y obsession with bread started, strangely enough, after I stopped eating it.
I went on a keto diet a few years ago and changed my eating habits dramatically. My husband and I gave up bread and pasta entirely (among other things). It wasn’t as difficult as it seemed, because we felt so much better, lost a few pounds and had tons more energy.
But then there was the toast.
One day a few months into our new diet, my son asked for some toast for breakfast. I found a package of bread in the back of the refrigerator, a brand I used to buy because it was labeled whole wheat and came at a premium price. Seemed healthy enough. The bag held a few lonely slices that upon closer inspection looked fine, but when I checked the label, I saw that it had expired not days before, but months. More than 3 months to be exact. But it still looked perfect. Gross.
Admittedly, I needed to clean out my fridge more often, but my disgust moved me to action. Into the bin went the old bread, my son ate cereal, and my mind was made up: If I could cook, I would try to bake all our bread. Or at least most of it. Thus, began my journey.
I’d always been a baker but hadn’t dabbled much in bread. I started with some basic white and whole-wheat loaves, leavened with yeast. They were OK. I made loaf after loaf. We ate some, I gave away others. They were not so great, and then they got better. Even good.
Then a friend gave me some of her sourdough starter and things got serious.
M