In the late '70s, Parisian baker Lionel Poilane was the toast of the town.

He'd opened a second bakery near the Eiffel Tower to feed the rising demand for his breads.

That still wasn't enough. Street traffic stretched down the block, and restaurants and grocery stores clamored for more.

Poilane fired up seven ovens at a family farm in suburban Paris to increase his output. Each day, the 1,000 loaves sold like hot cakes.

Industrializing the baking process was an obvious business solution. But the idea of a bread factory turned Poilane's stomach. He flatly refused.

"It's important in business to be able to say no when you feel like saying yes would mean losing your soul," he told Fast Company, the business magazine.

So Poilane built a $4 million "manufactory" — not a factory, he insisted, because his breads would still be made by hand, just on a large scale.

A staunch purist, Poilane intentionally designed the facility to feel like the old world. His secret ingredient was what he called retro-innovation — mixing his beloved, traditional methods with selected, modern technologies.

His bakers might measure water from old-fashioned buckets rather than faucets, but his dough was kneaded by machine, saving countless man-hours.

The firm's output rose by 6,000 loaves per day in what he called quasi-industrial style. Poilane couldn't have been prouder.

"This is a modern installation, but it is essentially handwork that we do here," he told Smithsonian magazine. "The hand is the finest tool of all. It is infinitely more sophisticated than any robot. If there is any secret to Poilane bread, it is in the magic of the hand."

Big Name

Before his death at age 57 in a 2002 helicopter crash, Poilane worked his magic on the bread industry. His became the only bread in France known by the baker's surname.

Poilane's annual sales were $15 million in 2001, growing to $18.2 million and 10,000 loaves a day in 2006.

Poilane's daughter, Apollonia, leads the 150-employee company. She told IBD her father was always passionate about baking and taught her "to look at your business under different lenses to get a better understanding of things."

To Poilane, bread was life. To loyal fans — including superstars Robert De Niro, Lauren Bacall and Steven Spielberg — Poilane's bread was a slice of French heaven. Legend has it that Frank Sinatra regularly had a loaf sent wherever he was eating breakfast.

Anyone can indulge in Poilane bread, for a price. The top-selling, 4-pound, steering-wheel-sized sourdough loaf costs about $35.

The hefty price tag doesn't deter far-flung customers. Currently 20% of the company's output is shipped abroad and arrives at dining tables within 48 hours of leaving the company's ovens.

The operation's scope would have been hard to fathom for a teenage Poilane. The reluctant apprentice was forced to learn the basics of dough from his dad, Pierre, who opened the bakery in 1932 in Paris' Saint-German-des-Pres area.

The elder Poilane was a native of Normandy and a lover of the region's traditional sourdough loaf, which he insisted was superior to the ubiquitous baguette — he baked those only grudgingly.

After Lionel reluctantly learned to bake, he grew to love the business and its products. The first thing he did when he took over the bakery from his ailing father in 1965 was stop making the long, white loaf synonymous with French culture.

It was time to educate his countrymen, Poilane decided. First of all, he explained, the baguette isn't even true French fare. It originated in Austria and turned chic only after World War II.

"It became the rich bread. It was new, and it represented freedom, even though it wasn't really French," Poilane told Fast Company. "What Parisians had been eating until then was the traditional round sourdough loaf — the kind we make."

In the early 1980s, Poilane delved into the roots of his industry by conducting an "ethnology" of French bread. With the help of two students, Poilane spent two years contacting the oldest bakers in the country to document their secrets.

Along the way, Poilane sampled 75 breads he'd never tasted and wrote a book, "Le Guide de L'amateur de Pain" (the bread lover's guide), still used in baking schools today.

His real prize was gaining the knowledge he needed to refine his father's beloved sourdough into what Poilane considered the quintessential French bread.

"There are many ways to solve a problem. In baking, people are always looking for the new bread. But it exists already," he told Fast Company. "Using old ways is a glorious way to make new things. The man with the best future is the one with the longest memory."

In "Good Bread Is Back," historian Steven Kaplan described Poilane's masterpiece as simple, delicious and famous:

"Fleshy, tender, with a taste that lingers in the mouth, bursting with odors of spices and hazelnut, Poilane's miche (round loaf) is known throughout the world."

The miche might be the company's trademark, but Poilane also perfected rye, walnut and currant raisin breads as well as butter cookies. In each product decision, Poilane was painstakingly selective. "If you start to make too many things, that's extension," Poilane told Fast Company. "My motto is: Do things with intention, not with extension."

In June 2000, Poilane again expanded with a second manufactory in London. No wood-burning oven had been allowed in the city since the Great Fire of 1666 — until the great Poilane asked.

His manufactory contained 24 wood-burning ovens identical to the Poilane family bakery's original 100-ton version. Esthetics — from the wicker baskets where his dough rested to the parklike setting surrounding the building — were crucial to Poilane's sensibilities.

Long-time friend Salvador Dali recognized the artist inside the famous baker. Dali insisted Poilane was in truth an artist who also baked. Poilane argued he was a baker with an artistic mind-set.

"In some ways every businessman needs to know how to be an artist," he told Fast Company. "It's crucial when you're leading a project."

Poilane considered sites for additional manufactories, but ultimately decided he needed to stay close to his ovens. "I can get on a train in Paris and be in London in three hours," he said. "But I'm not eager to have a business card that says 'Paris, London, New York' on it."

Tragic End

Poilane was at the controls of his helicopter on Oct. 31, 2002, when it crashed into the English Channel just 500 yards off the French coast. He and his wife, Irena, were traveling to their chateau in Brittany for a weekend holiday that foggy day.

All Poilane dreamed about as a "bitter boy" stuck in the bakery basement was getting out into the world. Thanks to his life's work, Poilane did just that — eventually becoming a sought-after French icon.

Poilane celebrated the irony. He once collaborated with Dali on crafting a bird cage out of bread.

"The bird could eat its way out of the cage," Poilane said. "That was very real to me. As an apprentice I too felt like a bird in a cage made out of bread. I just fed on my limits."

BY SONJA CARBERRY