Kneading bread and playing around until the texture is just right is such a joy for me. I feel a thrill each and every time I start a new batch.
Using my bench scraper to cut the dough brings to mind dad and his bench scraper. I weigh out my dough because I was always so fascinated with his ability to cut the dough so evenly that he almost never had to add extra bits to bring it up to the right weight. (I do. . .)
The smell of baking bread,
the sight of it's golden crust,
the sound of the pan banging against the butcher block counter releasing it's loaf,
the taste of warm bread dripping with melted butter. . .
These are all the things I love about homemade bread. .
I just have to give it a little pat as it cools. . . every. single. time.
Homemade bread is a beautiful thing.