I love to cook, and experiment while cooking, almost anything. Working without direction and ending up with delightful meals is a talent I have procured through my years.
But bread, it is the one elusive product I have yet to challenge myself with. I think growing up with homemade bread did two things - foster a love of 'that smell' and the true natural taste of home baked bread, making any bought bread seem inescapably horrid and tastless; and make me take for granted the effort and mess that it entails. However, having already mastered my own soups and granola bars out here, I today took on bread.
To make it official, I pronounced that I would have a loaf of bread and a tray of granola bars ready for our field research in Quesnel, and I had to produce. So I amassed all the necessities and went at it. And, sheepishly taking it out of the oven some time later, anticipating the inevitable loaf-deflation or a density unable to be thwarted by any cutting device, I slowly drew the serrated (damn, useless serrated knives....death to the serrated edge!) blade back and forth across it until a steaming slab of bread of perfect density and un-deflated fell upon the counter.
It was a success. Bread was made. Bread will be made again.
This, in its own honesty and naked truth, is the bread, the loaf, and the artist.
Me with fatherly hands holding my first loaf of bread.
How close can we get? Close enough to taste, feel and smell the bread....well not really but close enough. Mostly I am playing with the camera, but it seemingly will make a good background or picture.
The creation of my toils...
This, again, is the bread cradled in my loving arms.
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