From Kitchen Table to Cottage Bakery: When Hobby Became Business
For about six months, I baked sourdough just for us.
Every week, I'd mix dough, watch it rise, bake a loaf or two. The boys would eat it toasted with butter. Jason would make sandwiches for work. I'd slice it thick for French toast on Saturday mornings.
It was just what we did. Baking bread was part of our rhythm — something I did because it mattered to feed my family better food.
Then friends and family started asking. Could I make them a loaf? What about cookies? Would I bake for a gathering?
At first, it was just small requests here and there. Then I started baking for my own real estate open houses — cookies, treats, bread. It made the house smell good and gave visitors something to enjoy while they looked around.
And that's when the idea started forming: What if I could actually do this?
Once it felt more real — like this might actually become a business — I started testing everything on my real estate team. New recipes, new flavors, different products. They loved being fed. (Who wouldn't?) And they gave me honest feedback that helped me figure out what was actually worth selling.
By late 2023, the requests weren't stopping. And I couldn't ignore it anymore.
Why I Hesitated
Here's what held me back: when I was getting ready to launch, another sourdough baker in my area had just opened her business.
I'd been quietly working on The Sour Crumb for months, but the timing gave me pause. I didn't want to create any tension or confusion in the community.
So I made a decision: I'd launch as planned, but I'd start with sweet treats only.
Sourdough cookies. Muffins. Things that gave me space to establish my own identity.
At home, I still made bread for my family. But publicly? I kept it separate for a while.
January 2024: The Sour Crumb Opens
January 2024, I officially opened The Sour Crumb.
My first paying customers were my real estate team and my mother-in-law. People I knew. People I trusted. People who already believed in what I was doing.
It felt small. Manageable. Safe.
And honestly? Terrifying.
The Reality of Going Public
I've always been a behind-the-scenes person. I teach. I bake. I do my work quietly. But launching a business meant putting myself out there in a way I'd never done before.
What if people didn't like my food? What if I couldn't keep up with demand? What if I failed publicly and everyone watched it happen?
Those fears were real. But so was the pull to do this — to take what I'd been doing at my kitchen table and see if it could become something more.
So I started small. Sweet treats. Pre-orders only. Porch pickup. No markets yet. Just me, my kitchen, and a few customers who were willing to take a chance on a home baker they barely knew.
Finding the Right Systems
One thing I knew from the beginning: I needed systems.
I'm not someone who wings it. I plan. I track. I need to know the numbers, the timing, the logistics. So before I ever took my first order, I set up CakeCost to calculate my pricing. I wanted to know exactly what each item cost to make, what my margin was, and what I needed to charge to make this sustainable.
That tool saved me from underpricing myself into burnout.
I also tried multiple platforms trying to find what worked: Bakesy, then Hotplate, then MyCustomBakes, then Square. Each one taught me something about what I needed and what I didn't. It took time to land on Shopify, but once I did, everything clicked.
The right systems matter. They're what make a hobby sustainable as a business.
What I Didn't Expect
Here's what surprised me: people actually wanted what I was making.
Not just friends doing me a favor. Not just family being supportive. Real customers who found me, ordered, came back, and told their friends.
That first month, I wondered if anyone would order. By month two, I had repeat customers. By month three, I realized this might actually work.
It wasn't instant success. It wasn't a viral moment or a big launch. It was slow, steady growth built on people trusting that what I made at home was worth paying for.
And that? That felt like validation.
The Shift
Around this time, I started realizing something: limiting myself to sweet treats wasn't serving anyone.
Customers were asking for bread. They wanted the sourdough loaves I was making for my family. And I was saying no because I was trying to be careful about the situation.
I'll save that full story for another post. But what I learned is this: there's room for everyone. The market isn't as small as fear makes you think it is. And holding yourself back out of an abundance of caution doesn't protect anyone — it just keeps you from doing what you're meant to do.
So eventually, I added bread. And the business grew from there.
If You're Thinking About Selling What You Make
Maybe you're where I was — baking for your family, getting requests from friends, wondering if this could be more than a hobby.
Here's what I wish someone had told me:
Start before you're ready. You'll never feel 100% prepared. You'll always have doubts. Do it anyway.
Get your systems right early. Pricing, ordering, production flow — figure those out before you scale. Future you will thank you.
Don't undercharge. Your time, skill, and ingredients have value. Use tools like CakeCost to know your numbers and price accordingly.
It's okay to start small. You don't need a big launch or a perfect website. You need a few people willing to try what you make. Build from there.
You don't have to have it all figured out. I tried four different platforms before I found one that worked. That's normal. Give yourself permission to adjust as you learn.
From kitchen table to cottage bakery isn't a leap — it's a series of small steps. One customer. One order. One loaf at a time.
That's how it happened for me. And if it's calling to you, that's how it can happen for you too.
Thanks for being here.
— Courtenay 💙
