Made with butter, patience, and a little obsession.

A grandmother's recipe, a small storefront, and a lot of butter.

It started in a fourth-floor walk-up with a pie my grandmother taught me when I was nine.

Six years later, we're a little corner bakery in Brooklyn — three bakers, one stone oven, and a stubborn belief that the best things take time. We mill our own crust flour, source apples from a single orchard, and bake everything in small batches the morning you eat it.

No shortcuts. No frozen dough. Just the recipes we'd serve our own family — which, lately, includes you.