Dugan spoke readily about the appeal of baking, mentioning everything from being able to see the city at dawn - he rises at 4 o'clock and drives in from Howard County - to the "spiritual rhythm" of the work.
"We try to bake as close to what they did a thousand years ago, and aside from using the bread dough machine, that is what we do."
"The best bakers," he said, "are people who have an artistic side, who see beauty in what they do. I do that all the time, pull a loaf out, and run around and show it to people and say, 'Look at that nice shine,' and they wonder what I am talking about."
Dugan is not without contradictions. He talks about the simplicity of bread making, yet admits that he is a stickler for details.
"I am a pain to work for, aren't I?" He asked Goltra. "Yes, you are," his assistant replied.
He loves to fish, and chose his Elkridge home in part because it was a short drive from a shop selling bass fishing supplies. Yet lately he has spent more time working on his bonsai trees than chasing small mouth bass. He works with flour, yet is allergic to grains. He copes by using a small fan to ventilate his work area and always carrying an inhaler.
But he is consistent in his belief that that bread is a living organism that reacts to Baltimore weather, that thrives in the yeasty breezes of this old port town and that can communicate with those willing to listen to it.
"Bread knows if you are in a bad mood," Dugan said, as he pulled open a freshly baked baguette. The crust was crisp, the interior or crumb was soft and composed of perfectly shaped, small bubbles.
"See those nice little bubbles?" Dugan said. "They are saying, 'I am very happy. I like what you are doing.' "
