Stuff of Life

An early memory is eating a fresh made roll. Well, not exactly eating. I sucked all the melted butter off the top and then offered the rest to my brother.

I also remember my fresh bread rhapsodies, and my mom saying “man cannot live by bread alone” with exasperated amusement.

I can pinpoint the exact smell of bread baking. Even as a teenager, it was the happiest smell as we came back into the house. It was ordinary and special at the same time.

I didn’t know how I missed it, until on Valentine’s Day I found the recipe and sent various pictures to mom as I baked. “Is this right?”

Yeast and I have always had a troubled relationship, but there is nothing (it seems) that fridge bubbling and a hot oven can’t fix. A loaf, is the most sacred thing you can share, and Wesley and I ate it that night with a whole stick of butter.

Bread is timeless and magical. Comfort, beauty and love.

And so tradition continues.

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