Patrolling London’s Askew Road on my lunch break, a trotting cheetah looking at eating options left and right, I was caught by a little shop called October 26. Minimally decked out in pale pine and white, the Scandi-style interior displayed a very minimal selection of about five different loaves on minuscule shelves. Big pegs gave the giant brown cracked sourdough and fogasse the appearance of owls perched in a tree…things can get a little trippy when I’m that hungry. Wow, I thought, this is undoubtedly very fine bread. I bought a loaf and – yeehaw – it was warm too! Chewing mightily on my sourdough crust it was truly astonishing and completely reignited my requirement for bread to always be as good as possible. Although sliced, square, bagged loaves are undoubtedly brilliant at catching chub and attracting pigeons, a lazy, cheap sandwich, however thickly filled, is nothing next to a plain slice of proper, carefully-made bread. The real bread movement is nothing new, but this recent sourdough jolt means I will not be lazy about bread again.