Sunday morning is fast becoming my favourite time of the week. This morning it is a glorious autumn day. The sun is shinning, and from the kitchen window I can just see a faint trace of snow on the hills above 1400 feet. I am writing this at ten o’clock so I suspect it will be gone by lunchtime. The few leaves that are left on the trees are a collection of russet, yellows, deep orange, browns and reds. The air is still and the birds are feeding on the fat and nuts that my wife put out for them yesterday. The “young people” are still in bed, fresh coffee is bubbling on the hob, the archers provide a faint soundtrack in the background, and I have just finished making a batch of bread. It will be going into the oven in a few minutes and soon the house will be filled with the glorious aroma of fresh bread as well as coffee.
I make bread several times a week, partly as therapy and mainly because it is better than most of the stuff that passes for bread that you can buy. Being a bloke I have an innate inability to follow any sort of instructions, so it has taken a while to get the recipe right. I still make stupid mistakes, like forgetting to put the yeast in! But on the whole it seems to work out okay and there is rarely any left. So lunch will be scrambled eggs with fresh, still warm home made bread.
I find making bread a very calming process. You cannot rush it; if you try then the result is poor and disappointing. You have to relax and let the yeast do its work, and it still fascinates me to leave a lump of dough in the bowl and to pop down an hour or so later and find that it has doubled in size and is warm to the touch. There is also something deeply satisfying about making and eating your own bread.
So that’s my Sunday morning sorted. Pity its Monday tomorrow!