Baking bread

I've been practicing photographing food.  It's not as easy as it looks.
I think that food tricks me, through it's smell, and the physical feel as I'm preparing it.  I always think it looks better than it actually does.  There are so many dishes that are lumpy, or brown, or both.  It takes some serious tricks, excellent garnish, and a repertoire of cute serving dishes to make food look nearly as good as I think it does.

Bread however, is a very humble food.  I find it, not good looking, but beautiful.



I love making bread.  My mother made bread throughout my childhood.  I love the smell of yeast, then the smell of the pale dough, then the smell of baking bread.  With each stage, the smells get warmer until you get the piping hot bread coming out of the oven.
My favorite part is kneading the dough.  It's very forceful, but such a constructive act.  It's a wonderful way to work out frustrations. It's visceral, like a massage. The dough communicates with you.  Underneath your hands, you can tell when it's properly mixed, when it needs more moisture, or more flour, or when it's developed the proper stretch and bouyancy of a well kneaded dough.

I was kneading up a large lump of dough up this afternoon.  I was in that kind of zen place I get to about 5 minutes in, and I looked down at my hands, knuckling deep into the dough lump.  And then I knew I needed to get my camera.
And get someone else to knead the dough, because it's physically impossible to knead dough and take pictures at the same time.

Luckily, Annie's home this weekend, and was quite willing to be my hand model/kitchen maid.
I love the stretch and pull, the motion and the stillness, and the way the flour dust on the counter changes as the dough moves over it and pushes it about.

doesn't the dough texture look rather like the craters of a moon?