Friday, April 08, 2011
One of my favorite memories of my childhood is coming home from off the school bus to find the kitchen full of the smell of fresh homemade bread. Me and my siblings just loved a fresh piece of bread buttered and spread with jam or honey. This is one of the many things that made home a home to me. Fresh bread. I guess it spoke to me of how much our mother cared about us. She not only knew it was cheaper to make homemade bread she knew it created a special kind of love communicated only with cooking in this way. Perhaps this is one reason I cook and bake the way I do. To me it speaks of caring. It short it made our house a home. And when I make bread in my home I have created with my husband and kids several years later the same thing for my kids. The smell and taste of home cooking no matter the kind make a house a home.