The first time I tried making bread, it was a humble loaf of white sandwich bread. I remember carefully measuring the flour and yeast, watching the dough hook of my stand mixer do its work. The most magical part was the first rise, when I came back to find the dough had ballooned, alive and breathing. Shaping it felt clumsy, but the smell that filled my house while it baked was incredible. When I pulled the golden-brown loaf from the oven and heard the hollow tap on the bottom, I felt a profound sense of accomplishment. It was not perfect, but it was mine, and it was delicious.
I like making bread because it is a grounding and rewarding process. It forces me to slow down and work with my hands, providing a tangible break from the digital world. There is a deep satisfaction in transforming a few simple ingredients—flour, water, yeast, and salt—into something so fundamental and nourishing. The process is a quiet science, teaching patience through the slow fermentation and proofing stages. Ultimately, the act of creating and sharing a warm, homemade loaf provides a unique comfort that is both primitive and deeply fulfilling.