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 required a patience I did not know I possessed. When the golden-brown loaf finally emerged from the oven, filling the kitchen with its unmistakable aroma, the sense of accomplishment was profound. It was not a perfect loaf, a little dense on one end, but it was real, tangible, and I had made it from the most basic of ingredients.
I like making bread because it is a grounding and rewarding practice. The methodical nature of following the steps, from mixing to proofing to baking, creates a quiet rhythm that forces me to slow down and be present. There is a deep satisfaction in the alchemy of transforming simple components like flour, water, and yeast into a nourishing and delicious staple. Each successful loaf is a small triumph, a testament to patience and care, and the act of sharing homemade bread with others is a simple yet profound way to connect and show you care.