Their pastries are now available at various locations, and we visited them to hear from their longest-serving member about her desire to share this love through each linzer or layered cake.

“Everyone who has gotten to know us and tasted our pastries speaks highly of them. There's no greater recognition for me than when the pastry I made is all gone. That’s the best compliment. Here, behind the Roma settlement, we, Roma women, have shown that we work honorably and diligently, and you can count on us day and night.”

We are on the edge of a segregated Roma settlement in the Tabán district of Monor, at the Hungarian Maltese Charity Service's Sure Start Children's House, present here since 2004. Upon entering, we're greeted by the sight of wide-eyed children absorbed in various toys, but the pervasive scent of baking quickly captures our attention.

The delightful smells owe their thanks to four diligent Monor women, who, in a space that once served as a storage area and summer kitchen, tirelessly create an array of delicacies. Here at the Acceptance Bakery, it's hard at first glance to count the number of pastries being made. After shedding our coats, we immediately become test subjects for a punch slice, among other pastries, the total count of which we'll discreetly omit to avoid unsettling dieticians.

These introductory sentences come from Oláh Józsefné, known affectionately as Joli, who is 62 this year. Yet, she's always on the move, pausing only briefly to share the story of the bakery's inception, accompanied by the constant whir of an electric mixer in the background.

She previously worked at a local education center, occasionally baking for the children. Later, alongside the leader of the Maltese charity's local Presence program, she watched documentaries about successful businesses - one about a tailor's shop, and another about a confectionery. They visited both, ultimately everyone voted for the confectionery.

Initially, they baked in the education center's small kitchen and then in a preceding location, under far from ideal conditions - one of the gas stoves had to be propped up with a rolling pin. Later, funding was raised through a grant application and a charity event, allowing them to unite two rear rooms and purchase necessary equipment from a closed confectionery school.

"The locals knew us; they knew we could bake. Initially, they thought they would come in and we'd just give away the pastries," Joli shares, amid discussions of where to deliver their next batch of sweets. Their pastries are now available at the Fény Street Market, in a Kelenföld shop, on the shelves of a packaging-free store in Gyömrő, and in the Monor bookstore.

Cheese sticks, scones, linzer, cookies, honey cream, and six-layer cakes are among their favorite pastries. Tasks aren't pre-assigned; everyone does everything, yet, with all four present, they instinctively know who prefers what task.

For Joli, the love of baking didn't start recently: raising four children with a sweet tooth soon led her to bake extensively. "No matter what I bought from the store, it was gone by evening." She learned to bake on her own, guided by determination. While she didn’t initially write down recipes, now she must, at least for orders.

"I like to say, 'I can't bake, I just love to.' The knowledge isn't with me; I'm not formally trained. Those with diplomas know. I just love. And you can only do it if you love it. The pastry reflects the baker's mood and state. If I'm nervous, it's better to calm down first, or a whole batch might be ruined. No matter how skilled one is, without love, it's not the same."

How she transitioned from the education center to the bakery? She saw the opportunity. She was joined by Újvári Jánosné, or Kati, who prefers working quietly in the back on a coconut roll. Currently, the team is completed by Kitti and Szilvi, who joined as pastry assistant trainees after a course.

Szilvi, responding to her life before the pastry course, said, "I was at home, a mother." She always knew and loved to bake, and when an additional person was sought for the training, she suggested her niece Kitti. Both passed with top marks two years ago. "Initially we just helped, then we stayed." They are now full staff members of the bakery.

But to return to Joli's journey. She has been with the Maltese for twenty years, having worked in public labor and forestry, where she also earned a park construction and maintenance certification - with distinction. "I was always told I would work even in retirement because I can't sit still."

Even illness can't keep her from her work, so ingrained is her need to bake. "I tried to open the fridge and collapsed. It was sudden, I didn’t feel the exhaustion, and my legs gave out."

There's no idleness in the bakery, but Joli feels this is her calling. Officially, work hours are from eight till four, but if something is still baking, they can't just leave. Sometimes they're here till eight in the evening, and if orders require, they come in on Saturdays or Sundays too.

Her family has accepted her new job, although initially, they lamented her absence at home. “Now the grandchildren are the ones who ask, ‘Grandma, you're bringing pastry, right?’ Always sharing their desires, and if there's something left, she brings it to them. ‘But you’ll bring them, right, grandma?’ they’ll sometimes anxiously ask.”

The bakery team considers themselves a family. "We eat together, laugh together, never argue or hurt each other, maybe just tease. If someone is sick or down, we try to cheer them up. This is our second home. Visitors call this a haven of peace. Often, people can't believe how quiet we are here. But we're working, what else would we do? Everything is done strictly by hand, even though there are machines available. ‘It's harder to get the dough out, you have to bend over, and you can't just remove the bowl. We figure by the time we clean it, we might as well have done it by hand. If we miss something, we realize because the dough feels different in a machine. Our hands might hurt, but it's different this way. Truly, our heart and soul are in it,'” Joli emphasizes. They once hand-kneaded twenty kilograms of cheese sticks.

The name Acceptance Bakery was chosen collectively, based on their own experiences of discrimination. "At first, people at the market wouldn't buy from us. I cried, wondering what was wrong with us. But then people came to realize that these are delicious because our hearts are baked into them. Not because of preservatives."

Since then, they've become well-known. “Wherever I go, people hug and kiss me,” Joli says proudly. She recognizes no difference between people, accepting everyone equally who comes into the bakery, including representatives, American guests, and even a bus full of visitors. "I kneaded thirty kilograms of flour that day, sweating profusely. I don't even know how many flatbreads I made. Only a tiny piece was left for me to try, but even that was taken from my hand."

Joli believes one shouldn't judge by appearance, as we cannot choose our birth. She considers herself as Hungarian as anyone else and is proud of her Roma heritage. She reflects, "My whole life, I've worked hard, raised four boys honorably. There's never been a complaint against me. If I say I'll do something, there's no chance I won't. I never say no. That's also a problem. One colleague even calls me Mother Teresa because I'm always the first to help with anything."

She's not intimidated by politicians either, willing to share her experiences over the years. "My husband says I must have been a nun or a shaman in a past life. Or a witch." There was a time they wanted her to study social work, as she already knew the practice and just needed to learn the theory. But, she had to work, with four children who needed feeding.

She also worked at a court, where a judge told her, "Joli, don't be upset by what I'm saying, but you changed my attitude towards the Roma."

"And Joli is proud. She insists that to be ashamed of her heritage would mean being ashamed of her parents, which she certainly isn’t.

Though her childhood was challenging, it has fueled her strength. “We suffered a lot as children. I practically grew up without a mother, raised by my sister. I was five the first time I saw my mother. She didn't love me. I don't know why. But I resolved that my children would never go through that."

Her children and grandchildren have become very affectionate. “The moment I step through the door, they call out to me. One of my grandsons quarrels with his grandfather, claiming, ‘The grandma is mine.’ My husband even said, ‘You only love your children.’ To which I replied that my children come first, and he is second.”

Her mother has passed away, carrying with her the unresolved grievances of Joli's childhood.

But Joli's capacity for love remains undiminished. "As long as I live, my love won't run out. Not just for pastries, but for people too."