The Germination of an Idea (or: How Sashi Convinced Us to Become Wheat Farmers)

When we decided to build the bakery, we suspected that we would be able to rely on the city of Lompoc for only part of our business. We are just too small a town to support an endeavor like this full time! So from the beginning, we were already talking about how we could distribute a perishable product like bread beyond our hometown.
Our little wheatlings.

One thing we have learned through our winery is that our favorite part of sharing what we make is being face to face with our customers. We knew we wanted to bring the bread and our story directly to folks, instead of relying solely on wholesale accounts to help us spread the word. Where could we do that outside of Lompoc? Of course: farmers' markets. So off we went to the Santa Barbara Farmers' Market Association.

Bread sounds great, they said. But you have to produce it.

 Yeah, yeah, we said. We're building a bakery, we're baking the bread.

No, you misunderstand. If you're going to be selling bread here, you've got to grow the _wheat_.

Ok, so at first, as a business owner I was annoyed. Grow the WHEAT? Madness. Then, as a consumer and someone who shops these markets regularly, I was proud. How great is it that we live in this place where this kind of strict regulation is possible for a twelve-month market of first-rate quality and amazing variety? Where buying at the farmers' market definitely means you are buying directly from the grower--no produce wholesalers, no middlemen?

(Public Service Announcement: If you sell at an SB Certified Farmers' Market, you don't have to grow EVERYTHING on your table. The only folks allowed to sell at these markets are California Ag Commission-certified producers: farmers who have registered their list of farmed crops and acreage with the state. You have to grow the vast majority of what you sell, and if it is possible to grow locally any of the ingredients in packaged food like a loaf of bread or a pie, you better believe the Farmers' Market Board leans on you pretty hard to grow them yourself. It's kind of an insane amount of bureaucracy, but in the end it seems to work, and it's pretty fantastic news for the consumer and for the general promotion of direct, local food sourcing.)

Oh well, I said to Sashi as we drove home. Nice idea, but I guess we won't have our bakery, because--I laughed--we're not going to grow wheat.

In early March we had a drought situation--had to bring in some irrigation. Late rains mean we have been able to mostly dry farm, which is more our style.

Then there was a very pregnant pause in the conversation. (These pauses usually go badly for me in the end. They often happen in Scrabble games, cribbage hands, and chats about the business.)

I think we can do it, Sashi said. I think we can grow the wheat.

Those of you who have spent any time with Sashi know he is a very determined person. 

We planted early this year.

Folks who live in any agricultural community will understand that northern Santa Barbara County is a very small place. Knowing ranchers and ranch managers, farmers and farmhands, from years of buying grapes, making wine, and frequenting the farmers' markets, we were able to quickly lease some land and find someone to help us figure out what the heck we should be doing with it. Kate went to a kneading conference (really!) and found some people who helped us procure seed. (BTW: Yes, Virginia, there is a California Wheat Commissioner. We know you've been wondering.)

We now have about 20 acres of wheat growing in Ballard Canyon and Santa Rita Hills, split about evenly between the two spots. We are growing a few different varieties at both sites, trying to figure out what does best in each microclimate. Harvest is in the late summer; we'll drive the wheat down the road to our local seed mill (Hi, Lompoc Valley Seed & Milling!) to separate the wheat berries from the other stuff, and then will start milling flour at our bakery. In the fall, we'll be able to sell at the 100% Producer Certified markets nearby.

(Side note: I never really thought I'd be able to use the phrase "separate the wheat from the chaff" in any other than metaphorical terms.)

Fifty-Fifty Loaf: Fresh-milled flour, half wheat half spelt

Until then, we are baking with some awesome flour from Central Milling up in the Bay Area (and doing some in-house fresh milling from their wheat and spelt berries). For now, our loaves will be making appearances at a few markets near us that are slightly more flexible (Ojai, for one), at the tasting room, and in a local "bread share," a weekly bread subscription that we are planning on launching this summer. If you live in Santa Barbara County and want to learn more about joining the bread share program, please contact us here; there's a handy dandy form you can fill out on the right side of that page.

