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 expansion feeling like a small miracle. When it finally came out of the oven, golden and fragrant, the sense of accomplishment was immense. That initial, slightly lopsided loaf, with its dense but tender crumb, was more satisfying than any bakery purchase, not because it was perfect, but because I had created it from simple, basic ingredients.
I enjoy making bread because it is a grounding and creative process. It connects me to a fundamental human tradition and provides a tangible result from my own effort. The methodical nature of following steps, from mixing to shaping, is meditative and offers a respite from the digital world. Furthermore, baking is a dynamic science; each attempt teaches me something new about how humidity affects the dough or how an extra fold can improve the crumb structure. The ultimate reward is sharing the warm, finished loaf with others, turning a simple act of cooking into an offering of comfort and care.