Panificio Di Gesù and Altamura’s DOP Bread

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Half-asleep or half-cut

I awoke to the sound of the shower running. Nat was already up but it was going to take a lot for me to get out of my envelope of comfort and warmth in our cozy hideaway in Altamura.
The rain was still pouring down but the weather was expected to improve by the afternoon. Still half asleep and possibly half cut from the seemingly endless rounds of Padre Pepe only hours before we stumbled out into the water-filled streets.
We had been planning this for a while and did not want to miss our chance to experience an authentic Altamura bakery in full swing. The small town is nestled 45 kilometres southwest of Bari. It is known across Italy and beyond for making the country’s best bread. In fact, it is so carved in local tradition that it has garnered its own designation of protection DOP and as we would soon find out, for good reason.

Panificio Di Gesù

Just blocks out of the Porta Bari gate from the old city is Panificio Di Gesù. Tucked in on a very non-descript side road, we entered the tiny retail shop that was not yet open. After introducing ourselves we were told to go back outside and next door to meet Guiseppe, whose family owns the bakery.
Popping back outside the next door down looked like it entered an old garage or barn but pushing back the door revealed a trio of men hard at work.

Hit by the strong smell of fermenting bread dough and the warm humid heat of the oven we were invited in and positioned very strategically for reasons we would soon understand.
At the centre of the scene was the oven already stoked with wood and very near ready to bake in. Squatting down I tried to peer to the back but couldn’t see it, this is a huge oven. On either side of the oven door, there were two stations where for decade upon decade the bread has been formed and fed to the man in the middle who deftly shovels each loaf into place within the mammoth oven.

Altamura bread

Guiseppe is on one side kneading preweighed portions of dough into traditional shapes with machine-like precision. He has been doing it all of his life and forming the dough is an almost subconscious act as he explains the history and uniqueness of Altamura bread.

First, we have to understand the oven and hearth we all were standing around has been producing bread for hundreds of years. Through war, feast and famine, the fires have been stoked in this very oven to produce this unique bread. Not just any wood is thrown in there either, it is and always will be oak logs, some as long as four feet. Before becoming a private bakery this was a community oven serving the surrounding area where you could arrive with your bread ready to bake and get a place in a hot oven. The oven door showed its true age looking like a gateway to another world.

Racks of weighed out dough lay under cover waiting for their turn to be formed. The dough itself was as soft as silk yet still resilient enough to be manhandled into shape with a just a few forceful moves and a slash with a razor, before being offered up to the man in the middle who would coax each loaf onto a well-worn bread peel with a handle close to 15 feet long. Now is the time to be standing in the correct place as he throws back the butt of the peel to within inches of my belt buckle before firing the entire length of the peel into the oven to place his first row of bread.

U sckuanète or a cappidde de Prevete

Every baker can choose to give to the bread two traditional forms: high and crossed over, called “u sckuanète”, or the typical form “a cappidde de Prevete”, literally priest’s hat, lower and homogeneous. You can also form bread into whatever shapes you wish but they can not carry the DOP label. The DOP label, in fact, is baked right into each loaf that meets standards, shoved into the dough as the last step before the oven.

In addition, they were making a shape like a sun that we were told they like because there are more crusty bits. Each shaped loaf goes into the oven in order of how they bake and the experienced baker knows exactly where the heat will be.

In the end, 300 loaves will fill the oven in a very short order, lined up perfectly, radiating out from a glowing pile of coals. A barrier of fresh oak logs is placed between the fire and first row of bread to protect it from the direct heat. Next, the oven door is brought in and sealed into place with soaking wet rags for a steamy tight seal.

A starter fed for over 100 years

With the rush over, Guiseppe takes the time to explain how Altamura bread is made with only semolina flour that is grown in the fields just outside of town. Milled to specific standards, no other flour is allowed to be used as well, the water is to be drawn from a local source. Sea salt is what sets this bread apart from many other Italian bread but the main player is the starter or mother that has been fed for well over a century. Fed by the exact same flour and water each time reproducing a bread that tastes probably very similar to centuries ago. According to the regulation of the DOP mark, Altamura’s bread must have a crust of at least 3 millimetres in thickness, and a crumb full of small holes, that indicate a successful leavening. The thickness of the crust and high moisture of the dough ensure this bread lasts very well.

Sifting flour through my hands, feeling the texture of the dough, smelling and feeling the warmth of the wood-burning oven had me salivating like Pavlov’s dog and I think it showed. Stopping mid-sentence Guiseppe disappeared and returned with two large and still warm pieces of their focaccia studded with cherry tomatoes and soaked in olive oil and, with each bite, our hangovers faded away.

Caffè Ronchi

The bread would have to bake undisturbed for about an hour so we had time to grab a coffee. One of the older bakers chimed in and recommended we walk back just inside the gates of the Centro Storico to Caffè Ronchi.

Laughing out loud with the other bakers he shouted in Italian make sure to have a “tette della suora”.
My kind of coffee shop, filled with locals giving us the once over, we quickly ordered two macchiati and a pair of tette della suora Italian for nuns’ tits hence the childlike laughter from the bakers. Indeed they did resemble a breast that may have been hiding under a habit. The name derives from the fact that these little pastries recall the shape of a woman’s breasts.


Made with sponge cake stuffed with a soft Chantilly cream and sprinkled with powdered sugar. It was all a treat and despite very little sleep and overindulgence the night before we were starting to feel as right as the rain that was still falling as we headed back to the bakery to see the bread come out of the oven. We would not have to wait to smell it though as the fragrance of baking bread and burning wood wafting through the narrow streets led us back to the bakery. The smell intensified as we pushed back the old wooden door again to see the boys just starting to unload the oven. As we basked in the

Basked in the odour

As we basked in the odour, loaf after loaf of perfectly baked bread was retrieved and placed in baskets ready to be sold or shipped out. All the bread is sold that day and in fact, cannot be sold the next day (by them) according to DOP standards.

The locals knew the bread was ready indicated by the growing line at the counter, we joined the cue to secure a loaf.
Cradling a warm loaf (€3), steaming its freshly baked smell from the bag’s opening we said our goodbyes and thanks for a fun and informative morning. The history and standards of Altamura bread make it one of Italy’s true culinary treasures and to be able to taste something straight from the oven that has stood the test of time is truly special.