Hope to see you soon, at the market or in the tasting room!
Sashi selling bread, wine, and red wine vinegar at the Ojai Market

Introducing New Vineland Bread from the Lompoc Wine Ghetto

If you've visited the winery in the past couple of months (or if you've been reading the Lompoc Record), you will have seen the newest member of our family:

New Vineland Bread workspace. Our tiny Austrian mill in the background.Isn't she a beauty? She moved in behind our tasting room at the end of January. Built by Vermont's own Turtlerock Masonry Heat, this wood-burning brick oven is our latest pride and joy, and the centerpiece of our newest venture: New Vineland Bread.Exterior, New Vineland Bread oven. Masons: Turtlerock Masonry Heat. Tiles by Pewabic Pottery.

Why bread? Because baking bread is fundamentally analogous to making wine: both are dependent on the quality of the raw material and the very basic, elemental functions of fermentation: yeast, temperature, timing. Also: because Peter is an amazing baker who has been making his own bread at his DC restaurants for 25 years. In short, because we feel at home in this language and process, and realized it would be a wonderful thing to share it.

Those of you who have visited us during harvest may have seen something like this loaf (pictured) around the winery:

Bread, fresh out of the home oven. In background, vinegar barrel

I think it was Peter who made this loaf in our oven at home. Might have been Sashi. This is a pretty good approximation of what our breads are like: handmade, traditional, crusty, chewy, delicious, flavorful. They are both utterly familiar and incredibly special. 

For the past couple of months we've been honing our technique and giving away samples at the tasting room and to our friends. In the current lineup are a 100% durum wheat loaf, a fifty-fifty fresh milled loaf (combo of wheat and spelt flour), and a vin santo-walnut loaf (using local walnuts and our own Piedrasassi vin santo).

With the funny way food licensing and city zoning work, we are not yet able to sell bread out of the tasting room. Instead, we've partnered with a CSA here in Lompoc (Santa Rosa Hills CSA), are developing our own bread share program (a kind of bread club, just like a wine club), and are beginning to roll out our presence at Central Coast farmers' markets, one market at a time.

First stop: The Ojai Certified Farmers' Market, Sundays, 9 am - 1 pm. We'll be there for the first time this Sunday, May 13.

New Vineland durum and fifty-fifty loavesIt's a very sweet thing to have our little bread coming-out party in Ojai, since it was here that Sashi got his start at the Ojai Vineyard more than 15 years ago. We used to shop that market on Sundays when we lived there, snatching up Friends Ranch pixie tangerines, araucanas from the Lily's Eggs guy, orange blossom honey from the Ojai Bee Man, and that beautiful Treviso radicchio from BD. We'd load our haul into our market bags and then try to get a seat at the counter at Bonnie Lu's, the brunch place in the Arcade.

New Vineland Bread workspace. Our tiny Austrian mill is in the background.Ojai was my first real taste of California living, of the twelve-month growing season, of waking up every morning and knowing that a sunny day was ten times more likely than a cloudy one. The year-round bounty and variety at the farmers' markets (even a fairly small one like the Ojai market of the late 90s) was just incredible to me. Wonderful, too, was plucking Meyer and Eureka lemons for lemonade off the tree in the front yard as we came home from work, or having a neighbor beg us to take some avocados off his hands--he just couldn't keep up with his tree's output. There was guacamole to be made, with fresh cilantro and lime and jalapeño and garlic, all from the farmers' market or the garden. The abundance of delicious fresh produce was staggering. We reveled in cooking at home, when cooking really meant getting out of the way and letting the flavor and freshness shine through. In Ojai, we gradually developed the cooking style that has formed the basis of our family's meals: mostly grilling and mixing and assembling, using the highest quality ingredients we can afford.

We feel pretty sentimental about that time in our lives, when we had all the time in the world, it seemed, to sit around the courtyard fountain waiting for Bonnie Lu's pancakes, sipping coffee from the Ojai Coffee Roasting Company. Inevitably either Sashi or I would be in the mood to run over to the Local Hero bookstore (remember that place?) to see what they had on their lovingly curated shelves. We'd while away the mid-day and then wander back home, ready to put on some music and begin the leisurely process of cooking Sunday dinner.

Our truck for the Ojai Farmers' MarketBecoming a part of those idyllic Ojai Sundays is a real pleasure and privilege. Ojai itself, as its residents know, is a special place. We're so happy to have an excuse to get down there more often.

It'll be nice taking a trip down memory lane this Sunday and being, for the first time, on the other side of the table at the farmers' market. Our whole family will be there. Come say hi if you can. 

Next post: The Germination of an Idea, or How Sashi Convinced Us to Become Wheat Farmers