Fresh Baked Bread

One of my favorite memories growing up was when my mother would set about making her own, fresh bread.  She did not do it often, but much more than I do.  This makes it particularly interesting as my youngest son, Brian, makes all of his own bread as well as pasta and sauces.  So I guess things do skip a generation.

I finally, after a year or more, have uncovered my kitchen.  I have been sorting through twenty years of stuff from the house that my late husband and I had for 20 years.  I still have boxes of things to go through, but I have determined that the stuff in the house has to be dealt with first, as the clutter was getting me down.  I am not the neatest person, but what I was dealing with was overwhelming.

This morning I found a recipe for homemade bread.  It sounded really good and brought back such memories, I decided to try the recipe in my newly cleaned up kitchen.  I carefully followed the recipe as yeast breads and rising can be an issue.  But the dough doubled nicely.  It rose in the pans and cooked beautifully.  I think I may have had a tad too much flour, so next time the last cup will go in more slowly.

But the house is filled with the wonderful smell of fresh baked bread.  I have already had four slices.  It was still warm and I used real butter, so the first bites took me bake to my childhood with my mother in her apron and smiling as we enjoyed hot bread, fresh out of the oven.

Funny how nice it is to cook in a clean kitchen.  I am looking forward to living in a clean living room shortly.  I made big strides this week in that direction.  I should be ready for my walker after surgery.

Here are a couple of pictures of my yummy loaves.