Day 146: I will not hear argument to the contrary: there is no better comfort food in the world than homemade bread. I say that even though making bread has been part of my normal routine for over fifty years, and is something I don't really even think about, other than, "Oh, I need to make bread" when I see that I'm down to the last half loaf. The aroma of bread in the oven is uplifting. It challenges the deepest gloom. The promise of a hot, fresh slice slathered with butter defies any cookbook which warns the baker not to cut into a loaf until it is fully cool. Get that heel while it's soft! This week, I've made bread twice (cinnamon and sourdough), which speaks loudly of my current world-view. If I should swell up and bust from eating too much homemade bread, what better way to go?
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