The bread, my sweet

Being an obsessive baker has its drawbacks. Namely: 1. Everyone expects a super-duper birthday cake on their birthday; 2. No-one makes you a birthday cake; 3. You get easily bored of baking the same things even though everyone likes them; 4. You need new baking challenges on a monthly basis.

I’ve conquered cakes, mastered meringues and smashed scones. So, what else is left? Bread and macaroons. I attempted macaroons three times this year, all during the end of a relationship played out in the ‘shire where a teeny tiny Mary Queen of Scots was crowned. As I always say, my baking seems to be more spiritual than most, so my shoddy emotional state was not conducive to successful macaroon-making. But bread? Bread I could tackle with no lingering thoughts of chopping off a certain head. Jamie Oliver goes ‘mad’ for it. It’s trendy and no longer just gut-rotting white. So I tried, and I failed. Then in true Famale style, I tried, and I triumphed. It’s rustic, and good with soup. The very fact that I don’t like bread has nothing to do with it – I’m all about the days of glory.

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