Bread of the Fenua: a bakerytaking roots
- Nov 8, 2025
- 5 min read
Established as a baker in Raiatea since 2020, Benoît Babinger is driven by a mission : to delight his fellow islanders with breads that offer real nutritional value. After all, isn’t eating well one of life’s basic necessities? With this in mind, the artisan baker has turned to local flours—whole grain and ultra-fresh.
© Texte Text : Gaëlle Poyade - Photos : Jean-Marie Gravot
Wholesome and satisfying—that’s the spirit of Pain du fenua
Hearty and wholesome—that’s the spirit of Pain du Fenua’s menu. On one side of the counter, baskets overflow with rustic sourdough loaves, country-style breads, and sunflower seed boules—perfect for lovers of old-fashioned bread, all naturally leavened. Alongside them, a variety of specialty breads await: molded almond-hazelnut-raisin loaves, taro loaves, and even ones made with māpē (Tahitian chestnut). On the other side, the selection satisfies smaller cravings with single-serve or family-sized brioches studded with generous chunks of chocolate, and a “grab-and-go” selection of soft rolls, fougasses (focaccias syle), and burger buns.
To “multiply the loaves,” Benoît draws on twenty years of experience. In his Avera-based workshop, the artisan baker works with focused multitasking precision: weighing ingredients, kneading dough to the right consistency, monitoring fermentation, shaping loaves, baking, and watching over every stage of the process. Whether dusting his work surface with a cloud of flour or brushing off the excess from shaped dough, this meticulous baker moves with calm, confident gestures that lend his craft a distinctive soul.
This meticulous baker moves with calm, confident gestures
The changing face of baking
“I work the old-fashioned way, in direct fermentation,” says Benoît. “That means I follow through the entire process in one stretch, from mixing the dough to baking the bread, from 7 a.m. to 2 p.m.” This solitary approach allows him to sell his creations himself, every other morning at the Uturoa market. “Most bakeries today use an indirect fermentation with a cold-proofing system,” he explains. “During the day, bakers make the dough and let it rise briefly before refrigerating it to halt fermentation. Overnight, the fridge becomes a proofing chamber, allowing fermentation to resume. and by dawn, all that’s left is baking the bread and stocking the shelves.”
“During the day, the bakers prepare the dough, let it rise, then place it in the fridge to halt fermentation. Overnight, the fridge becomes a proofing chamber, allowing fermentation to resume. At dawn, the workers simply bake the bread and stock it in the shop.”
The promise of local flours
’Uru (breadfruit), taro, māpē (tahitian chestnut), coconut, bananas… Many staple crops can be turned into flour, expanding the possibilities of local cuisine. When processed locally and by hand, these flours are whole grain and, of course, ultra-fresh. Additionally, at a time when more and more people are developing gluten sensitivities or even allergies, these naturally gluten-free flours offer an appealing health-conscious alternative.
I work the old-fashioned way, in direct fermentation
For all these reasons, Benoît Babinger—who has already experimented with mixed taro-wheat and māpē-wheat loaves—has taken a keen interest in made in fenua flours. He soon learned about the taro farming and processing work of Mirna Tuheiava, a farmer based in southern Raiatea. She sells her taro peeled, sliced, and frozen in stores. However, to avoid wasting the smaller pieces left over during slicing, she came up with the idea of turning them into flour.
Partnering with an organic farmer
United by shared values—organic farming, zero waste, and local products—the baker and the farmer launched a fruitful collaboration in 2023. Taro scraps are dried, either with a dehydrator or under the sun, then ground into fine flour using a grain mill. “We’ll also be making ‘uru flour together,” adds Benoît, noting that Mirna has planted a full orchard. “That way, we won’t be affected by seasonal shortages. As for māpē flour, I’m still looking for a supplier who can sell me raw, peeled fruit—unlike the usual cooked ones.”
Reinventing recipes
Motivated and curious, the artisan baker has begun experimenting—for example, using banana flour he made himself. His taro-only crêpes (pancakes), made entirely with taro flour, have already earned the family’s stamp of approval! When it comes to bread, incorporating these new flours is a gradual process. Without gluten, dough behaves differently and requires special handling. “You have to find the right balance between these local flours, blending each one in just the right proportion to produce bread that’s flavorful, soft, and crisp,” he explains. “Through trial and error, I’m hoping to land on a recipe made entirely from Polynesian ingredients.”
Craft and commerce: a mismatched couple
To fully realize this goal, the cost of local flour needs to come down significantly. Without professional equipment, peeling taro or breadfruit by hand is a long, labor-intensive task that results in taro flour costing around 2,800 francs per kilo1 (about 23 USD/kg). There’s still a long road ahead before affordable, Raiatea-made flour becomes a reality—but the resolve is there. Aligned with current public policy aimed at food self-sufficiency, targeted support measures would be welcome to encourage the civic-minded efforts of this baker-farmer duo.
Safeguarding against shortages
Most bakery ingredients are not produced locally, making bread highly dependent on imports. “In November 2024, bakers using government-subsidized wheat flour (PPN)2 had to cut back production due to supply issues. Delivery quotas were imposed,” says Benoît. Local flours could not only break this dependency but also guarantee freshness. “Because we’re so isolated, wheat flour takes two months to arrive by boat,” he points out, “and it’s often oxidized by the time it gets here. I have to blend it to improve the texture.”
To avoid shortages of other ingredients—nuts, hazelnuts, chocolate, sunflower seeds—Benoît is considering local alternatives. “I’m particularly interested in the Navelle nut3,” he shares. “But there’s no established market for it, so I have to hunt down tree owners willing to sell them to me, already shelled and dried.”
Among all flours, only wheat flour is listed as a product of first necessity (PPN).
PPN: Produits de Première Nécessité, or essential goods.
The Navelle (also called velle or navelée) is an edible almond produced by Barringtonia edulis, a tree native to Fiji and Vanuatu and quite rare in Tahiti. A cousin of the Tahitian “hotu” (Barringtonia asiatica), the nut must be shelled and smoked to extend its shelf life, as the fresh kernels spoil within weeks. (Source: Tahiti Héritage)
