A Scandinavian bun. A Provençal loaf. An Australian coffee bar. Nothing is copied — they are tempered through each other, and the result is Alica.
We learned the laminated dough the Nordic way — thirty-six hours of cold ferment, cracked cardamom, pearl sugar at the last minute. It's the bake that teaches patience.
A pastry is architecture. In Copenhagen, they build it slowly.
The loaf is where Provence shows up — olive oil, rosemary, slow fermentation, the open crumb that drinks a tomato-oil salad like a sponge. The bread is always resting when you visit.
A loaf is a conversation with yeast. It takes the weekend.
Melbourne taught us how a small café can carry itself with the seriousness of a restaurant — the right grind, the right ceramic, the right light. That's the side of the room the coffee bar sits on.
A flat white is a measure. Get the first one right.