The first time I tried making bread, it was a humble loaf of white sandwich bread. I remember carefully measuring the flour, watching the yeast foam in warm water, and kneading the dough until my arms ached. The process was surprisingly physical and demanded patience as I waited for the dough to rise, its slow transformation feeling like a small miracle. When I finally pulled the golden-brown loaf from the oven, the aroma that filled my kitchen was deeply comforting. That initial success, though the loaf was a bit dense, sparked a fascination with the alchemy of baking.
I enjoy making bread because it is a grounding and creative process. It forces me to slow down and work with my hands, providing a tangible break from digital screens. There is a profound satisfaction in creating something nourishing from just a few simple ingredients. The act of kneading is meditative, and the anticipation of the rise builds a connection to the living organism of the yeast. Ultimately, I love sharing the final, warm product with others; it is a fundamental form of care that transcends words.