(My, aren’t we all Dickensian with our titles. It makes us cool, don’t you know.)
Warm bread, fresh baked. There’s nothing like it, and certainly nothing quite like the smell of it. Don’t try to deny that your mouth is watering just thinking about it. Bakeries are delightful places.
I’m decent at various sweet, quick breads – banana and “amish” friendship bread, stuff like that. I can even make some pretty tasty baking soda biscuits (if I do say so myself). But yeast just plain intimidates me. I’ve never made real rising bread. There’s the time required of course as well – my life (or more precisely, my way of living it) has in general not been conducive to an activity you have to plan so far ahead for and give it several hours to rise.
But I’d like to try it – really getting your hands sticky in the dough, a whole upperbody workout with kneading; an exercise in patience. And most of all the wonderful smell filling the house. The smell of bread really says you care, enough to invest all that time – maybe that’s why it seems so welcoming.