Alex Kelly

Last year, I was dining with some mates who recently moved from Australia to the Balkans. The conversation turned to the cost-of-living crisis here, and my friend suggested the absence of a national starch plan as a possible explanation for the rising price of artisanal bread. 

I told her, with inebriated gusto, that it felt like Sydney had traded the basic human right of affordable, high-quality loaves for profit, and that we were now living under the tyranny of over-priced bread. In the hungover light of the next day, “tyranny” felt a bit strong. Still, paying north of $12 for a well-made loaf of bread is a reality that essentially reinforces already widening class distinctions in this country.

Bread has been a staple in many cultures throughout history, and governments around the world have recognised its enduring role in daily life. Serbia has a national bread called sava that’s price-controlled through wheat subsidies. The French government mandates that a traditional baguette contain only four ingredients and be baked on site to protect against market competition. Egypt takes it further with eish baladi, a national flatbread bought via a subsidised, income-qualified card. 

The appetite for organic, ethical and trendy food items often stands in contrast to the reality of stagnating wages, rising house and rental prices, and the increasing costs of goods. People experiencing severe financial insecurity are inevitably pushed towards products that are affordable, but not necessarily healthy. Yes, a mass-produced white loaf can be bought for around $2, but it’s the kind of bread we should really only be eating occasionally – preferably at a Bunnings sausage sizzle.

At Sydney’s popular AP Bakery, a sublime loaf comprising heritage white flour, freshly milled wholegrain wheat, fenugreek and unhulled toasted sesame seeds retails for $14. Co-owner and head baker Dougal Muffet says aesthetics reinforced by social media (fluffy interiors; scored, crusty exteriors) have a clear impact on his customers’ choices. Maybe Instagram’s Covid-era sourdough craze is partly to blame? “I would love to see our ovens filled up with rye bread – healthy, dense and nutritious,” he says. “But the market has a warped perspective of what ‘healthy’ is.” 

“We’ve always believed in bread as a shared experience, not a privilege,” says Rebecca Elworthy from the Bread & Butter Project, a social enterprise that trains refugees to become bakers and invests 100 per cent of its profits into alleviating poverty. “Rising costs shouldn’t mean rising barriers. We need systems that ensure everyone, not just those with means, can access quality food.” 

The creativity and hard graft of the Australian bakeries we rightfully line up for shouldn’t be vilified. The rising price of bread says less about their work and more about our economic situation. Without a committed regulatory body and a meaningful investigation into how the industry’s growing costs can be curtailed (wages, tax, energy), prices will only continue to rise to ensure business owners and staff can earn a sustainable income.

Though the seeds of a national food security strategy have been planted, we still currently lack a framework that adequately addresses both our ecological and economic needs. A conversation around wheat – and subsidising its production – could be a good place to start, as wheat constitutes the largest portion of our agricultural land. 

In Egypt, bread is called eish – meaning “life” – for the way it feeds the country’s people and culture. Adopting something like Egypt’s subsidy model would be an opportunity to collectively imagine a shared national identity. What is the most “Australian” bread, anyway? What if we ditched the $2 supermarket stuff for a government-funded program of white labelling, powered by the best bakers and farmers in the country? These loaves could be distributed nationally at a capped price, ensuring businesses aren’t de-incentivised. 

It’s an unwieldy topic that requires solutions that go beyond individual entrepreneurship. But we need to start thinking about bread – and housing, for that matter – as more than just a luxury item to be obtained. Reorienting policy around bread could be a small but important step towards national food security and a collective sense of dignity within an increasingly insecure economic reality. 

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