Edwards Baker Jennifer Rose Teaches Sourdough Secrets in Sunday Dough Drops

Jennifer Rose is standing in her Edwards kitchen, flour dusting the air like snow off the Gore Range, teaching four neighbors how to coax life out of flour and water.

It’s not just about feeding the stomach. It’s about feeding the soul, or at least that’s what the marketing says. But for Rose, founder of Alpen Dough, it’s about survival. And community. And a little bit of stubbornness.

The sourdough boom didn’t start in Edwards. It started in lockdowns, in cramped apartments where people stared at jars of bubbling sludge and wondered if they were making bread or poison. The trend stuck. It moved from pandemic panic to TikTok obsession. Over 1.2 million posts now share "crumb shots" — those airy, open textures bakers prize. Even Taylor Swift has admitted to a "Sour Dough Era," baking loaves to share with famous friends.

Here’s the thing though: most of those people never learned to do it themselves. They bought the bread. They watched the videos. They didn’t touch the dough.

Rose wanted to change that.

“I typically change my menu bi-weekly and specialize in seasonal variations or fun combos,” Rose said. “Some of my customer favorites are my OG, which is plain sourdough that I offer every week, roasted Colorado green chili and gruyere, chive and white cheddar, French onion, and butter and Icelandic Black Sea salt.”

But selling loaves wasn’t enough. She wanted to teach.

“Sourdough can be intimidating. Looking back on my sourdough journey, there was a lot of mystery, confusion, trial and error, and a lot of loaves that didn’t turn out the way I hoped,” Rose said. “Over time, I figured out how to simplify the process and make it actually work in a real home kitchen, and that’s where these workshops come in. My goal is to take the mystery out of sourdough, help people understand the process, feel confident working with dough, and leave knowing they can actually do this at home.”

The workshops are limited to four people. Three hours. Hands-on. You feed the starter. You mix the dough. You shape the loaf. You bake one in class. You go home with the rest.

Rose got her start during a knee surgery recovery in August 2025. More time on her hands, less ability to move. She researched. She tested. She branded. She launched her first "Dough Drop" in October 2025, advertising via social media and Next Door. Now she has a loyal base for Sunday Dough Drops with Friday pick-ups.

She’s a certified cottage food baker. She has the certificate to prove it. She bakes at home. She delivers. She does porch pickup.

“It’s not just about the bread,” Rose said. “It’s about the connection. When you’re kneading dough, you’re thinking. You’re present. It’s hard to worry about the mortgage when you’re worrying about the hydration level.”

Not exactly a new idea. Monks did it. Farmers did it. But doing it in Edwards, in a valley where the air is thin and the water is hard, adds a layer of complexity. The locals know this. They’ve tried baking at home. They’ve failed. They’ve bought store-bought bread out of shame.

Rose is betting they’ll try again.

“We will feed a starter, mix dough, shape a loaf together, bake one in class and then the students will head home with,” she said, trailing off as if the rest is implied. You take the knowledge. You take the starter. You take the confidence.

The workshops are small. Intimate. Four people per session. No crowds. No noise. Just flour, water, salt, and time.

It’s a far cry from the industrial loaves you grab at King Soopers. It’s slower. It’s messier. It’s real.

And if you’re wondering why this matters to you, neighbors, think about the last time you bought a loaf of bread. Did you know what was in it? Did you know how long it took? Did you know who made it?

Rose is giving you the tools to answer those questions.

Outside, the sun dips behind the mountains. Inside, the ovens are cooling. The loaves are cooling. The students are wiping down counters, flour still under their fingernails.

One of them holds up a loaf. It’s not perfect. It’s not a TikTok masterpiece. It’s lopsided. It’s dense. It’s theirs.

And that’s enough.