I’ve been a little jealous of our daughter ever since she pulled a loaf of bread out of our oven that she had made—when she was about 14. The first clue about how she had spent her evening while Merle and I were away was when our dog met us at the door with a streak of flour from his nose to his tail.
Our daughter had no fear. She had unearthed a recipe—probably one that I had used to produce a flat brick of bread. But in her hands, the same recipe had turned into a springy, yeasty wonder.
I am still intimidated by a recipe requiring yeast and kneading. Once I went to Merle’s mother for a bread-baking lesson. She patiently invited me to “Feel this. This feels right.” But tell me how you remember that feeling. . .
Well, anyway, this daughter of ours stuck her hands in bread dough week after week on the Amish farm where she spent summer days when she was a little kid and Merle and I were both working. And she discovered that one way or another, a once-sticky mound of dough is nothing to fear.
She’s offered me bread-making lessons. I’m ready—as soon as I’ve got time—and enough space in my head.
If you’re a bread-baker and want some companionship, try visiting this site:
Or if you’re a bread-baking beginner and need a little propping up, go there, too.