In the family

As you may have noticed, I've been making bread, and loving it. I have a confession, my mother used to make bread all the time - and as a youngster I loved not only the smell of freshly baked bread, or even the taste of it. I also loved the magical ritual when she'd bring out all the paraphernalia - the scales, the big pot for the dough to rise in, the big bags of flour...

It's been quite a few years since my mum has made bread, I think as she got older it seemed like a hassle, and, funnily enough it wasn't until I started writing this that I realised that this was something I'd missed, I suppose the impending bambino/a has brought this up and made me want to do the baking thing. I never thought of how funny human thought processed could be...

I'd spoken to my mum of my baking exploits last week when I went to see her, and she gave me some of her tips gained from years of practice which I put to good use, but I was surprised to see two beautiful loaves of bread sitting on her kitchen table when I popped around after work today. This, of course, is my mum, and that is her first loaf in perhaps a decade. It makes me feel all emotional thinking about it.

Grazie per la pane, e' informazioni mamma!