Our story

We couldn't find healthy bread, so we made it.

Lagomberry is a family bakery in the Hudson Valley. Lorraine and Igor, one jar of starter, and bread that gets the time it needs.

Bread used to sit heavy. We wanted to know why.

I have spent my life moving. Russia first, then Argentina, where I met Lorraine. You learn quickly that bread is not one thing: it changes from country to country, and so does the way you feel an hour after eating it.

Then we moved to the States, and for the first time bread started sitting heavy. Every time. The loaf that was meant to be the easy part of dinner.

A woman in her kitchen holding her stomach after eating

It is not the gluten. It is the hurry.

For most of us the heaviness is not a gluten problem, it is a time problem. In the rush nobody has a spare evening to work out what belongs in bread and what does not, and the producers who cut corners rely on exactly that.

A shopper reading the fine print on a package in a supermarket bread aisle

Change one thing on the table. Let the bread take the time instead of you.

Lagom, our wild sourdough starter, alive and bubbling in a glass jar on the kitchen counter — Lagom, our starter

So we started with one stubborn jar.

Flour and water on our kitchen counter, fed every morning until it was properly alive. We named it Lagom, Swedish for just the right amount. It is still the culture in every loaf we bake.

First our own table. Then friends. Then neighbours. Then people we had never met, driving across the valley on a Saturday morning.

Lorraine, who bakes every loaf, outside the bakery — Lorraine, our baker

Lorraine behind a table of Lagomberry loaves at a tasting

The three of us on a ridge above the Hudson Valley

There are two of us. That is the whole quality control.

Lorraine lives closest to the oven. Igor does more of the driving, the selling and the talking. We mix, shape and bake together.

Which grain, who grows it, how long it ferments: every one of those had a faster and cheaper answer sitting right next to it. We took the slow one each time, because we eat this bread every week at our own table. Our own week is the test.

We give the dough a day and a half. That is the whole method.

Water, stone-ground flour and coarse sea salt laid out on dark stone

Flour. Water. Salt. Time.

Good bread has never needed anything else. Every extra line on a label stands in for one of those four, and it is almost always the last one.

Flour from a man who gave his life to the grain.

Wild Hive Farm, the mill that supplies our flour

The most important thing in a loaf is the flour.

Don has spent more than thirty years on grain: ancient varieties most mills gave up on, ground on stone, a short drive from our ovens. He does it because he can taste the difference, and that took him a career to learn.

Read how Don grows and grinds the grain

Don, the miller who grows and stone-grinds the grain for our flour — Don, our miller

Sourdough behaves differently in your gut.

See what a long ferment actually changes →

A freshly baked Lagomberry loaf, scored and cooling

We make no promises. We would rather you tested us.

We are bakers, not doctors, so there is nothing here for you to take on faith. Three loaves, twenty dollars, one honest week.

Start with the $20 Trial Pack

You are not buying bread. You are choosing the good days.

Order this week's bread Find us in person

We bake in New Windsor, New York, and deliver across the Hudson Valley. You will also find us on the shelves at Nature's Pantry and the High Falls Food Co-op.