In the beginning there was seriously good bread.
I was a 14-year-old Wyoming kid wide-eyed in Italy. My parents were dragging their family to a job in Kenya, with a stop in Rome enroute. It was sensory overload: the crazy taxi drivers, outlandish statues, cobblestone streets, starched sheets, streetside tables, the noise, and THAT BREAD. I had never tasted anything like it. It was crusty. It almost shattered when you bit into it, but the inside was tender and moist, with bubbly caverns. The texture was fascinating, and the taste was divine.
That bread taunted me from my past. I understood addiction. I NEEDED that bread. And so I began searching for good bread. In the 1980's, I stopped at bakeries everywhere I went with little success. Sometimes the bread looked promising, but the taste disappointed. As time passed, good artisan bread bakeries began to pop up, and I would drive the distance to find crusty rolls for dinner, or a baugette for a picnic. I didn't quite understand the renaissance in bread baking that was taking place as bakers turned back in time to the old ways of proofing and baking artisan bread.
I was a 14-year-old Wyoming kid wide-eyed in Italy. My parents were dragging their family to a job in Kenya, with a stop in Rome enroute. It was sensory overload: the crazy taxi drivers, outlandish statues, cobblestone streets, starched sheets, streetside tables, the noise, and THAT BREAD. I had never tasted anything like it. It was crusty. It almost shattered when you bit into it, but the inside was tender and moist, with bubbly caverns. The texture was fascinating, and the taste was divine.
That bread taunted me from my past. I understood addiction. I NEEDED that bread. And so I began searching for good bread. In the 1980's, I stopped at bakeries everywhere I went with little success. Sometimes the bread looked promising, but the taste disappointed. As time passed, good artisan bread bakeries began to pop up, and I would drive the distance to find crusty rolls for dinner, or a baugette for a picnic. I didn't quite understand the renaissance in bread baking that was taking place as bakers turned back in time to the old ways of proofing and baking artisan bread.
Lucky for me, my husband loved the crusty bread and rolls I discovered and brought home. He had a history of making things by hand--how hard could a loaf of bread be? We aquired a pizza stone and with the help of some great books, he began to dabble in bread. Some fabulous breads came out of our oven, but it was messy and we just needed more heat. We needed a wood-fired brick oven!
