When I think of a lovely little witch's cottage, I am immediately drawn to smells. Incense smoke and lemon cleaners. Honeysuckle in the summer and pine in the winter. And always, through it all, the scent of freshly baked bread. Rare is the day there's not a loaf of bread baking in my oven. It is a staple of of evening meal, the loaf sliced right as we fill our plates, the golden pad of butter sitting on the table. Some days it's a sourdough loaf I've worked on for since the night before. Sometimes a quick and simple Italian or French loaf. But more often than not, as my day is filled with other chores, tending animals and gardens and children and home, it's this bread. Perfectly crusty on the outside. To die for soft and springy on the inside. That rich yeasty taste you crave from a homemade bread. I firmly believe the difference between a house and a home is the bread that gets eaten there. This one makes the arena of homemade bread open to...
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