My first loaf

Another thing I inherited from Grandma—along with a deep appreciation for the warmth and sense of security that can happen in the family kitchen—was humility about my cooking and a certain dread that trying something new probably just won’t be as good as you’d hoped. “Oh, it’s not as good as…trails off…” always led to “Oh, it’s fine,” from my mom or another daughter-in-law. As the offspring of Scotch-Irish Presbyterians and Norwegian Lutherans, I ask forgiveness for these feelings.

Sitting here now as my first loaf of yeast bread (see earlier post) cools on the rack so I can have a buttered slice for breakfast, I feel a little silly for worrying about how it’s going to turn out, self-satisfied for having taken the plunge, and excited about the variations to come. That unmistakable smell of freshly-baked bread wafts down to me in my office from the kitchen. Is it time? What should I have on my first slice? Just butter. How long do I need to wait? Too long.

What did I learn? First, even though I took a risk and studied instructions from several different recipes to design my process, everything seems to have worked out. I mean, we’re talking bread here. More bread has been made by simple, un-schooled home bakers than all the commercial loaves put together, right? How hard can it be? Apparently, not that hard, as long as certain basic requirements are met:

• Use high quality, fresh ingredients.
• Follow the steps exactly until you understand how far you can go in improvising.

That’s about it. Here’s the recipe I ended up with. I’m posting this only after enjoying that first slice!