This past week, I had the pleasure of attending the launch of the newly opened Motherdough. It is set on a working farm in Jonkershoek, surrounded by gravel, mountains, and slow moving air. It feels like it’s miles away from the city, even though it’s just outside Stellenbosch. Very much giving off that farm to table charm, met with Italian countryside calm. Once I arrived, I took a slow walk through the garden, stopping to look at all the veggies they had growing. I am not much of a green thumb, however I can appreciate a good vegetable patch. I must say, this one was thriving. After having my head in the ground as opposed to in the clouds, I turned around and saw the most beautiful yellow and white Cape Dutch farmhouse. Yellow is my favourite colour, it was actually the colour of my very first bedroom, so this spot instantly felt like home to me. I am not sure what I loved more, the deep yellow signature wall, or the wall with “Eat Proper Bread” painted onto it in big, bold letters. Undecided, I made my way inside through the mint coloured doors and was immediately hit with all things sourdough. More specifically, “MOTHERDOUGH”, which stood proud on the sage green walls. In front of the sign was a counter with a glass display of pastries that looked too perfect to disturb. Thankfully for them, I left them at peace as I was there for the launch.

“You don’t just eat here, you breathe slower, taste deeper, and leave calmer.”

The event took place in the most stunning room. It had high beamed ceilings, olive green walls, and it was filled with sunlight that spilled through the countryside windows. There was a long wooden communal table that was dressed with layers of loaves of different types of bread, pastries, jars of vegetables, and the most beautiful sunflowers in glass jars. I knew I was in for a wonderful morning, and a tasty one at that. Before the talks commenced and while we were still waiting for everyone to arrive, we were treated to some coffee. I thought it was super thoughtful and a lovely touch. It really reflected the type of people the owners are, as well as their bakery. Wholesome, homely, and authentic. I ordered a cortado with almond milk, which was smooth and delicious, and the perfect little caffeine kick before eating my weight in carbs. Don’t worry, good quality carbs, even gut healthy. 

Once everyone had found their seats and settled, we were welcomed by the coowners, Lance and Willem. Two bakers who treat dough like an art form and fermentation like a language. They started Motherdough during lockdown, helping home bakers succeed with Alfonsina cultures. What began as a side project quickly became a movement. Together, they’ve built something that feels deeply personal yet widely loved. A community grounded in craftsmanship, quality, and curiosity. Lance then talked us through the history of Motherdough. This is not just a bakery, it’s a philosophy of fermentation. A love letter to Old World Italian techniques and honest ingredients. Every loaf starts with their century old starter, Alfonsina, a living culture that brings depth and soul to every bake. They believe that bread should be alive, no shortcuts, no commercial yeast. Just time, temperature, and care. This philosophy runs deeper than bread, it’s about connection, patience, and craft. You don’t just eat here, you breathe slower, taste deeper, and leave calmer.

And with that, let’s get into the food. There were plates of all things carbs being passed around the room as we learned more about the art of bread, and I must just say, I am all about interactive learning. Especially when the lesson requires eating. First things first, a classic. The Motherdough’s grilled cheese. It’s the kind of toastie that seems simple until you taste it, and then you realise it’s anything but. The bread is the star, naturally. The sourdough crust hits every note. It’s blistered, buttery, audibly crisp on the outside, but still soft and elastic in the middle. You can feel the fermentation in the texture, those little airy pockets that give each bite a bit of chewy lift. Then the cheese, sharp and balanced, with a bite that cuts through the butter but doesn’t overpower it. The cheese filling wasn’t heavy or the super stretchy kind, which personally I love. I am a firm believer in less is more, especially when you have such good quality ingredients. The whole thing was perfectly restrained, nothing dripping, nothing extra. Just the best kind of minimalism. Bread, butter, cheese, time, and heat. Simple on paper, sacred in practice. 

Next might have been the best sandwich I’ve ever had, the Panino. This is the kind of panini that makes you go quiet mid bite because your brain is too busy trying to process how something so simple can taste so profound. The bread, obviously, does the heavy lifting. You get that classic chew, soft and springy. Then it’s filled with a layered balance of sweet and savoury items that just work. Smoked ham, ribbons of chargrilled zucchini and peppers, all rounded off with this unexpected brush of apricot jam that ties everything together. The sweet and salty contrast feels cheeky, and every bite builds, from buttery, to smoky, to tangy. Somehow it still tasted fresh and vibrant. And as Lance himself joked, “It’s not a good panini if your hands aren’t oily or the paper bag isn’t translucent”. He’s right. There’s something beautiful and honest about that, food that doesn’t pretend, and leans into that little “messy honest” vibe. There were a few different paninis on offer, but I was saving room for the pizza round.

My first slice was the Margherita pizza, or as I like to call it, the essence of everything good. You could taste how fresh it was with that bright tomato base. It was already so flavourful and vibrant. It was topped with the kind of mozzarella that melts just enough to pull a string but not enough to drown a slice, and a generous drizzle of good quality olive oil. It honestly didn’t need toppings or theatrics, it was already balanced enough, and quietly confident. The crust was thin but with life in it. A little blistered, lightly salted, and chewy in that way that makes you want to hold it up to the light just to admire the air pockets. 

For my final eat as I was honestly stuffed, I had a slice of the Quattro Formaggi. A richer moment, silky, savoury, with that unmistakable Gorgonzola depth that brings just enough funk to make you pay attention. There was a smoked mozzarella ball sitting on top like a prize in the middle. It added a soft smokiness that I really enjoyed. Look, it’s cheesy, and every melt had intention. Each cheese has a job, and together they’re perfectly in sync. If the Margherita is the heartbeat of Motherdough, the four cheese is the soul. 

It’s not often I’m full, which honestly just proves how good their produce is. You can taste the quality, the care, the kind of ingredients that are genuinely good for your gut and your soul. Everything feels lighter, cleaner, and more intentional. I didn’t even have room for dessert, which is very rare for me. But, that just means I’ll have to come back for their baked goods… Oh well, sacrifices must be made!

Motherdough is pure heart, soul, and passion, and it shows in every loaf, slice, and smile. We ended with some bubbles, sunshine, and of course, a bag of bread to take home. 

Thank you Motherdough! You’ve set the carb standard high. Till next time!