About me

It was a cold, grey November morning. The fine rain, the kind you only get in northern Germany, slowly settled on our faces and clothes like a second, velvety cold skin. We drove with our 10-month-old daughter for a short weekend break to Hamburg, the city that had so often satisfied our longing for the sea, holidays and relaxation. The car journey took us along a motorway lined with trees and fields. Every now and then, large wind turbines appeared in the thick drizzle. We had made ourselves comfortable in the car with quiet music, some tea and homemade pastries, which I had not yet known would one day turn our lives completely upside down. It was cold outside and inside, our daughter was sleeping peacefully in the baby seat, as if she already knew that we were in for a relaxing weekend.

When we arrived in Hamburg, we checked into our favorite hotel at the time. A modern, but somewhat dated hotel with a lobby that reached up to the roof and where you felt like you were in a courtyard surrounded by lots of small apartments. It had simple rooms decorated in beige and brown tones that exuded a restrained luxury. The highlight for us, however, was always the large, soft bed in the middle of the room and the freestanding orange bathtub behind a pane of glass, separated from the sleeping and living areas. In the basement there was also a small swimming pool with cozy seating niches covered with cushions where you could relax after swimming with a fresh glass of lemon or ginger soda. There was also a steam sauna, which brought life back into the cold limbs, especially in this wet weather.

After unpacking, we set out to explore the city. Since we are both very enthusiastic about fashion and beautiful things, we went to the “Hohe Bleichen” as usual, not far from our hotel. The “Hohe Bleichen” is a street that is significantly higher than the rest of the city center, and you can only reach it from three sides via a fairly steeply rising street. I had strapped our daughter to my chest in a baby carrier and enjoyed her happy kicking and gurgling at our trip. In the “Hohe Bleichen” you can find shops of well-known luxury brands with selected items and trendy fashion and of course our favorite delicatessen for sweets at the time. My wife and I love sweets, and in this shop in particular there was always a special nougat that we could only get there.

Whenever we are in Hamburg, we visit this shop and have chatted to the owner on one or two occasions. This time, the owner showed us a special type of cantuccini from Italy, which he gave us to taste. We tried them happily, of course, but were both disappointed to find that they were not to our taste at all. When the owner asked us whether we didn't like the cantuccini, I blurted out: "I can do better than that."

I have to say that as a child I loved making chocolates for Christmas for my godmothers and uncles or baking cookies, but they were never worth mentioning and were far from tasty creations, let alone able to compete with the cantuccini I had just tasted. And that's not all. When the owner asked me, somewhat incredulously, what I meant by that - "I can do better" - I didn't hear myself say: "Oh, that just slipped out and I apologize for that. I'm not that good at baking, just forget it..." No, quite the opposite: to my surprise at myself, I heard myself say: "I bake cantuccini myself and already supply them to a few Italian restaurants in Hanover. I can send you a bag to try."

Surprised and curious at the same time, he told me that he would be very happy to have a taste of my cantuccini. I thanked him and promised to send him the cantuccini soon. After the conversation, we strolled through the shop for a while, bought our beloved nougat, paid and made our way out. I felt the self-confidence that had just filled me gradually give way to shaking legs and a slight dizziness. My wife stood next to me, smiling at me as she helped me free our daughter from the baby carrier and simply said: "Well, I hope you enjoy baking!" and grinned from ear to ear. "And give me our daughter before you fall over with her."

I didn't fall, but what I didn't know was that my life was about to change completely.

Hamburg had suddenly lost its lightness, and back home my thoughts were only focused on one thing... how on earth am I going to bake better cantuccini than the ones I had recently eaten in our favorite candy store in Hamburg?

Up to this point, I had already faced many self-imposed challenges in my life. Just a few years ago, I gave up my career as a neurosurgeon to look after our son after separating from my first wife. During this time, I tried to keep myself afloat with various independent projects: I designed my own furniture, developed and sold writing instruments that I had designed myself, and tried my hand at designing websites and developing corporate designs for small companies. I taught myself everything and was highly motivated. But always, unlike this task, with the possibility of failure in the result. This time, however, I had set the bar so high that failure was not an option.

While I was tidying up my desk to clear my head – or rather, to avoid the concrete task of baking the best cantuccini in the world (how could I do that without a recipe?) – I began to wonder how I could overcome this challenge.

As if by chance, I came across an old recipe from my grandmother while I was cleaning up. It wasn't a cantuccini recipe, but one for almond biscuits, which I used to enjoy so much at her place. Fifteen minutes later, I was standing in the local supermarket, shopping list in hand, full of enthusiasm and confidence for my new project. I bought everything exactly as the recipe said and headed straight home. When I got home, I immediately started weighing and mixing the ingredients, forming the dough into long strands and putting them in the oven. The smell that spread through our kitchen after just a few minutes gave me hope and cheer. At the specified time, I took the well-brown strands out of the oven, let them cool a little and then started cutting them into thumb-width pieces. Lined up neatly next to each other, they went back into the oven for a second time to dry. After half an hour I took it out and was now very excited about the result.

Do you know this feeling? Your grandmother left you a collection of recipes of the most beautiful childhood memories in the form of cakes, tarts and desserts, and you want to revive one of these recipes - but no matter what you try, you can never make it taste like it did when your grandmother was alive? I felt exactly this disappointment when I took a bite of one of these cantuccini. They were hard and compact, tasted dry, and nothing reminded me of the lightness of Italy, sun and sea.

The story could have ended here, but I wanted to keep my promise. Maybe I wouldn't bake the best cantuccini in the world right away, but at least ones that were comparable to those from Hamburg. So my ambition was aroused. I changed the recipe, played with the ingredients, baked and dried the cantuccini for longer or shorter periods, kneaded or stirred the dough, cut them thinner or thicker, lengthways or crossways. Many hours passed, and in the end it worked.

Then I started on the packaging. I love design and playing with colors, shapes and fonts and I enjoy doing so. I still design all my packaging myself today. Since it was handmade, the packaging should look like it. You should also be able to see the biscuits straight away so you can get a taste of them from the outside. So I packed the cantuccini in a transparent bag, tied it with a pink cord and attached a sealed label that still shows our family coat of arms today. I packed the bag carefully, added a few friendly, handwritten notes and sent everything on its way to Hamburg.

I was relieved that I had not given up and that I had managed to create something that I considered decent. For a day or two I imagined what the Hamburg candy store owner would say about my cantuccini, but when I didn't hear from him after three days, I was a little disappointed, but also somehow relieved that the story would probably end there. I had kept my promise, and that was that. Now I could get back to my real work - designing writing instruments and looking after our children.

Another three days later my cell phone rang and it was "HE". He kept it short and just said: "Johan, you can really do better than that!" I was surprised, I hadn't expected that. He asked me if I would like to bake cantuccini for him too. He had three shops and would be happy to sell them there. After a night of thinking about it and an offer that I thought he would never accept, we struck a deal.

From then on, I set out to learn and perfect the craft of “cookie baking”. You can now discover the results of my journey here. I hope you enjoy my delicacies and I would also like to thank my wife and our children for their patience, support and tolerance with me.

🍪 Yours, Johan von Ilten 🍪