Bread

I've been baking bread for many years. I've tried many variations and recipes but my favorite is still a standard, white loaf. My favorite thing about this particular bread is that it toasts beautifully and makes the World's Best Grilled Cheese Sandwich. It almost doesn't matter what kind of cheese you choose, the bread is so delicious when it's grilled with butter. Being the process-oriented person that I am, I thoroughly enjoy the few hours bread baking requires. The steps are therapeutic. I like the measuring of ingredients - both science and intuition. [Is it raining today? I might need a little more flour and a warmer kitchen.] The yeast rises in a small, blue bowl and makes everything possible. When the flour and warm milk first come together you have to put your trust in them. This is one of those moments where you just have to believe in something. I always mix dough with my hands. My mixer has a dough hook but it looks like it's torturing the dough as it drags it around the bowl while the mixer growls rawrr rawrr rawrr rawrr. No, I choose the quiet peace of my hands and the gooey mess in a green bowl. After some time those simple ingredients become a non-sticky ball of bread dough. And it needs to be kneaded. My small sense of acomplishment [dough!] is overshadowed by the work ahead. My brain selects a random song lyric and repeats it so that my arms and hands have help keeping a rythym. As I push and turn, push and turn, push and turn, it's helpful to hum something repetitive like "you can stand under my umbrella-ella -ella-a-a, under my umbrella-ella-ella-a-a" or even "a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down, the medicine go do-own, the medicine go down." And then finally I reach a magical moment when I can tell by looking at the dough [it's not stringy] and pressing it gently [it springs back] and feeling it in my hands [it is not dry, but not wet] that it is ready to rise.