The Comfort of Fresh Bread

If I could teach only one thing, it would be this: bake your own bread. Not because shop bread is wicked, but because the making of it will do you good.

There is a rhythm to bread that the anxious mind badly needs. The warm water, the patient kneading, the long quiet wait while the dough rises under its cloth. You cannot rush it, and so it teaches you not to rush.

And at the end — the smell. There is no trouble in this world that a slice of warm, buttered bread cannot soften, at least a little.