Gambia to Walthamstow: How to make proper sourdough bread
A baker from the Gambia, making one of the best sourdoughs in London?
Yep, exactly that. (Never mind the croissants)
Pa Modou looks at me with a smile. I’ve just asked him how his Suba Bakery in Walthamstow came into being.
Well, it had to happen, he says. Baking is what I do, and the only way to survive the crazy working hours of doing markets and pop-ups out of a workshop was to have a proper bakery and hire people to help out. And I love the front-of-house experience.
I believe him, having spent a whole morning with him and the crew. By the time I got there at 06:00, Pa had already been working for some hours. There’s a process, a litany of things to be done, or the system fails. Doughs are like kids. They need a routine. Break that, and they get naughty.
The bakery is closed for the day while Pa is training new coworkers, but the regulars still knock for a coffee and a loaf, regardless.
His involvement with bread has strong roots. Back home in the Gambia, a small West African country with limited resources, his uncle taught him all sorts of things about baking. Mixing the imported wheat flour with local milled beans, corn and other home-grown seeds, one gets a delicious and strong bread. Process and ingredients are paramount. Time too.
Pa’s family came to London when he was around 11. He grew up in Hackney, studied design and advertising and was involved in the events business for some time. Gradually he came to realise that this wasn’t his world.
Looking for a way out and a different lifestyle he asked for a job at a bakery. He started as an apprentice, helping out at first. His new involvement in bread, especially sourdough, brought back all the memories, all the beauty of mixing ingredients to create something delicious. He was hooked. It became his alchemy and his therapy. A zen process of sorts.
We talk ingredients. It’s all about trust and quality, he tells me.
The flour comes from a mill in Scotland. A small family business. The owner who’s also the miller is in direct contact with him. The grains are milled to order, so things take time. No shortcuts. No warehouse-stored flour at Suba. When the flour is good there’s less to be done in the process. Taste evolves naturally.
The butter he uses for the croissants is sourced from the Estate Dairy, whose yoghurt and butter Pa also retails. Small, family-run, community-driven businesses. That’s where taste begins.
The sourdough starter is his baby of course. Not too sour, just properly mature.
Customers appreciate the mildness.
I do too. The sourdough is moist and firm, it smells like nature.
It keeps almost a week, but at ours, it vanishes within a day or two.
It’s all about the community Pa says with a smile. Suba is all about it. People want to know where the product comes from, producers are happy to know where their produce goes, and the bakery itself is a community of hard-working people creating honest, delicious things.
What does Suba mean, I ask?
Suba can mean good morning and see you tomorrow. he says. But for me, mate, Suba is a good morning.
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