The magic of bread

Some approach baking
as science,
some approach it as an art,
for most of the baked goods
I have attempted - it is
a strange shifting of both -
with one,
most basic exception
for me, and
that's bread.
Yes, yes, you
can cite examples of
elaborate recipes for
breads that require
all the finesse of a
Julia Child or Galloping Gourmet 
(yes, I tipped you off to my age),
but the simplest
of recipes is most
satisfying to me.
Three cups of flour,
one teaspoon of salt, 
one teaspoon of dry yeast, 
and one and a half cups 
of warm water. 
Stirred until mixed and left
covered to do its magic 
for hours or over night.
Then, when YOU are ready, 
when I am ready,
preheat the oven to
450 degrees - and 
preheat the dutch oven inside
the oven, carefully. An while that is
happening, turn the dough onto a floured board,
breathe in the aroma of the dough,
while you dust it with a sifting
of more flour. Smile to yourself.
Gently knead, thinking of all the
things you could add if you wanted to -
I've added pizza spices and/or cheeses,
sometimes I've added walnuts and a
dash or two of cinnamon, or
fresh rosemary, or sliced olives,
but generally it is the 
plain and simple dough that I am 
most enamored of, and all I really 
add is my love - and my flour dusted hands.
Then I shape it into a boule, and pop it into a
parchment lined bowl and let it rest a few minutes...
it will rise a bit again, so proud it is to have gotten
this far. Then I prepare to pull out
the dutch oven, which I do very carefully,
and drop the boule using the parchment to lift
it out of the bowl and place it in the cast iron
pot, slice across the dough once or twice to vent it,
replace the lid, and put it all back into the oven.
Thirty minutes later, I remove the dutch oven lid,
and let the steam out, and let the bread crust
brown and get that lovely crispness and it stays
in the oven for another five minutes or so.
Now this is the hardest part:
I pull it all out of the oven, and again, using the 
parchment as a cradle I pull out the boule of bread,
and set it on a rack to cool. It is the hardest part 
because the aroma is so enticing "eat a slice, eat a slice"
it beckons with all the fervor of Ahab's White Whale,
but I know that if I let it cool down, it will still be 
warm enough inside, that when I slather butter on it, 
it will melt and be a heavenly moment of bliss when I
take a bite. Now, magically the entire house is filled
with the aroma of the freshly baked bread, and what
I can only describe as a feeling that I have conquered
both art and science and have graduated to the rapture 
of a loaf of bread made from scratch by my own hands.

---

April 27 #CRFAprilNationalPoetryMonth

Today’s graphic poetry prompt was:

Bon Appetit! Seriously, I never had home-made bread as a kid, and it seemed like magic when watching those cooking shows. Had I known how easy it was to make, I’d have done it lots sooner than I did (which was in my 40s when I even tried).