Great piece by Dr. A. I could almost taste the bread that he was describing. This week's post was possibly the best thing since sliced...err, well, you know. And I'm a pretty tough critic because I'm New Jersey-born-and-bread... OK, OK, I'll stop here with the puns before everyone gets crusty. But seriously, this post about bread was Wonder-ful!
These puns are proof that bread jokes never get stale. Sorry. Couldn’t resist. Your comment cracked me up. Beneath the puns, though, there’s something I love, that humor and heart can live in the same space. 🩵
I think for me was the fact that practically every mother I knew didn't bake bread and I wanted to fit in with the other kids because they were all eating store-bought bread and it look more dainty? than a thick piece of bread in a lunch box. Crazy, I know. Thanks for your reply.
Yvonne, this is so tender. I get what you mean about wanting to fit in. As kids, those small differences felt enormous. Homemade bread wasn’t “cool,” but now it feels like one of the most beautiful signs of care there is. Funny how time changes what we value.
I'm a big fan of Aex's writing/Substack, so it was a nice surprise to find and read his guest post.
I'm not a person who bakes bread. I have made cinnamon rolls, not from scratch, but I did roll the dough out and shaped and baked them. My grandma used to make buns from scratch, and to this day I can imagine the smell and anticipation of eating a freshly baked bun. Bliss.
Of course, the moral to this story isn't really about bread, so one could slip in any baked item one wishes. Pie, cookies, or whatever. No matter what I bake, my creations rarely turn out perfectly, and that's not what matters anyway. It's what makes this essay meaningful. We're all a work in progress - as are our baking skills. Most of us are healing from something. As Alex wrote, time, presence, patience - we need to give that to ourselves, too.
Thanks for the delightful read, Alex, and thank you for featuring it Ilona. And yes, butter generally makes things taste even better.
Thank you, Nancy. When we're sick, so many things seem out of our control. When more things pile on, everything feels hard. Yes, presence and patience are the opposite of what we want at the time. Dr. A has a beautiful way of teaching us.
Your mention of your grandma’s buns hit something tender. I can almost smell that kitchen too. Food has this way of holding memory that words can’t quite reach. It’s like the scent carries a lineage of care that keeps showing up, even when the people don’t. Thank you for reading, my friend. 🩵
During COVID, I experimented with baking. Despite all the time I had to do it, my loaves were never beautiful, nor did they taste good. I guess I have a story, too!
Thank you, Michelle. I love that you caught the thread of healing in it. Bread feels like such an ordinary thing, but somehow it holds the whole story of becoming human again.
Thank you! Beautifully written. We are all imperfect, flawed, looking better some days and not so on other days just like your loaf of bread. How I miss my mother home-baked bread! Nothing like it even though I didn't appreciate it like I should when I was a kid. Now I would give everything to have her home-baked bread. I wish someone would have taught me to appreciate the good things of life, then. Now, I have great appreciation for everything good thing that come my way.
My mother never baked bread, but my daughter does, and boy do I appreciate it. I think as you get older, you develop your gratitude muscle. As a child, you think everyone gets to eat bread like this. You just don't have a reference point.
I got overwhelmed with trying to keep sourdough starter alive. The guilt when it died and got moldy! Ugh. It's a wonder my kids are still alive in their 40s.
I did the sour dough starter thing during COVID. It did not go well. All the time in the world to make this project succeed, but no. My kids are alive because they know how to feed themselves and my grandkids. So much different than 30+ years ago when I was cooking for them.
Leah, this made me smile. I love that — “keep the butter coming.” There’s something deeply wise in that, isn’t there? A reminder that tenderness and small pleasures can carry us through the tough stretches.
Great piece by Dr. A. I could almost taste the bread that he was describing. This week's post was possibly the best thing since sliced...err, well, you know. And I'm a pretty tough critic because I'm New Jersey-born-and-bread... OK, OK, I'll stop here with the puns before everyone gets crusty. But seriously, this post about bread was Wonder-ful!
Some of these jokes are pretty stale. Sorry : /
These puns are proof that bread jokes never get stale. Sorry. Couldn’t resist. Your comment cracked me up. Beneath the puns, though, there’s something I love, that humor and heart can live in the same space. 🩵
I think for me was the fact that practically every mother I knew didn't bake bread and I wanted to fit in with the other kids because they were all eating store-bought bread and it look more dainty? than a thick piece of bread in a lunch box. Crazy, I know. Thanks for your reply.
