Traditional Newfoundland Bread

My mom made this bread every week. And if she didn’t, my grandma did. We called her Mudder. She always had dough on the go. Bread wasn’t a special occasion thing. It was just part of life.

And even now, every time I bake it, something about the smell, the feel of the dough, the first slice toasted with butter… it brings me straight back home.

This Isn’t Fancy Bread. That’s the Point.

If you’re expecting something artisanal or trendy, this isn’t it. There’s no scoring, no steam trays, no chasing open crumb or blistered crust. Newfoundland bread was never about showing off.

It was about feeding people.

This is soft, enriched white bread. It’s meant to be sliced. It’s meant to be toasted. It’s meant to hold peanut butter, jam, bologna, fried eggs, or whatever else was around. It’s meant to last a few days on the counter without going stale the minute you look at it.

And that’s why it stuck around.

Milk, butter, and a bit of sugar give it a tender crumb and a soft crust. Baking it in a pan keeps it even and predictable. Dividing the dough into pieces before baking gives you that pull-apart look that so many people recognize instantly, even if they’ve never put words to it.

It’s practical bread. Honest bread.

Why Newfoundland Bread Is the Way It Is

A lot of this comes down to where it was made and how people lived.

Newfoundland kitchens weren’t warm, perfectly controlled baking environments. Houses

were cooler. Flour quality varied. Yeast wasn’t always guaranteed. Sometimes it was commercial yeast, sometimes sourdough, sometimes whatever worked. So bread had to be forgiving.

This dough doesn’t need perfection. It doesn’t care if your measurements are off by a few grams. It doesn’t panic if the kitchen is cool. It doesn’t fall apart if you let it rise a bit longer than planned.

And that’s probably why so many families still make some version of it today.

A Quick Word on Sourdough

Most people make this bread with commercial yeast now, and that’s what I’m using here. It’s reliable and consistent.

But if you go back far enough, sourdough would have been common. Starters were kept going, shared, neglected, revived. Bread still got baked

That’s part of why I don’t get precious about this recipe. The structure matters, but there’s room to adapt. Every family had their own way, and none of them were wrong.

Why the Oven Temperature Is Lower

This is something people always ask about.

“350 seems low for bread.” For this bread, it’s right.

Because it’s enriched. Milk, sugar, and butter all help with browning. If you bake this too hot, the outside will colour fast while the inside is still catching up. You end up with a thicker crust and a drier loaf than you want.

At 350°F, everything cooks evenly. The crumb sets properly. The crust stays soft. You get bread that slices clean and toasts the way you expect.

If you’re baking one loaf, you can go a little hotter. Two loaves are happier at 350. Slow and steady works here.