Andy Huse
Copeland More shrugs when asked how he got into the family bakery business. "It must be in our blood."
But that makes his occupation seem a matter of fate. Real life was much more unpredictable.
No one thought he would wind up running La Segunda Central Bakery.
Copeland's great-grandfather Juan More brought his Cuban bread recipe to Tampa sometime around 1900. He also brought the practice of rolling out yard-long loaves split on the top with strips of palmetto leaf. He joined a baking cooperative in Ybor City and bought one of its locations, La Segunda Central, in 1915.
Juan sold bread to the small Columbia Café down the street, and his descendants still do, supplying all of their locations. Grandsons Tony and Raymond More created stable and delicious frozen Cuban bread in 1996, halving the size to 18 inches for easier shipping. Those innovations allowed their product to be shipped by distribution companies, including the food giant Sysco.
In 2008, Copeland was working in real estate finance when the housing bubble burst. At the same time, his uncle Raymond was edging toward retirement from the bakery. Taking a look at the ledgers, Copeland saw signs of promise, but balked at the meager $500 marketing budget. The business had "a small feel" with great potential and he was intrigued.
"Don't do it," his father Tony insisted. "It's 24-7." But Copeland was undeterred and kept asking questions. "You're nuts," came his father's reply. "You're gambling that we're going to make it work." In 2009, convincing his father that he was earnest (if insane), Copeland joined La Segunda and they bought out Raymond.
La Segunda's Cuban bread is superior, with a thin crust and soft, fluffy interior. Copeland attributes its success to several factors, beginning with his great-grandfather's recipe. The strips of palmetto leaf do not provide flavor, but help split the bread on top and give the loaves their iconic appearance. (In the days of less consistent wood-burning ovens, the leaf would also give the bakers a visual cue for doneness.) Before baking, the loaves are fanned with warm air beside the ovens, drying the exterior and making that thin, crispy crust possible.
But what really sets La Segunda apart from the other Cuban bakeries is that every loaf is cooked directly in the hearth, its high temperature imparting superior flavor and crust. To speed production, most other bakeries cook on pans in bulk, which turns out a softer, less dynamic bread. "Those are just hoagies," Copeland scoffs, saying they lack the flavor and texture of La Segunda's bread.
While Copeland cannot improve upon his family's Cuban bread, he and his father have nudged the business forward. They commissioned a website. They bought an overhead dough proofer to double production to more than 28,000 loaves daily in three shifts. They are thinking about a retail presence or café elsewhere in the city. There's even talk about developing a frozen guava pastry for the Columbia. (Their pastries and sweets are impressive. Just try an almond crescent.)
The bakery provides some headaches, too, especially when machinery breaks down. The City of Tampa and the Barrio Latino Commission make any kind of expansion next to impossible. Gazing at the deteriorating neighborhood around La Segunda, Tony wonders what the bureaucrats are trying to preserve; he sees only oaks, rotting "historic" residences, codes and regulations.
But Copeland doesn't mind the headaches. "I really love this," he says. "Ask my wife, I'm so much happier when I get home." He loves working with his father and extended bakery family, many of whom he grew up with.
Most of all, More looks forward to earning some respect for hearth-baked Cuban bread. "There's a lot more to teach the rest of the country," he muses.
