There\u2019s nothing quite so homey as the smell of baking bread.<\/p>\n
I know. I\u2019ve been baking bread as long as I can remember.<\/p>\n
Yes, now there are bread machines, but I can\u2019t imagine using one. For me, a loaf of bread is more than flour, yeast and water. It\u2019s what\u2019s kept my family going for generations. It has truly been the staff of life.<\/p>\n
One of my earliest memories is watching my grandmother bake bread in her old-fashioned kitchen in a fishing village in the frozen north of Canada. She had a wood-fired stove. I sat in the warmth sipping a tiny cup of tea Grandmother made me.<\/p>\n
She stood at the counter kneading dough and telling stories of her childhood. Her mother died in childbirth. Grandmother helped take care of her siblings. She had to learn to bake bread when she was a girl. The family couldn\u2019t afford store-bought. She\u2019d been baking so long I\u2019m sure she could\u2019ve done it blindfolded. She glided around the kitchen like a dancer, every move seeming effortless. It was only when she opened the stove to tend the fire that I saw baking bread was work as well as art.<\/p>\n
A blast of heat whooshed out and Grandmother\u2019s face flushed in a single triangle-shaped spot on her forehead. I always watched for that spot. It was a sign of the effort\u2014and the love\u2014that went into her bread.<\/p>\n
Grandmother taught my mom to bake bread and Mom continued the tradition. Our kitchen didn\u2019t look like Grandmother\u2019s. It was modern, with pine cabinets, shiny counters with metal trim and a wall-mounted oven. But whenever Mom baked bread, it felt like northern Canada. Just like Grandmother, Mom told stories of her childhood in that Canadian fishing village.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt was so cold!\u201d she said. \u201cEverywhere snow and ice. I used to sit by the stove while Mom made bread. That was the coziest spot in the house.\u201d<\/p>\n
We didn\u2019t have a lot of money growing up and Mom worried about Dad getting laid off. The only indication I ever saw of Mom\u2019s anxiety was when it came time to punch down the dough. She plunged her fist in fiercely, as if she were releasing her worries. Then, calm, she divided the dough and put it into bread pans. While the bread rose, I ran out to play.<\/p>\n
When the dough was puffy, Mom dotted it with butter and slipped the loaves into the oven. Soon that heavenly smell wafted out the window. Like clockwork my friends began turning up, asking, \u201cWhen\u2019s the bread going to be done?\u201d Mom pulled the bread from the oven, dabbed the loaves with butter and set them out to cool. Then came my favorite part, a slice for everyone!<\/p>\n
Ordinarily we didn\u2019t bake bread in the summer. Too hot. One year, though, money was tight and our car broke down. We couldn\u2019t afford repairs. Mom walked to the auto shop looking worried. When she returned she was smiling. She pulled down the shades, turned on the fans and set to work. Soon the kitchen was sweltering.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy are you baking?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe man at the garage agreed to fix our car in exchange for some of my bread,\u201d she said. \u201cI know it\u2019s hot, but we just have to do it.\u201d Soon the loaves were ready. I saw the sweat trickling down Mom\u2019s neck. On her forehead was a triangular-shaped red spot. Just like Grandmother\u2019s.<\/p>\n
I bake bread these days not because I have to but because I love to. When I first began I had to look at the recipe for every step. Now I almost feel Mom and Grandmother moving around the kitchen with me.<\/p>\n
Sometimes it\u2019s more than a feeling. If the day is very warm or I\u2019m in the kitchen a long time I feel my face get flushed. I glance in the mirror and see, on my forehead, a triangular-shaped red spot. From Grandmother to Mom to me. A sign of a family tradition, bread made with love.<\/p>\n
Try Kimberly Onufrock-Bracco’s bread recipe<\/a> and watch<\/a> her make it!<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" There\u2019s nothing quite so homey as the smell of baking bread. I know. I\u2019ve been baking bread as long as I can remember. Yes, now there are bread machines, but I can\u2019t imagine using one. For me, a loaf of bread is more than flour, yeast and water. It\u2019s what\u2019s kept my family going for […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":27778,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"ep_exclude_from_search":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[345],"tags":[],"ppma_author":[1722],"class_list":["post-18198","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-recipes"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\n