Our story

Named for a baker and a jar of living dough.

Behind every loaf is Rosie Hale — head baker, early riser, and the reason this neighbourhood bakery exists. Here’s her story, and the culture she still feeds every morning.

Rosie Hale, head baker at Rosie & Bean, smiling at her flour-dusted workbench

Meet the baker

Rosie Hale

Founder · head baker · keeper of Bean

Rosie grew up in a house where bread meant company — Sunday loaves cooling on tea towels, neighbours dropping by “just for a slice.” After years on restaurant lines in Portland, she craved something slower: dough that asked for patience instead of tickets flying off a rail.

In 2019 she mixed flour and water in a salvaged jam jar on a sunny sill in her SE kitchen. The culture that took hold — lively, tangy, stubborn in the best way — she named Bean, after the way it woke up every morning like a second cup of coffee. What started as loaves for friends turned into a subscription list, then a pop-up, then a lease on Division Street.

Today Rosie is still first in the door before five. She shapes the country loaves, guards the rye formula like a family recipe (because it is one now), and believes good bread belongs on every table — not just special occasions.

“We didn’t set out to open a bakery. We just ran out of fridge space for all the bread the neighbours wanted.”

Glass jar of bubbly sourdough starter on a wooden bakery shelf

The other Bean

A starter with a name

Bean the culture is still with us — fed daily, never rushed, never swapped for commercial yeast. Every country loaf that leaves the oven carries a piece of that same jar from 2019.

The flavour is Portland in a crust: mild acidity, deep wheat, a long finish. Rosie will tell you the starter does half the work. Regulars will tell you she does the rest before sunrise.

Flour-dusted hands shaping a round of sourdough dough on a wooden bench

The craft

Slow is the whole point

We mix by hand, fold through the day, and cold-proof overnight so the dough develops character while Rosie sleeps a few short hours. Mornings mean shaping, scoring, and loading the deck oven while Division is still quiet.

Pastry gets the same patience — butter laminated in cool kitchen air, dough rested between folds, bakes timed so the case is full when we unlock the door at seven. Nothing is trucked in frozen.

Also in the kitchen

Beatrice “Bean” Okonkwo

Co-founder · pastry & front of house

Rosie’s partner in the bakery runs laminated doughs, seasonal sweets, and the counter with the kind of warmth that makes regulars linger. And yes — she’s also called Bean. The starter came first; the nickname stuck later, and neither of them would have it any other way.

Beatrice is the one who knows your usual order by the second visit, insists you take an extra sticky bun “for later,” and keeps the pastry case looking like a still life. Together she and Rosie keep the bakery small on purpose — open kitchen, short counter, bread for the neighbourhood first.

If the door chime rings and someone laughs from the counter, that’s almost always Beatrice.

Beatrice “Bean” Okonkwo, co-founder and pastry baker at Rosie & Bean, smiling at the counter

On Division

From kitchen counter to storefront

After years of pop-ups and a devoted subscription loaf list, we signed a lease on SE Division in 2023. The space is small on purpose — open kitchen, short counter, a few seats by the window for people who treat a morning pastry like a ritual.

We’re still a neighbourhood bakery first. Wholesale for a handful of cafés, the occasional catering tray, and a lot of “can you hold a loaf for me Saturday?” notes on the counter. That’s the work we love.

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Rosie & Bean storefront on a leafy Portland street