The Native Iowan

I started baking bread again recently…

Recently I started baking bread again…

Baking is magical. Baking is alchemy. Baking is very cool. But baking bread, the addition of yeast is more, more magical, more special, more cool…

My memories are filled with that yeasty smell of magic in the oven. My grandmother’s hands always smelled of fresh bread. The hot kitchen was a nice place to be when Mom was baking. I can go back to the late 1950s, I am very small, the kitchen in the old farm house south of Knoxville was huge. Mom’s loaves of bread were bigger than my head. A slice was an event. Covered in butter and jam, a fresh slice was/is heaven.

I baked a couple small loaves last eve. I have dough in the refrigerator rising, ready and loaded.

The single loaf looks lonely by itself. Bread making in my world is normally more industrial. I’d normally make a number of loaves, not just one or two. But my world these days bread is a novelty, not a staple. I can do with less carbs. Eating a loaf of fresh bread not something I should be doing often… But it is sooo good…

And the world turns, the soul yearns, the planet burns…

And the beat goes on…

Wood not war…. Bread no bombs…

more later