A Confession

It’s time that I admitted my addiction. As these things go, it’s a fairly harmless one, but it has been taking up an increasingly substantial proportion of my time, and it’s only fair that I acknowledge it.

You see, I LOVE baking. I’m especially addicted to making bread, of every kind, from the fluffy white milk loaf to the rustic sourdough. There’s something so magical about the transformation of a few simple, uninspiring ingredients – flour, water, yeast, salt – into a supple, silky ball of dough, and then into a loaf of warm crusty bread. Yes, it can be frustrating, especially with sourdough bread, when your much-loved, doted-on starter suddenly lets you down and presents you with a leaden brick, but such failures only spur a true addict on to the next loaf.

It’s hard to decide what my favourite part of the whole process is – I thoroughly enjoy the kneading and shaping of the dough, something that many people dislike – but on balance I have to say that I take particular delight in The Crust. And yes, it deserves those capitals! A good crust is a thing of beauty to look at, especially on a gloomy winter’s day…


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