This narrative recounts a conversation with Tolgay Karabulut, the 43-year-old entrepreneur behind BaklavaStory, a unique baklava bakery located in San Francisco. It has been condensed for brevity and clarity.
For the past five years, I've passionately operated my baklava bakery, yet the rising financial strain of living in San Francisco makes me question my long-term sustainability in this venture.
Originally from Turkey, I relocated to the United States in 2005 at the age of 21. My first job was as a lifeguard at a water park in New Jersey. During that period, I visited California for a month and decided that I wanted to move there permanently.
Entrepreneurship has always been a part of me. I dabbled in various businesses, including reselling toys from China and managing small kiosks in shopping malls. When Silicon Valley began to thrive in the 2010s, my friend and I subleased office spaces to startups.
Despite my entrepreneurial background, my true desire was to venture into the food industry. Having dined in restaurants across the globe, I yearned to start my own food business.
In 2022, I finally launched BaklavaStory, focusing exclusively on baklava—a rich pastry created with layers of filo dough, nuts, and syrup. I poured my life's savings into the endeavor, borrowing an additional $300,000 from friends to get it off the ground.
Initially, skeptics doubted that baklava would succeed in San Francisco, claiming it was too sweet for local tastes. I told them, “As the chef, I’ll adjust the sweetness to suit our customers.”
I dedicate my days to perfecting this singular dessert. My routine begins at 5:40 a.m. each day, Monday through Saturday. I live just a short ten-minute drive from my bakery. Upon arrival, it’s usually only me and one team member preparing the filo dough.
By 8 a.m., the rest of my team joins to help with the fillings, which include freshly ground pistachios and walnuts. We aim to have our first tray ready for the oven by 8:30 a.m., pulling it out just in time for our 9:30 a.m. opening.
My commitment to stay true to one product—baklava—ensures its freshness throughout the day. The pistachios are sourced directly from Turkey, as I believe they are the finest available.
To provide customers with the freshest pastries, we bake a new batch approximately every 20 minutes in my 100-square-foot kitchen. The team typically completes about 50 to 60 trays by 2 p.m. After they leave, I continue the baking because I can’t afford to keep the entire team on for longer hours. I’ll keep preparing until we close at 6 p.m. By then, I’m usually exhausted and fall asleep shortly after returning home.
Labor costs present my greatest hurdle. The expense of skilled staff in California weighs heavily on my finances, particularly since our process is entirely manual, with no machines involved.
I’m fortunate to have a dedicated seven-member team, and I strive to ensure they feel supported. One way I foster a positive work environment is by preparing lunch for them daily. Our meals frequently consist of dishes like eggs and tomatoes or mac and cheese, with bulk purchases from Costco—frozen pizzas are a favorite, costing as little as $20 to feed everyone.
The increasing wealth in the AI sector has made life in San Francisco increasingly unaffordable for small business owners like myself. Financially, I’m in a tight spot; last year, I managed to take home about $40,000.
Currently, I share a rent-controlled apartment in Nob Hill, with my portion amounting to around $1,300 monthly, including utilities and internet. My storage space is minimal; I rely on a small drawer unit for clothing since my roommate occupies the closet.
Daily, I scour Facebook Marketplace in hopes of finding a one-bedroom apartment, but prices have skyrocketed, placing a solo living situation well out of my reach.
While my income growth is slow, I hear about substantial salaries in the AI industry—contracts worth $200,000 or more—which make my rent feel burdensome. For many in tech, living expenses seem trivial, while those of us running small businesses face a stark reality.
Despite my housing predicament, I’m rarely home, primarily using my space just for sleep. My main focus lies on expanding my business—not on having a comfortable living situation. I aspire to earn more, secure a larger kitchen, ramp up production, and eventually afford an apartment of my own.
What drives me forward is witnessing customers’ delight when they try my baklava. Their exclamations of, “Oh my God, this is amazing,” dispel my worries and motivate me to return to the kitchen.
I’ve even devised a unique eating method; I advise customers to eat the baklava upside down, so they savor the drier top layer first. It’s heartwarming when returning customers share this tip with their friends.
This baklava venture is rooted in my passion and heritage, and seeing it resonate with my community brings me joy. I may dream of a better life, but in many ways, I am living my dream.
