Stormi Cole
Google
At long last, I graced the halls of Born & Bread Bakehouse in Lakeland, Florida—a spot so legendary in local lore, I half-expected it to be guarded by cinnamon roll-slinging centaurs and croissant-wielding knights.
Let me set the scene: you walk in and the scent alone could knock a grown man to his knees. It’s like stepping into a warm gluten hug. The air is thick with the seductive perfume of caramelized dreams and melted butter. One whiff, and I was ready to leave my job, my family, and possibly my cholesterol meds behind.
The display case? A divine dream. Rows of pastries gleam like golden idols, whispering sweet nothings: “Pick me,” “No, me,” “I’m filled with cheese!” Their menu rotates with genius—one moment you’re eyeing a peanut croissant, the next, a Danish that looks like it just graduated from Juilliard. Choosing was like trying to pick a favorite child… if your children were flaky, gooey, and stuffed with ooey gooey goodness.
The Bites:
• The sausage and egg biscuit was a breakfast sandwich so buttery it could slide straight into your DMs. Layers of flaky biscuit cradling a juicy sausage patty with the love of Southern hospitality.
• The ham and egg bagel sandwich? Let’s just say if brunch were a religion, this would be its Pope.
• Then came the apple fritter croissant: Pastry perfection—crisp, layered, sticky, and somehow juicy? I don’t know how they made fruit sensual, but they did.
• And the coffee cake cheese Danish twist? That was less of a pastry and more of a full-body spiritual event. I saw God. She was holding a rolling pin.
Even their branding is delicious—cheeky bags, crisp boxes, and murals that scream, “Yes, you are about to commit carb-based sin, and it’s worth it.”
In conclusion, Born & Bread isn’t just a bakery. It’s a cathedral of carbs. A temple to taste. A sugar-dusted dream where every bite makes your tongue do backflips and slap your brain awake like, “HEY. PAY ATTENTION. THIS IS HAPPENING.”
10/10. Highly recommend. Bring napkins.