Factory-manufactured bread sucks.

I don’t eat a lot of bread. I know it isn’t something you should consume in large quantities, so when I do buy it, I want it to be good. I’d much rather pay a rand or two more for a decent loaf than settle for something that has rolled off a giant production line.

Over the years I’ve watched the quality of factory bread decline. I used to buy Sasko’s seed loaf regularly, but somewhere along the line something changed. Sometimes there are huge holes running through the loaf. Other times the crust separates from the bread, or the slices are uneven. Years ago I even complained to Sasko about one particularly poor loaf, and to their credit they sent me vouchers for two replacements.

But vouchers weren’t really the point.

The quality simply isn’t what it used to be.

Perhaps the ingredients have changed. Perhaps production has become even more automated. Manufacturers never tell us these things, so all we can judge is what lands on our plates.

The bread doesn’t taste the same. It doesn’t toast as well. It just feels… cheaper.

The bread industry generally falls into three broad categories.

First there’s industrial bread—the mass-produced loaves made in huge factories where efficiency and consistency come first.

Then there’s semi-industrial or premium bread, which still uses commercial equipment but aims for better recipes, better ingredients and a more artisan feel.

Finally there’s artisan bread—smaller batches, slower fermentation, fewer additives and far more attention to craftsmanship.

That middle category is becoming increasingly interesting.

Quite by accident I discovered Checkers’ Earth Origins range.

I was almost reluctant to mention it because I don’t want everyone rushing off to buy it before I get there.

The sourdough particularly impressed me. There are also smaller loaves containing oats, whole wheat and even a delicious cinnamon-and-date version.

The only problem is they’re produced in fairly limited quantities. Visit my local Checkers after lunch and they’re often sold out.

Here in the Cape the larger loaves sell for around R20, while the smaller ones are about R15. Up in Randburg they’re closer to R28, which probably reflects transport costs.

Whatever the reason, they represent excellent value.

Interestingly, the nearby Shoprite also bakes fresh white bread in-store. They only produce around fifty loaves a day and, if you arrive early enough, you’re rewarded with something many South Africans have almost forgotten.

A warm loaf.

A crisp, golden crust.

Real bread.

I take it home, spread real butter on it while it’s still warm, and that’s a meal in itself.

It reminds you just how satisfying simple food can be when it’s made properly.

Supermarket bakeries are another mixed bag.

Some produce surprisingly good bread. Others seem determined to turn everything into fluffy white loaves regardless of what the label says.

Ciabatta shouldn’t resemble ordinary sandwich bread.

Nor should sourdough taste as though it came from the same production line as everything else.

As for Woolworths, I know many people swear by it.

I’ve tried several of their loaves over the years, but they’ve never really impressed me. They still feel like factory products dressed up as something more wholesome.

That’s becoming a wider problem across the food industry. Packaging tells us we’re buying something rustic, traditional or handcrafted, but too often we’re simply buying another highly processed product wearing a different label.

I recently watched a nutrition expert who suggested avoiding bread containing more than four ingredients. Whether you agree with that exact number or not, the underlying point makes sense.

The simpler the ingredient list, the closer you probably are to real bread.

One friend of mine obtained a genuine sourdough starter from Belgium years ago. He has carefully maintained it ever since and bakes his own bread at home. He doesn’t buy supermarket bread at all.

Once you’ve tasted properly fermented sourdough, it’s easy to understand why.

The challenge, of course, is price.

Independent bakeries generally produce magnificent bread using quality ingredients and traditional methods. The trouble is that many charge between R80 and R100 for a loaf.

That’s beyond the reach of many households.

They’re wonderful businesses, but some risk pricing themselves into a niche market.

Here in Kalk Bay, for example, the famous Olympic Bakery enjoys a loyal following, but few people would describe it as inexpensive.

On the other hand, while I lived in Randburg I was fortunate enough to have a superb French bakery in Blairgowrie. The owner had trained in France before returning to South Africa, and the baguettes and other traditional breads were exceptional.

You could taste the difference.

The lesson is bigger than bread.

Consumers are becoming more selective. They’re increasingly prepared to spend a little more for products that use better ingredients and genuine craftsmanship rather than simply chasing the lowest possible price.

That presents an opportunity.

Small neighbourhood bakeries, family-run businesses and artisan producers may never compete with industrial bakeries on volume. They don’t have to.

They only need to produce bread that reminds people what bread is supposed to taste like.

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