Learned from Mary, the family's Mary Berry

I have baked all of my adult life, which is a polite way of saying there has rarely been a clean worktop.

I learned from my mum, Mary. In this family she is our Mary Berry: unfussy, exact when it matters, and unimpressed by anything that looks clever but tastes thin. She taught me that butter is not a suggestion, that you weigh properly, and that you do not open the oven every thirty seconds “just to check”.

The sourdough came later. The cookies and cinnamon rolls have been in my hands for years. Braw is a Scots word for something fine. That is the standard Mary set, and it is the standard for the tin.

What a home bakery is for

This is not a cafe. There is no counter, no glass display, no loaf sitting under a lamp from yesterday. I mix in small batches and bake the morning the bread leaves the house.

Jeremie, Theo and Millie taste everything first. They are not a focus group. They are a household, which is a harder audience. If the cookies are too sweet, I hear about it. If the rolls need longer, I hear about it. If the loaf is right, it disappears before I have put the kettle on.

Why the extras exist

The subscription is built around the weekly loaf. The dozen cookies and the tray of cinnamon rolls are for the weeks that want them - a school tin, a Saturday morning, a house that needs something sticky.

They are extras, not the point. They are still made with the same rule Mary taught me: no shortcut that shows up in the taste.

If you want a weekly loaf, choose a delivery day. I will bake that morning. You will know bread is coming.