Bread and the absurd cult of waiting
I hate standing in line. It doesn't matter to me at all what it's about — whether it's the hip club with the supposedly hardest door in town, the legendary vegetable kebab or the breakfast buffet in the hotel, which is supposedly worth the effort. The scenario is always the same: You stand around doing nothing and hope that you don't scrape past your destination because either the bouncer is in a bad mood or the eagerly awaited goods are out of stock before you even get within range. And yes, even on Sunday morning, when the city is still asleep, lines are forming — but this time not for going to the club at night, but for what we apparently declared our new luxury item in 2024: bread.
In a German metropolis, people like to queue 45 minutes for a loaf of bread. No, not because of a pandemic-related restriction or any other scarcity, but of our own free will. And the best part? It's not even cheap. With “SoFi” In Sophienhöfen, a loaf of bread costs a whopping 8.20 euros. Yes, you read that correctly — almost ten euros for bread. And yet I say: It's worth it. It's a hell of a good product. And yes, I too stand in line, which silently and quietly fills the streets, with this underlying fear in my neck that I will go out empty because the load of breads is limited.
Why do traditional bakers die while bread is celebrated as a luxury?
What I ask myself is: Why do new concepts, which — let's be honest — often come from career changers, suddenly succeed in good old crafts in stylish new packaging, while traditional bakers suffer from price pressure and staff shortages? It is a tragedy when you see that the “1. Rheinland bakery Mälzer“In Berlin, after more than 125 years, is finally turning off the ovens. For me as an exiled Rhinelander, this was the last place to get a real Röggelchen or decent brown bread — a piece of home in a city full of southern German pretzels.
The battle of family businesses:
More personal than I would like
But what particularly strikes me is the fateful nature of this story. As the son of a butcher, I know all too well what it means to navigate a family business through the ups and downs of the market economy. Discounters and chain stores set prices while small craft businesses fight to survive. My father mastered his craft perfectly and lived for his products. But I realized early on that the best product alone wouldn't bring customers if the marketing wasn't right.
As early as the 90s, my parents switched their business to organic — much too early, I would say. But my dad didn't compromise on quality, connected with organic farmers and built up a value chain that met the highest standards right up to the slaughterhouse. But all this didn't help much when customers bought at the supermarket for half the price. The lesson? Quality must be explained. And in such a way that it is motivating and not instructive. I haven't forgotten that to this day.
The trend towards tradition:
How bread becomes an event
And this is where we get to the crux of the question: Why are we in line for bread in 2024 as if it were admission to the most exclusive party in town? The answer: staging. Brilliant marketing. Brand-one Put it in a nutshell in an ironic video: Transparency sells. New chains such as “Time for bread” manage to make the bakery a spectacle. Employees no longer stand in dark, tiled rooms, but in light-flooded “stages” where they celebrate their craft. This not only inspires customers, but also attracts the right employees — people who appreciate their craft and don't just disappear into the bakery.
Tradition rethought:
Why the “how” is decisive
The Mälzer bakery case shows: A “Why? “(family tradition) and a “What? “(high-quality products) are no longer enough. What counts is the “how” — in other words, how the whole thing is staged. It is no longer enough to simply bake “good bread”. You have to tell a story, build a brand and pick up customers on an emotional level.
You can make fun of it and nostalgically say that everything used to be better. But the fact is: Only those who manage to translate “past” into “today” have a chance for tomorrow. It requires a sustainable philosophy (or purpose, as they say today), curiosity and, above all, the courage to break new ground.
And as I write all this, I ask myself: Where the hell can I get a wake-up call for St. Martin in Berlin now?
