I’d like to talk about the first time I actually tried baking bread from scratch, which happened a couple of winters ago in my flat in Bristol. It was a bleak, freezing Saturday afternoon, and I’d been watching a video tutorial on an online video-sharing platform about making a simple rustic crusty loaf. I’d never really baked anything savoury before, so it felt like a bit of a culinary adventure.
I decided to keep things relatively straightforward and went for a basic white loaf with dry yeast, flour, warm water, and a pinch of salt. The whole process turned out to be far more physical than I’d anticipated. Kneading the dough on my kitchen worktop took about ten to fifteen minutes, until it became smooth and springy. Then came the waiting game. I covered the bowl with a damp tea towel and left it by the radiator to prove. Seeing the dough double in size was surprisingly satisfying.
Once it was knocked back and shaped, I popped it into a preheated oven on a heavy baking tray. Within twenty minutes, the most wonderful, comforting aroma started wafting through the entire flat. When I finally took it out, the crust was golden brown and produced that classic hollow sound when tapped on the bottom.
To be honest, eating that first warm slice with a generous spread of salted butter was pure bliss. It didn't look completely symmetrical, but the texture was remarkably airy and light. It really gave me a sense of accomplishment because bread is such a staple food, and making it yourself makes you appreciate the craft and patience involved.