That's how kids think! I would have felt the same.
Thank you!
Yvonne, this is so tender. I get what you mean about wanting to fit in. As kids, those small differences felt enormous. Homemade bread wasn’t “cool,” but now it feels like one of the most beautiful signs of care there is. Funny how time changes what we value.
Thank you for your reply! I feel understood.
I think lumpy, bumpy loaves of bread look and taste better. They look unique and less "factory" sourced. And sometimes they actually smile.
Make mine a sourdough rye, please!
Mmmmm... a sourdough rye sounds deeeelightful! Thank you for reading! 🩵
On its way! We aim to please....
Hi Ilona and Alex,
I'm a big fan of Aex's writing/Substack, so it was a nice surprise to find and read his guest post.
I'm not a person who bakes bread. I have made cinnamon rolls, not from scratch, but I did roll the dough out and shaped and baked them. My grandma used to make buns from scratch, and to this day I can imagine the smell and anticipation of eating a freshly baked bun. Bliss.
Of course, the moral to this story isn't really about bread, so one could slip in any baked item one wishes. Pie, cookies, or whatever. No matter what I bake, my creations rarely turn out perfectly, and that's not what matters anyway. It's what makes this essay meaningful. We're all a work in progress - as are our baking skills. Most of us are healing from something. As Alex wrote, time, presence, patience - we need to give that to ourselves, too.
Thanks for the delightful read, Alex, and thank you for featuring it Ilona. And yes, butter generally makes things taste even better.
Thank you, Nancy. When we're sick, so many things seem out of our control. When more things pile on, everything feels hard. Yes, presence and patience are the opposite of what we want at the time. Dr. A has a beautiful way of teaching us.
Your mention of your grandma’s buns hit something tender. I can almost smell that kitchen too. Food has this way of holding memory that words can’t quite reach. It’s like the scent carries a lineage of care that keeps showing up, even when the people don’t. Thank you for reading, my friend. 🩵
I loved this piece, as usual, Ilona! I do have a bread story to share - one day :))
During COVID, I experimented with baking. Despite all the time I had to do it, my loaves were never beautiful, nor did they taste good. I guess I have a story, too!
Funny how bread keeps showing up as a witness to our lives. I can't wait to hear 🩵
What a wonderful story on the process of healing through the analogy of baking bread.
I agree! Every culture bakes their own bread, so Dr. A's words can be understood by almost everyone.
Thank you, Michelle. I love that you caught the thread of healing in it. Bread feels like such an ordinary thing, but somehow it holds the whole story of becoming human again.
Thank you! Beautifully written. We are all imperfect, flawed, looking better some days and not so on other days just like your loaf of bread. How I miss my mother home-baked bread! Nothing like it even though I didn't appreciate it like I should when I was a kid. Now I would give everything to have her home-baked bread. I wish someone would have taught me to appreciate the good things of life, then. Now, I have great appreciation for everything good thing that come my way.
My mother never baked bread, but my daughter does, and boy do I appreciate it. I think as you get older, you develop your gratitude muscle. As a child, you think everyone gets to eat bread like this. You just don't have a reference point.
Deep and complex message wrapped up in a relatedly misshapen, warm, comforting loaf of bread. Thank you for sharing a slice!
Right on, Cindy. Something as simple as bread has a lot to teach us, and bonus: it nourishes us too! Although the thought of a mill is overwhelming...
I got overwhelmed with trying to keep sourdough starter alive. The guilt when it died and got moldy! Ugh. It's a wonder my kids are still alive in their 40s.
I did the sour dough starter thing during COVID. It did not go well. All the time in the world to make this project succeed, but no. My kids are alive because they know how to feed themselves and my grandkids. So much different than 30+ years ago when I was cooking for them.
What a kind way to see it. Thank you for reading so closely and catching both the warmth and the imperfection.
What a great essay. We’re all facing our own depressed bread and wondering if it’s worth it. Just gotta keep the butter coming!
Always with butter. Thank you for reading, Leah.
Leah, this made me smile. I love that — “keep the butter coming.” There’s something deeply wise in that, isn’t there? A reminder that tenderness and small pleasures can carry us through the tough stretches.
Thank you for your reply! I feel understood.
What a science experiment using extreme patience and curiosity. And yes. Butter. More butter!!
I loved the analogy of healing and baking bread. We are all unique and our healing is different too.