But which step exactly?...

After re-reading my post about the 12 Steps of Baking bread, I got to thinking, what is is about bread that moves me? Which step is the one that draws me so irresistibly? It's a need, a yearning I have. I've always described my feelings about baking to people as it being something that always makes me feel better. If I'm sad, it makes me happy. If I'm mad, it settles me. If I'm already happy, well, I'm getting happier. I need to bake, but again, why? I'm afraid that sitting and thinking about baking hasn't helped much. Each time I go over the 12 steps my favorite step changes.

Right now, as I write this, my favorite part about baking bread is when I finally pull the loaf out of the oven. This is odd seeing as after nearly 7 years, I still have to really concentrate on not burning my arms. You would think after enough time, you would have enough precision to stop dropping or bumping your skin again searing stone or metal, but no. Not me. I must have, what I can only really describe as something like magnets in my forearms and hands that are desperately drawn to hot surfaces. Regardless, pulling a beautiful two pound country loaf of of the oven, feeling the hot crust, hearing the crust of the bread crackle as retrogradation (staling) sets in and most importantly, smelling that wonderful, intoxicating aroma of freshly baked bread. Yes, that has to be the best part of baking bread.

Unless of course it's having a mass of freshly mixed dough on the table, waiting to be scaled. I am drawn to the sensation of the feel of dough sticky, lumpy with inclusions or smooth and silky in my hands. I am lured by the smell of the activity of the yeast, alive and harvesting food; vigorously producing ethyl alcohol and carbon dioxide invisibly while I work the scale. Clinging to my hands and resting on the table, the dough performs magic. This bulk of water, flour, salt and yeast poured out onto a floured table growing and expanding as it waits for division. Yes, this is my favorite part, knowing I am working with a living product, one that requires perfect timing, just the right touch and is dependent on temperature and attention. The one where I shape the loaves under my hands, carefully molding, applying pressure and waiting.

Although, I have to say I love the order involved in pre-scaling ingredients. The detail of individual containers full of separate ingredients, not yet ready to be mixed. The double checking the formula and checking off each item as it is gathered and measured. The precision of a gram scale, the heft of buckets of water and the poof of flour that escapes the brown kraft 50 pound bag as I pull the string to open the top of the sewn bag. And then, combing all the individual parts, in just the right order, at just the right time to produce one large dough from the slopping mess of singular components. I like order, I like making lists and crossing things off of them, I like how a group of items which are nothing alone can become something amazing when put together. Scaling and mixing could definitely be my favorite part of making bread.

But, the more I sit and think about it, maybe I am overlooking the obvious. After going through all the careful steps of making bread, I'm sure my favorite part is the last part. When finally cool, drawing a knife through the crispy crust, feeling the gelatinized starches give way and slicing myself a piece of fresh bread. Faintly warm, a heavy cream color and a nice open crumb that is all at once chewy and crunchy and perfect. Maybe my favorite part is how bread brings people together, is a perfect pairing to just about anything and has played such an enormous role in the history of all cultures. Or, maybe I do just like the smell.