Inc. All rights reserved. They make bread, not bombs, at the Black Bear Bakery By C.D. Stelzer Bobby Sweet's back has been aching. So when he hefts a 50-pound sack of Old Warrior flour onto his shoulder, his gait becomes that of a sailor treading the slippery deck of a ship at sea. Stopping at a designated spot in the backroom of the bakery, he bends his knees and twists his torso in one motion, letting the weight slide through his arms to the floor. He then pulls a single thread from the top flap and opens the sack, releasing a small white cloud into the air.
Flour settles on everything at the bakery.
Sweet is no exception. His white shirt and trousers camouflage it, but his face is smudged with the stuff, his work boots dusted. He keeps at it until the mound of brown dough has disappeared. The sheets are then placed in the oven, on racks that revolve like a Ferris wheel, for eight minutes. While the cookies are being prepared, Sweet adds flour, water and yeast to two steel kettles.