French bread loaves cooling on my kitchen counter. Is there anything more wonderful?
I tried a new recipe yesterday. Crispy on the outside, soft and chewy on the inside, this bread was perfect. It took a long time but was worth the wait. I’ll be making more today, it’s that good (and I promise to share the recipe after I master it).
The recipe said to let the bread cool completely before slicing. I tried. Really I did. And then I thought to myself, “What good is a loaf of bread that isn’t fabulous when it’s still warm?” So I tore a piece off, it’s heat warming my fingers as steam rose from the center of the loaf. Don’t worry, it’s fabulous warm, and therefore a keeper. I was grateful at that moment for a large hungry family to share with, else I would have eaten too much.
As I tore pieces of the loaf to share with each member of my family, a reverent feeling crept into my heart. The words “making home” came to mind. That is what I’m doing. It is such a privilege.