Since 1978 · Rue des Amandes

One oven.
Three generations.

Odette Miel arrived in Chicago with two suitcases and a notebook of her mother's recipes. The bakery she opened was nine feet wide. Forty-eight years later the shop is bigger, the notebook is falling apart, and the oven she bought secondhand is still the only one we trust with croissants.

Baker piping cream into choux buns
Real butter No fondant, ever Fruit in season only Nothing frozen Real butter No fondant, ever Fruit in season only Nothing frozen

The long version

A bakery is a daily argument

With the weather, with the flour, with the clock. Dough behaves differently in a wet July than a dry February, so nothing here is ever quite the same twice. We measure by feel as often as by scale, and the recipes in the notebook are more like suggestions with strong opinions.

What doesn't change: butter at 83% fat, flour milled on stone forty miles west, eggs from a farm we've bought from since 1994, and vanilla we buy whole and split ourselves. It costs more. It tastes like it costs more.

Croissants cooling on a board
Pastry shop interior with brass display case
  1. 1978

    Odette Miel opens a one-window shop with a secondhand Lyon deck oven.

  2. 1991

    Her son Bernard adds the laminating bench and the Friday kouign-amann.

  3. 2004

    The marble chocolate table arrives. Bonbons become a permanent fixture.

  4. 2016

    Théo takes the morning shift; the ferment goes from one day to three.

  5. 2026

    Eleven bakers, sixty-two recipes, same oven.

The people

Eleven bakers, four you'll meet

Théo Miel

Head baker · mornings

Third generation. Runs the deck oven and refuses to write anything down.

Ines Abara

Pastry chef · entremets

Trained in Lyon and Osaka. Glazes every entremet by hand on the family turntable.

Wole Adeyemi

Chocolatier

Tempers on marble at 5 a.m. Claims he can hear when it's ready.

Sasha Petrov

Viennoiserie

Three-day ferments, copper trays, zero patience for shortcuts.

Chocolate being pouredStack of cookies

How we work

Slow, small, and finished

  • Small batches. Nothing is mixed in quantities bigger than one baker can lift. It's inefficient and it's the point.
  • Made this morning. No holding cabinets, no par-baking, no yesterday. What's in the case was made hours ago.
  • Nothing wasted. Unsold pastry becomes twice-baked almond the next day, or goes to the shelter on Randolph by 7 p.m.
  • Paid properly. Everyone on the floor is salaried, and the tip jar is split evenly at close.