Bread
When Bunny was a newborn and I suddenly found myself homebound, I coped by baking. For months. That Christmas everyone received loaves of bread—sandwich bread, cheese bread, chocolate twister bread, challah—or pies. Apple, chocolate-peanut butter, apricot chiffon.
I think some people fought the baby blues with anti-depressants. I fought them with yeast, honey, and dough. And kneading. Plenty of kneading.
Last week I make these babies. One in a loaf pan, one was hand-formed and baked in a cast iron dutch oven (like no-knead bread).
I'm a fan of bread recipes that call for flour by the pound, not the cup. And fresh yeast. And I'm also a believer in the triple-rise: once in a large, oiled bowl, punch it down, let it rise again. Slap it in a pan (or form) and let it rise for a third time. Then bake. I think it makes for light-yet-chewy everyday loaf that feels like a loaf of bread and not like a brick.
Bread is a hot topic on the blogs. And rightly so. Among other more esoteric reasons to love baking bread, what other food yields so much satisfaction for all the effort you put into it?
























