One of the unfulfilled dreams I have currently is to bake bread. When I was growing up, there was this lovely old lady named Agnes, who made such delicious bread, that she would never give out her recipe. Agnes was another grandmother to me, who craved her good humor, friendly stories, and companionship. I was a child when I watched her pull the ingredients together and create a miracle. Every time I see the loaves of bread in the grocery store, I think of Agnes and her homemade bread. They are incomparable. The smell of baking bread is one of the most wonderful smells I’ve ever experienced.
My dream to bake bread is hampered by my knowledge. I was too young to recognize all of the ingredients, but I remember the taste of Agnes’ bread. That wonderful full taste, with just a hint of sweetness. It’s so easy to make excuses about not making bread…not enough time or not enough room. I’m done with that. I just need to learn how.
Do I want to use a bread machine? Or, like my mother, do I want to set the dough to rise, waiting to bake it myself? There’s something lost in the ease of bread making. That missing ingredient can only be called love.
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