How a bag of cantuccini became a manufactory.

Hohe Bleichen

A sentence that slipped out

Once we had unpacked, we set out to explore the city. As we both have a passion for fashion and beautiful things, we went, as always, to the “Hohe Bleichen”, not far from our hotel. The Hohe Bleichen lies noticeably higher than the rest of the city centre and can only be reached from three sides, by rather steep streets. I had our daughter strapped to my chest in a baby carrier and was enjoying her happy kicking and gurgling.

On the Hohe Bleichen you will find shops of well-known brands offering carefully chosen goods – and, of course, what was then our favourite sweet shop. My wife and I love sweet things, and that shop in particular had a very special nougat that we could only get there.

Whenever we were in Hamburg, we visited this shop, and now and then we got talking to the owner. This time he handed us a special kind of cantuccini from Italy to try. Of course, we were happy to taste them, but we were both disappointed to find that they were not to our taste at all. When he asked whether they were not to our liking, I blurted out:

I should explain: as a child, I loved making chocolates for my godparents at Christmas, or baking biscuits. But it was never anything worth mentioning, and a long way from truly tasty creations – let alone anything that could have held its own against those cantuccini.

And that was not all. When the owner, somewhat incredulous, asked me what I meant, I did not hear myself say: “Oh, that just slipped out, I’m sorry. I’m not really much of a baker – just forget it.” No, quite the opposite. To my own astonishment, I said: “I bake cantuccini myself and already supply several Italian restaurants in Hannover with them. I’d be happy to send you a bag to try.”

Surprised and curious at the same time, he said he would be delighted to receive a sample. I thanked him and promised to send him the cantuccini soon. We browsed the shop for a while longer, bought our beloved nougat and made our way outside.

As we did so, I felt the self-assurance that had filled me only moments before slowly give way to trembling legs and a slight dizziness. My wife stood beside me, smiling at me as she helped me lift our daughter out of the carrier, and said only: “Well then, I hope you enjoy the baking!” She was grinning from ear to ear. “And hand me our daughter before you keel over with her.”

I did not keel over. But I had no idea that my life was now about to change completely.

Hannover

Home again

Hamburg had suddenly lost its lightness, and back at home my thoughts circled around a single question: how on earth was I to bake better cantuccini than the ones we had just tasted in our favourite shop in Hamburg?

By then, I had already taken on many challenges of my own choosing. A few years earlier, I had given up my budding career as a neurosurgeon to be there for my son. During that time, I kept my head above water with various projects of my own: I designed furniture, developed and sold writing instruments of my own design, and created websites and visual identities for small businesses. I taught myself everything and threw myself into it with enthusiasm – but always with the possibility of failure. This time, I had set the bar so high that failure was not an option.

As I tidied my desk to clear my head – or, to be honest, to put off the real task of baking the best cantuccini in the world, and without a recipe at that – I asked myself how I was ever going to meet this challenge.

Grandmother’s recipe

As if by chance, an old recipe of my grandmother’s fell into my hands. It was not a recipe for cantuccini, but for the almond biscuits I had always loved so much at her house. A quarter of an hour later, I was standing in the supermarket next door, shopping list in hand, full of energy and confidence. I bought everything exactly as the recipe said and headed straight back home.

At home, I immediately began weighing and mixing the ingredients, shaped the dough into long logs and slid them into the oven. The aroma that filled our kitchen after only a few minutes made me hopeful and cheerful. When the time given in the recipe was up, I took out the beautifully browned logs, let them cool a little and cut them into pieces the width of a thumb. Neatly lined up side by side, they went back into the oven a second time to dry. After half an hour, I took them out, eager to see the result.

Do you know the feeling? Your grandmother has left you a collection of the loveliest childhood memories in the form of cakes, gateaux and desserts. You want to bring one of those recipes back to life, but whatever you try, it never tastes quite the way hers did. That was exactly the disappointment I felt with the first bite. The cantuccini were hard and dense, they tasted dry, and nothing about them recalled the lightness of Italy, the sun and the sea.

Hannover

Practice makes perfect

The story could have ended there, but I wanted to keep my promise. Perhaps I would not bake the best cantuccini in the world at the first attempt, but at least ones that could hold their own against those from Hamburg. My ambition had been kindled. I changed the recipe, played with the ingredients, baked and dried the cantuccini sometimes for longer, sometimes for shorter, kneaded or stirred the dough, cut them thinner or thicker, lengthways or crossways. Many hours went by, and in the end I succeeded.

Next, I turned to the packaging. Design – playing with colours, shapes and typefaces – comes naturally to me, and I enjoy it. To this day, I design all our packaging myself. Since the biscuits were handmade, the packaging should look the part. And you should be able to see the biscuits straight away, so that your appetite is whetted even from the outside.

So I packed the cantuccini in a clear bag, tied it with a pink cord and added a sealed label that bears our family coat of arms to this day. I packed the bag carefully, enclosed a few friendly, handwritten lines and sent everything on its way to Hamburg.

Hannover – Hamburg

A phone call with consequences

I was relieved that I had not given up and had produced something that, in my eyes, was respectable. For a day or two, I pictured what the Hamburg confectioner might say about my cantuccini. When I had heard nothing from him after three days, I was a little disappointed, but somehow also relieved that the story would probably end here. I had kept my promise, and that would have to be enough. Now I could return to my actual work, designing writing instruments and looking after our children.

Three days later my mobile rang, and it was him. He kept it brief and said only:

I was surprised; I had stopped expecting it. He asked whether I would like to bake cantuccini for him, too. He had three shops and would be glad to sell them there. After a night to think it over, and an offer I believed he would never accept, we came to an agreement.

From then on, I set out to learn the craft of biscuit baking and to perfect it.