Interview by Good Friend
Marie Sonalet
Before Good Friend, there was Not Bread.
Founded by Marie Sonalet, Not Bread began as a simple, intentional practice—one rooted in care, repetition, and the belief that good food has a way of bringing people closer. In January 2025, Marie forwarded the work into new hands, trusting that what she built would continue to evolve while staying true to its heart.
In this conversation, we sit with Marie to reflect on the origins of Not Bread, the meaning behind the craft, and what it feels like to watch a body of work move forward—still familiar, still grounded, just becoming something new.
On the beginning of Not Bread
Not Bread began just a couple of months after arriving in the U.S., fresh from Mexico. One day my husband asked, “Will we ever have a piece of bread in this house?”
“Well,” I answered, “only if I make it — and it will not have flour.”
That was the beginning.
On the first batch
For the first batch, I went alone to our new commissary kitchen in Bend, Oregon. That day, I made ten loaves. I still remember calling home and saying, “I made ten breads!” It felt enormous. I was worried they might go to waste.
I brought the loaves home, kept a couple for my family, and shared the rest with neighbors and friends. It was during COVID, and people were ecstatic. They loved the way the bread felt, weighed, smelled, and tasted. They asked for more.
For me, the only way I would ever put food into the world was if it had the potential to improve people’s health, well-being, and overall experience of life.
On context and intention
Gluten was not an option — and gluten-free bread, as it existed then, wasn’t either.
I never wanted to replace flour. In France, artisans make incredible sourdough breads using all kinds of flour. I didn’t want to interfere with that science or art. I decided that if I were going to make bread and wanted it to be gluten-free, it would be without flour.
I also wanted to create something with real nutritional value. Many breads act as fillers; I wanted to offer nourishment.
On craft and care
For me, it was always quality over price. The recipe stayed nearly identical throughout the years of Not Bread.
In the early days, I hand-shaped every loaf myself. My husband weighed and flipped each one. Thousands of loaves later, when we invited help into the process, it was surprisingly difficult to accept that the bread would no longer pass through our hands before going out into the world. Letting go was part of the work.
On community
Our farmers market customers in Bend and Sisters would return week after week for their loaves, thanking us for changing their lives. Every time, it reminded us that we were doing the right thing.
That joy erased the exhaustion. It dried the sweat and wiped the tears. The market staff were always supportive and welcoming — we felt hugged and held. Thinking about those days still brings tears to my eyes.
On watching the transition to Good Friend
Watching the brand become Good Friend feels a bit like watching a child grow up. You have to let them go. Either they’ll resemble you, or they’ll become something entirely their own — and both are okay.
Resisting change goes against nature. Nothing truly belongs to us. If we hold on too tightly, we don’t allow evolution to happen.
I’m curious to see what Good Friend discovers that I didn’t.
On what she hopes carries forward
Purity.
Integrity.
Simplicity.
On the most important lesson
To care for my people.
To trust myself.
To stay grounded and hold a vision forward.
You don’t need a million good ideas. Just one — when it’s the right one.
On what’s next
Not Bread is still a delicacy in my life. I don’t bake as often as I used to, but when I do, I enjoy it deeply. I plan to bake small batches for my community in France—keeping it local, intimate, and human.
If it reaches ten people, that’s enough.
Success isn’t measured in numbers anymore.
It’s measured in love.
Not Bread stays with you.
It keeps you full—for hours.
Welcome, Good Friend.
