Bread of Freedom / The Condimentary

I was in a bakery in Bogotá that fascinated me.

This is nothing new: there are about 9,000 of them in the city.

I was in a bakery in Bogotá that fascinated me, where only women worked.

It's not news either. There are an increasing number of gastronomic spaces—in Colombia and around the world—led and sustained by women.

(Read more: Cooking without fire / The Condimentary )

I was in a bakery in Bogotá that fascinated me. It was staffed exclusively by women, who made mantecadas, roscones, croissants, brownies, cheese bread, pandeyucas, and other pastries.

Still, I'm not saying anything new.

I was in a bakery in Bogotá that fascinated me. It's staffed exclusively by women, who bake a wide variety of breads, cakes, and pastries, and who have found in this craft a place to create, heal, dream, and bring happiness.

I was at the bakery at the El Buen Pastor women's prison.

I was fortunate—a curious word to describe a place where, in reality, there is little of it—to experience and taste one of the breads prepared by the inmates of this institution. What matters least here is the taste or the technique, which, by the way, was impeccable. What's significant for them is the opportunity for training and learning that the law provides: not only to work to reduce their sentence, but to learn a trade that becomes a tool and a source of hope.

(Also: Bread, war, peace / The condimentary )

I've read—and even written—that food is life, it is medicine, it is nourishment for the soul and the body. From repeating it so often, from seeing it transformed into a pretty phrase, it seemed like a commonplace, a cliché used to dress up gastronomy with humanity. But the slap of reality came when I saw, in a place as intensely heartbreaking as a prison, the power of the simplest and most perfect food, the humblest and, at the same time, the most generous: bread. It was then that I understood that it is more vital, more profoundly important than I had believed in the everyday and privileged life of my life.

Various studies show that routine creative activities— such as cooking and, especially, baking—can relieve anxiety, improve mood, and offer a sense of purpose. There's something intimately transformative about baking. The smell of freshly baked bread fills the space and also the soul. It brings refuge, awakens memories, and gives shelter. And amid the uncertainty they experience, locked away, that solace is no less. It's freedom.

There are eight bakers, and they claim that each dough carries the flavors, memories, and aromas of the life they left behind. They dream of creating and kneading their own businesses when they return to the streets. Their rebirth will come thanks to this opportunity they've been given to learn, to create, to transform, to give, and to nurture the tenacity with which, even behind bars, they envision a dignified and prosperous future.

I was in one of the most incredible bakeries in Bogotá. The bread tasted of light, of the future, of life, of resilience, of reconciliation, and of well-being. I left feeling moved and grateful. Enjoy your meal.