The last days of summer... Fruits hurry to ripen, husbands hurry to squeeze in a few more barbecue sessions and students hurry to and from activities. We gardeners, or those of us who attempt gardening, hurry to harvest before fall and winter claim and destroy our hard work. I for one, have herbs to gather, weeds to clear and butter to buy in preparation for all the baking that comes with cool weather. I am planning soups and slow-roasted roasts of pork shoulder and brisket. I want to make butter cookies to decorate and breads in every shape and size. I adore watching the yeasty lumps transform into fat plaits and then bake into golden, shiny additions to our table. I love knowing I made the bread and that I loving and (shockingly) patiently watched as it grew and swelled and thrived after I brutally beat and battered it during the kneading process to emerge as something fresh and new, ready to face the challenges of rising, shaping, more rising and then finally baking. Baking bread (or most anything really) is like gardening (this is AB, Alien Baby, who I have grown from seed) or bird watching, when I observe a baby bird grow from egg to fledgling, a purely pleasurable act that nurtures my soul. I think I’ll take a nice, big shiny helping thank you!
Avid home cook and passionate instructor