In 2016, my kitchen smelled like adventure. I had just started developing my bread-making skills, inspired by Anna Olson on the Food Network. Her recipes lit a fire in me, and soon I bought a book simply titled Bread. That was my first introduction to sourdough starters and baking with rye flour.
I had no idea that bread would eventually become such a defining part of my story.
Flour Frustrations in Cairo
Then came our move from Dubai to Cairo, and suddenly, my budding bread adventure hit a wall.
Quality bread flour was hard to find, and rye flour seemed nonexistent. Grocery shopping in Cairo in 2018 was an unpredictable expedition. You could visit four different shops just to complete a single grocery list. I even went directly to bakeries that sold rye loaves, hoping to buy flour from them.
But I made a strange discovery: most of those bakers had never even touched rye flour. Their loaves were frozen imports, baked off in-store. It explained the consistently low quality of bread on the shelves.
Still living in temporary housing, awaiting the arrival of our container, I kept searching. Eventually, through the expat community, I got connected to a local artisan sourdough baker living about 30 minutes from me.
Learning, Sharing, and Seeds of Disappointment
He wasn’t a trained chef, he was a former corporate professional who had turned to bread after being downsized. His wife handled the sweet bakes while he focused on bread. When he found out I was a chef, he invited me to work alongside him.
I was grateful. I started going a few times a week while my daughters were at school. He had massive 25kg bags of German wheat and rye flour, flour he said he was sourcing by piggybacking on a hotel’s supply chain. I asked if I could buy some for personal use, and soon I was purchasing flour, seeds, and nuts from him.
My sourdough skills were improving fast. I wasn’t planning to start a bakery, I just wanted to bake for myself and my family. I supported his work, encouraged other expats to buy from him, and was genuinely thankful.
Then his professional baker, someone trained in Scandinavia, returned. I was needed less and visited occasionally just to buy flour. I asked the baker if he could give me private lessons on baguettes and ciabatta. But things quickly got uncomfortable.
When Passion Meets Boundaries
He began making strange comments about how much he liked Black women and asked if I could connect him with someone. I barely knew him and didn’t feel comfortable with the idea of him coming to my home.
So I did what I thought was reasonable: I mentioned my concern, privately and respectfully, to the bakery owner, hoping to confirm I wasn’t overreacting.
He assured me that everything was fine and that the baker was safe.
Then things exploded.
The baker called me, yelling and crying, saying his boss had mocked him and told him I didn’t trust him. I was shocked. That was never my intention. I cried. I apologized. He said he forgave me but refused to teach me, and eventually, he left the bakery.
I was hurt. Deeply. Not just because of what happened, but because I had trusted someone with my confidence and it backfired terribly.
The Real Rye Revelation
Still determined to bake, I visited the Egyptian Chefs Association. A kind man there pointed me to a bakery supply store in an industrial zone near my house. Everyone there spoke only Arabic, so I called my Egyptian “brother” Soliman to come with me.
That day, I walked out with the exact same bags of German bread and rye flour I had been buying, at crazy prices.
It was a scam.
The baker had known all along where to buy them, yet sold them to me with a hefty markup. I knew then that our friendship, and professional relationship, had reached its end.
The First Sale I Never Saw Coming
Still, I kept baking.
I made loaves and shared them with friends. One day, my Brazilian friend Maria took a bite and said, “This bread is too good to give away. We want to buy it weekly.”
I was stunned. Selling my bread had never even crossed my mind.
When I finally sold my first loaf, I posted about it, giddy with excitement. I knew the former baker would see it. He commented on the post, asking how much I was selling it for. There was something in the tone that didn’t sit right, so I didn’t respond.
He blocked me.
It stung. I had truly been grateful for what I had learned from him. Even though we couldn’t remain friends, I had hoped we could at least be cordial.
Rising From the Ashes (and Into the Oven)
That moment sparked something deeper in me.
I bought an industrial oven and started an artisan bakery from home. I refined my recipes. I kept learning.
Eventually, I traveled to Germany and enrolled in a professional bread-making workshop at the prestigious Weinheim Baking Academy.
During one of the sessions, the instructor spoke about the ancient origins of sourdough, how it all began in Egypt, around 1500 BCE. As I stood there, apron dusted in flour, something clicked in me.
It was a full circle moment.
The bread I had grown to love, to learn, and to perfect… had its roots in the very land where I had faced some of my hardest baking days. Egypt had tested me, taught me, and now, unexpectedly, tied me back to the beginning of it all.
From Sourdough to Strength
This journey wasn’t just about bread.
It was about trusting my instincts, navigating hurt, rediscovering courage, and learning that some of life’s richest stories begin with unexpected frustration.
Bread became not just a skill, but a calling, one that rose slowly, fermented through time, and finally bloomed in its own season.
So if you’ve ever had a dream delayed by obstacles or setbacks, I hope my story reminds you:
Sometimes the broken path is the one that leads you home.
One Response
Wow…needed to hear this.💕💕💕 Thanks