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 were tired. The process was surprisingly physical and required a patience I did not know I possessed. When the golden loaf finally emerged from the oven, filling the kitchen with its aroma, the sense of accomplishment was immense. That initial success, though the crumb was a bit dense, proved that creating something fundamental from simple ingredients was entirely possible and deeply satisfying.
I enjoy making bread because it is a grounding and creative process. It forces a slowdown, demanding attention to the feel of the dough and the passage of time as it rises. There is a quiet magic in transforming flour, water, yeast, and salt into a living, breathing entity that grows and changes. The act of shaping the dough is meditative, and the final bake is always a small revelation, revealing the open crumb and crisp crust you helped create. Ultimately, I like making bread because it is a tangible, nourishing result of time and care, a simple yet profound alchemy that feeds both body and soul.