Four Worlds Bakery is a small business stemming the tide of a bad economy with sustainable practices–and good bread. This winter when I moved from New York City to Philadelphia, I found out quickly about this hot spot for baked goodness. A new Philly friend raved about Michael Dolich, the owner and head baker, as I bit into one of his delicious almond croissants at a local coffee joint. Her enthusiasm matched with the buttery magic in my mouth inspired me to investigate this West Philadelphia community staple.

In getting to know Michael and the bakery, I’ve been lucky enough to watch some of the more intricate processes involved in such a high quality, environmentally conscious and nutritionally rich product. “I want you to master the croissant before you move on,” Michael said to a new baker one morning, and my heart swelled to see that such attention was going into his employees as well as his bread. While discussing a few local businesses that were having a rough time staying afloat, Michael spouted an unexpected nugget of wisdom that morning amidst the whirring mixers and rolling pins clopping against wooden tabletops. “Business is all about relationships,” he said. After many more weeks of watching the business grow from wholesale to retail, it’s clear that this philosophy drives its success. From the bread itself to the customers—who were neighbors and friends to start out—to the community and the employees, and ultimately, to the planet, the growth of the business is just a series of blooming relationships. Everything is done with an intention to contribute positively to the health and well-being of the world around us.

Making his transition from a career as a trial lawyer to a lifetime artisan, Michael began as a volunteer baking for attendees at a Jewish retreat center in the Catskills. These first humble attempts evolved into a passion, fed by hours in his basement at home, with friends in the neighborhood as guinea pigs. The business was born from demand: he was making a quality product unmatched locally. The bread is centered on a slow fermentation, using the highest quality products. Whole wheat, spelt, and rye flour are milled in-house. The heart of the products, the starter, is more than five years old—created at the retreat center—and is regularly fed, which allows the bakery to use very little store-bought yeast. Dough is mixed and bread baked daily, so everything is made-to-order. When there are extras, they go to a local café to be sold, home with the bakers, or are given to neighbors.

Those neighbors are often customers and friends. If communication is key to relationship success, Four Worlds has got it down. Between the Web site, Michael’s bread blog, and the weekly e-newsletter, customers have easy access to details about how the bread is made, what it’s made of, the latest news at the bakery, and even occasional musings or personal anecdotes from Michael about the development of the bakery or inspiration for a new product. For example, there is an entry on the blog providing an in-depth discussion on bread’s nutritional benefits. Questions, concerns, and complaints are received by Michael directly, and he encourages customers to send feedback anytime.

The bakery recently moved to a new space, which is shared with other local businesses. In the hours Four Worlds is not operating—mostly from the late afternoons until about 4am—cupcakes and other desserts that don’t require a morning bake are made. A coffee roaster, whose coffee is sold at the bakery, shares the space. Their presence provides obvious benefits: a small community of people doing what they love and exchanging ideas, split costs, and more tasty treats. This also allows the oven, freezers, and refrigerators to remain at steady temperatures and in use around the clock in order to avoid wasted energy. To encourage peaceful cohabitation, all renters sign a contract, which states that all decisions concerning the space must be made by consensus.

It is the regular, everyday practices that most clearly define its relationship to the planet and make the bakery unique. Unavoidable disposable items like packaging for the ingredients or products are used sparingly, recycled, or cleaned and reincarnated as compost bins or containers. As a result, very little waste is produced. All machines in the bakery, with the exception of the oven and bagel former (a time-saver and quite a luxury for the bakers who are used to forming them by hand), are in their second life, if not their third or fourth. Brooms, trays, gloves, and knives are kept in small supply and treated with care. They’re mindful of water use, and extra croissant, raisins, and sliced almonds are being used for a bread pudding recipe in the works. When you walk in, there is a positive energy that feeds itself as it feeds you, and you understand why the satisfaction of the business well exceeds the cut in income Michael decided to take. Indeed, every time I walk in hungry I walk out happy.

