85°C

About this location

A few stories people tell about this place

1. It was an unseasonably warm November morning when a delivery driver pulled up to the quaint 85°C bakery in Portland. As he stepped out of his truck, he noticed something peculiar—an old lady sitting on the bench outside, humming softly and counting crumbs. The delivery driver approached curiously. ‘Excuse me,’ he said gently, ‘are you waiting for someone?’ She looked up with twinkling eyes and replied, ‘Waiting for my daily treat from your lovely shop.’ Just then, a neighbor walked by and whispered, ‘She does that every day—sits here, counts crumbs, and waits for her coffee cake.’ The driver smiled, shook his head, and thought, ‘Welcome to Portland, I guess.’

2. It was a snowy December afternoon when a delivery driver pulled up to 85°C with something unusual in hand. The bakery’s regulars watched curiously as he approached the counter, whispering among themselves about what strange treat might be inside. As he opened the package, everyone saw a giant marshmallow bunny—completely covered in chocolate and wrapped in holiday paper. Turned out it was a neighbor's prank gift for the staff, meant to brighten their day during winter. Since then, whenever it's cold outside, someone leaves an unexpected treat at the door of 85°C.

3. At dawn one foggy October morning, a delivery driver pulled up to 85°C and noticed something odd—a faint scent of freshly baked bread mixed with the aroma of brewing coffee seemed to be coming from inside the neighboring apartment building. Curious, he tiptoed over and peered through the window, seeing an elderly neighbor humming softly as she prepared fresh pastries. Turns out, the delicious smell had been hers all along—not 85°C’s—but no one ever doubted the bakery’s charm again.

4. At dusk one autumn evening, a neighbor noticed something peculiar outside 85°C bakery: why were all the clocks inside running backwards? Curious, the neighbor peered in further and saw an elderly baker adjusting his glasses with a perplexed smile. ‘Ah,’ he said softly, ‘the clocks are simply marking the time it takes for our bread to rise twice as fast.’ The neighbor left, shaking his head but grinning, wondering if everyone else had noticed—or cared—that time moved differently within 85°C.