This loaf of bread proves that I am, indeed, accomplished. In my 26 years I have done a lot of things, but never baked a loaf of homemade bread. I always admired those who had baked bread from scratch, primarily my mom. She could (and still can) bake like nobody's business. It's her therapy, as she puts it. But for some reason, the idea of trying to emulate Wonderbread intimidated me.
I sucked up my fear of the unknown, drove to three different grocery stores in search of active dry yeast, and did it. And I did it right. Like, kneading the dough for 10 minutes straight (props to you, mom -- it's tiring!), letting it rise for an hour, punching it down, waiting again, and then finally baking it to a perfect, crusty, golden-brown goodness. I'll tell you what, I'm sure my neighbors didn't mind the paper thin walls this afternoon.
It didn't take long for the Man to discover my accomplishment and subsequently:
My accomplishment is more than halfway gone, but that's ok. I was positively giddy as I took it out of the oven and I'm the sure the Man thought I'd lost my marbles. (Actually, he stood there smiling as I gloated over my creation for a good 10 minutes.) I made a loaf of homemade bread! *sigh* Man, I feel good.
So I guess this is what my life has reduced to: blogging about a loaf of bread. There are way more exiting things going on in our lives, like our new rug and wall sconces, but I don't want to brag about our lifestyle. Although, my mom did just recently visit and it was probably the BEST time I have ever had with her. Yes, we ate our way across Louisville but more importantly my soul was refreshed. It was exactly what my heart and soul needed.
Homemade bread and my mom. What a great combo.