Baby Bannetons

The Bread That Fits

There is something I’ve been noticing more and more as this journey grows.

Not everyone who wants to buy my bread can.

Not because they don’t value it.
Not because they don’t want to support what I’m doing.

But because life looks different for them.

Many of the people who come to my table are in a different season.
They are retired. Living on a fixed income.
Widowed. Living alone.
Cooking for one instead of a full table.

They’ll stand there, ask questions, smile, and sometimes quietly say,
“I wish I could, but it’s just too much for me.”

And I understand that.

Not just the cost—but the size.
A full loaf is meant to be shared.
And when it isn’t, half of it can go to waste.

That never sat right with me.

Because bread, to me, is not meant to be wasted.
And it’s not meant to feel out of reach.

Paying Attention

One of the things sourdough has taught me is to pay attention.

To what’s in front of me.
To what people are saying—and sometimes what they’re not saying.

And what I kept seeing was this quiet need.

People who wanted something simple and good.
But needed it to fit their life as it is now.

A Smaller Loaf, A Bigger Purpose

So I went looking.

Different sizes. Different options.

And I found them.

Smaller bannetons.

I smiled the moment I saw them.

I call them my Baby Bannettons.

They hold a 500-gram loaf—half the size, but not half the care.

Same ingredients.
Same process.
Same time and attention.

Just made to fit a different kind of table.

Still the Same Bread

Nothing about the heart of what I do changes.

The dough is still mixed the same way.
Still folded. Still rested. Still baked with intention.

Because this was never about making less.

It was about making something more accessible.

Something that says:

“You’re still welcome at this table.”

Service Looks Different Sometimes

Service doesn’t always look like giving something away.

Sometimes it looks like adjusting.
Listening.
Making space.

Meeting people where they are.

These smaller loaves are not just about size.

They are about dignity.
About inclusion.
About making sure that what I create can reach the people who need it, in the way they need it.

A Table for Everyone

If there is one thing I’ve learned, it’s this:

Not every table looks the same.

Some are full and loud.
Some are quiet and set for one.

But every table deserves something good.

Something nourishing.
Something made with care.
Something that reminds us we are not forgotten.

For You

So if you see the smaller loaves at my table, know this:

They were made with someone specific in mind.

And maybe, that someone is you.

Warmly,
Kathy
Art of The Crumb