Bread, the Sea, and the Quiet Strength Within
Here’s a question you might not expect from a blog about home, bread, and ceramics —
but sometimes, it’s the unexpected questions that matter most:
What’s holding you right now?
What are the small but steady hooks keeping your inner world from falling apart?
Knowing your inner anchors — the things that help you stay balanced — is essential.
They’re what carry you through the darkest moments, when the world around you seems to be falling apart like a mosaic, piece by piece.
And even if those anchors are hard to name — they’re there.
You just need to pause. And listen.
Ask yourself: What gives me a sense of grounding? What brings me back to myself?
For me — it’s bread and the sea.
It almost sounds like a brand name.
But behind it is something much deeper — life itself.
Bread
There’s something meditative about bread.
It’s about noticing, interacting, allowing the process to unfold.
Stretching and folding, fermenting, shaping, waiting for the quiet miracle of your first loaf.
(Or your fiftieth — the anticipation never really fades.)
It’s the touch of something warm, alive, and real. And it is real — because at the heart of it is a sourdough starter, a living culture with its own rhythm and microcosm.
It doesn’t like being rushed, but it also doesn’t need constant attention. Let it live quietly beside you — and it will teach you how to be here, in the moment.
In warm weather the dough can rest for up to three hours on the counter.
You don’t need to hover — and that time becomes a pocket of space.
You detach from scattered thoughts, focus on the process, open up.
Even time begins to move differently.
Want to feel that with your hands?
Here’s a simple recipe for a croissant-style sourdough loaf — light, golden, and fragrant.
Croissant-Style Sourdough (Summer Edition)
Soft crumb, golden crust, gentle pace. In summer, dough ferments faster — just watch it and enjoy the process.
Ingredients:
- 100 g active sourdough starter
- 300 g room-temperature water
- 500 g bread flour
- 8 g salt
- 100–120 g frozen butter, grated (use in portions).
Instructions:
Mix the dough:
- Combine starter, water, flour, and salt.
- Cover and rest for 30 minutes (autolyse).
- Then do a few stretch & folds.
- Let rest again for 30 minutes.
First lamination:
- Stretch the dough into a large, thin sheet (like a sheet of paper).(This part is magical — search “lamination dough” and watch a video!)
- Sprinkle 50–60 g of grated frozen butter evenly.
- Fold the dough and let rest for 40 minutes.
Second lamination:
- Repeat the lamination process with the remaining 50–60 g of butter.
- Let rest for another 40 minutes.
Shaping:
- Shape the dough into a loaf and place in a proofing basket.
- Let sit at room temperature for 30 minutes.
Cold fermentation:
- Transfer to the fridge for 8–12 hours (overnight is perfect).
Baking:
- 15 minutes at 230–240°C (ideally with steam or under a cloche)
- Then 20 minutes at 200°C
🧡 Best served still warm, with a little butter melting into the crust. Simple. Honest. Alive.
The Sea
The sea is a different kind of magic.
It always receives. It listens. It carries your worries out past the horizon and washes away what feels heavy.
The longer you look at it, the more your shoulders drop, your breath deepens, your body softens.
The sea rocks you gently. Even the waves crashing against rocks offer a kind of peace.
You stop rushing. You move slower — as if trying not to spill that feeling.
And it adds up. Day by day, drop by drop, you begin to gather your own inner sea —
a sea of calm, a sea of quiet strength.
And now — back to you.
What’s holding you steady these days?
If the answer doesn’t come easily — maybe now is the time to start looking.
That sense of grounding doesn’t always arrive on its own.
Sometimes, it needs to be found — step by step, breath by breath.
The more we understand what soothes and strengthens us,
the sturdier our inner structure becomes.
And even when the outside world breaks apart — our inner world can remain whole.
Written by: Olga Klimt 💙