It was a blessing in disguise, one of many construction zone disasters that actually resulted in triumph.  One recent morning I walked into the only room that remains somewhat set up for day-to-day activities during our total DIY home remodel, sectioned off by hanging canvas tarps, gutted walls, electrical wires, naked bulbs and lots of dust, and on the floor lay splinters of wood and scattered index cards.  It looked like a crime scene from the movies, someone looking for my secret papers, but instead was my old, neglected recipe box that had tumbled off its absent-mindedly placed location on the highest shelf.

What was it doing way up there, and why would someone who centers her life on food in every way put it in such a hard to reach location?  Well, despite my enormous love of food, eating, and cooking, I have to admit to rarely using recipes.  My large collection of cookbooks, currently all packed away tightly in various sheds, are just that, a collection, more observed and admired from afar on the shelf than actually busted into and utilized.   I’ve even tried to make deals with myself, like starting a new habit of using Sunday night as recipe night and exploring the wealth of information that lies dormant on the shelf, but to no avail.  The recipe following habit just won’t stick.  My cooking style, and sometimes even baking style, is loose, whimsical, intuitive, vacillating with what is around, what I’ve learned and what my mood is more than by direction.  So the answer to why my recipe box sat in such an inaccessible spot is simply because I never look in it.  In fact, I almost forgot I had it.

But that fateful morning, as I gathered up the mess on the floor like a dropped deck of cards, I realized that it was about time to reorganize.  Over the course of the next few days I sorted through my recipes section by section, an assortment of neatly copied cards, Xeroxed magazine pages, printed online articles and of course, the requisite bits and pieces of ripped out newspaper clippings yellowed over time.  And as I snickered over why in the world I wrote down so many tofu recipes or low carb desserts I also caught my breath at the sight of my grandmother’s handwritten bunt cake instructions or her secret salad dressing that I wrote down while she dictated to me on one of the very last times she made it for our family.  What was initially an unwelcome housekeeping chore turned into an unexpected opportunity to meander through my personal food past.  It was a way to examine my own edible journey and in a larger sense, delivered snippets of time.  I flashed on scenes otherwise forgotten; my grandmother’s hand as she tipped the spice jar over her large wooden salad bowl, the record playing in the distance when I copied my best friend’s favorite chili recipe, my excitement at finding the ingredients to the best chai in the world from the vegetarian restaurant I worked at through college.  Every single item stuffed within that old pine box opened up a moment, and despite how relevant or appealing the actual recipe was that I came across, the simple fact that it called to me in some way at some point in time was what made each one special.  Through this food-focused lens, it provided retrospection and offered illumination about how I was feeling, what I was doing, and what was important to me over the years.

Since that day of destruction and rediscovery, I have actually followed a few recipes that had otherwise lay dormant.  Last weekend was honeyed sweet potato biscuits and when the recent storms blew and thundered by, I was kneading up some Slurry Bread, a classic go-to from the farm I lived and worked at after college.  Perhaps next I will chunk away at the dozens of brownie recipes I seem to impulsively acquire or finally make those New York Times chocolate chip cookies.  And maybe my experience will inspire you to take a gander at what lies within your own collection of recipe memories…

Straight out of my vast cookie recipe section, these ones are perfect for heating up a cold winter night.

“Hot Mama” Cookies

11/2 cups flour
¾ cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1 tsp. Cinnamon
½ tsp. Black pepper, freshly ground
½ tsp. Cayenne pepper
½ tsp. salt
¾ cup unsalted butter (11/2 sticks), softened
1 cup sugar
1 egg
1 tsp. Vanilla

Sift together flour, cocoa, spices and salt.  In a separate bowl, cream butter and sugar until fluffy.  Add egg and vanilla and combine thoroughly.  Mix in dry ingredients until just incorporated.  Refrigerate dough for about 30 minutes.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.  Pinch off pieces of chilled dough and roll into 1-inch balls.  Place on a parchment lined cookie sheet about 2 inches apart.  Press a fork dipped in flour or cocoa powder firmly into top of each cookie to create a criss-cross pattern.  Sprinkle with extra sugar if desired.  Bake 9-10 minutes, being careful not to over bake.  Remove to rack and cool completely.