Anadama Bread

There's something about the feel of dough under the hand. The process of transforming flour, water, salt and yeast to something of substance. The rhythm of push-fold-turn, push-fold-turn. Bread feels alive when you knead it. You can feel it resist and stretch. It takes strength and energy, up close and personal. Floured hands shaping and turning and pushing. Spending myself to make something beautiful. The satisfaction of a properly kneaded dough, heavy in the hand and soft to the touch, as smooth as a little baby's bum. I love to knead bread.

Stuffed Peppers for Two

Do you remember being a kid and the wonder of playing outdoors? The sense of adventure and freedom that it brought? The thrill of feeling fresh air on your face and the possibilities contained in having all the elements of nature at your disposal? A low, crumbling wall becomes the towering bulwark of a besieged fort and a small grouping of birches becomes a fairy den. Sticks becomes medieval swords, a rotting stump a devilish mountain and a blossoming apple tree a private bower hiding you from the all-too-eager-to-join-in younger sibling.