this year.
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