Skip to main content

Simply Bread

One of my fondest childhood memories is of my mother baking bread. The whole house smelled wonderful and if I timed it right, I could get her to cut off a heel of hot bread and then slather it with butter. A simple, but absolutely wonderful treat. Better than chocolate cake even. James Beard, that very famous chef said, "Good bread is the most fundamentally satisfying of all foods; and good bread with fresh butter, the greatest of feasts.”
Bread has been called "the staff of life" and it's basic to every culture, in every part of the world. Look at the wonderful variety, whether its made with yeast or not---lovely loaves of whole wheat, rye, dark pumpernickel, banana, scones, zucchini, biscuits, honey oat, baguette, warm fresh tortillas. It seems any kind of bread is always best right out of the oven, warm and comforting in our hands.

Yesterday, I went on bit of a baking binge. It was a windy day, so working outside wouldn't be fun. I baked bread instead. Experimenting with new recipes, the day's production included Irish soda bread for St. Patty's Day. Dense and sweet, filled with raisins, it's yummy with or without butter. It's also great toasted. Next came a loaf of oatmeal sandwich bread and then two rounds of simple white bread. The rounds had crusty tops, thanks to a pan of water in the bottom of the oven, which steams the crusts to perfection. Just tear them apart and enjoy.

As we prepare to leave for church this morning, I'm reminded that Jesus called himself, "the bread of life." A wonderful picture of sustaneance for our souls, warm, nourishing, and basic to life. Simply Jesus within us, giving us life, filling a hunger nothing else and no one else can satisfy. He is enough.

Jesus replied, "I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry again. Whoever believes in me will never be thirsty. John 6:35 NLT

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Castile Knapper

It's always fun to have family members who have a bit of notoriety because of interesting pursuits. My husband's cousin, Ken Wallace is one of those.  Ken is an artist who works in stone as a flintknapper. Flintknapping is the ancient art of shaping tools and weapons from pieces of stone. Knapping was part of the survival skill set of Native Americans. Arrowheads, knives, hatchets, and more were shaped from raw pieces of flint or chert.  Ken knapping at the Wallace Reunion Ken became interested in this process back in 1985. One of his favorite pastimes was searching fields for arrowheads, both of which are pretty plentiful in Western New York. Freshly plowed ground in rural areas often yields many different types of arrowheads since the Iroquois were the original residents of what are now corn fields and cow pastures. Fascinated with how the Iroquois made their weapons and tools, Ken started to try and recreate them. He says a lot of trial and error were involved in the...

Victim of Circumstances?

 The article below has been getting a lot of hits lately, and I thought it may be time to repost it. A couple of weeks ago, I took the picture below. I thought it pretty much sums up our life journey. We never know what's around the corner for us.  Circumstances change in seconds some days. Whether the circumstances of life are good or bad, we're fond of blaming them for how we behave and think. Here are a few of the well-used excuses:  "I'm a victim of circumstances.""The situation is impossible." "The circumstances are beyond my control." "Under the circumstances"...fill in the blank. Funny how principles, self-control, and  positive thinking can go out the window when we're "under the circumstances."  And lest you think the author is above blaming circumstances, she is not. I've used most of the excuses above, whether spoken or unspoken.  An imprisoned and wrongly accused Jewish C...

Smores Anyone?

We lived in the same house for 25 years just outside of our small hometown of Castile. It was a good little neighborhood and was mostly quiet except for the traffic on Route 39. When the signs of spring arrived, it was also time to pile up tree branches, and clean out the garage or the shed of burnable miscellany. Each year there seemed to be a contest between my husband and the next door neighbor to assemble a burn pile of enormous proportions.  Day after day I watched their piles grow until tepee-shaped woodpiles were just right to be torched. There was an art to the arrangement so that it would be totally consumed in a short amount of time. It was sort of like a bonfire on steroids. Now the neighbor enjoyed the element of surprise on the neighborhood and waited for quiet Saturday afternoons to begin his incendiary activity. KABOOM! You would have thought we were under attack by enemy forces. Then there was a rush of wind and the crackling of the k...