I am a maker of bread. I have been for a long time. There is something in taking a thing as simple as flour, water, salt and a leavener, or not, that satisfies my being. Every week or so I mix dough, let it rise, bake and happily eat fresh, nourishing bread. I'm not being dramatic when I say bread has helped keep me sane during the two years of almost total isolation I have experienced. Bread and soup have fed my soul as well as my body.
2 comments:
There's a reason why they say bread is life. My bread skills extend only to focaccia and a stuffed bread that I learned from some of Jamie Oliver's early cookbooks. I even took a sourdough course and while my starter is still alive, I never really got the hang of it. I think it's because I don't know what to learn from my bread failures. I'd love to come and have a bread lesson.
I don't make sourdough. I have and I like it. I am not patient enough nor attentive enough to keep it going.
I sometimes make a yeast levain, which is a sourdough starter cheat. Everyone messes up one time or another with bread. Someday I'll get to Denmark and we can make bread.
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