I love to bake. I get the love from my Nana. As a little girl she lived across the pasture and took care of our family.
My mother was a teacher so Nana got our meals, cleaned the house, and did our laundry. She was at our house every morning through the week and made breakfast: eggs, bacon, toast. Now I wasn't big on breakfast so didn't care, but Conrad got up every morning and "helped." I can remember she would call up the stairs "putting the eggs on." That would be our cue to get downstairs.
As a preschooler, I followed her through the house as she did her chores. I "helped" when allowed. She made homemade yeast bread every week and we put homemade butter and homemade strawberry jam on it (and we thought we were put upon because we wanted it from the store - kids!) and it was the norm. We always had a homemade treat waiting for us when we got off the bus and then off to play. We were not allowed in the kitchen when Mother got home from school; that was their time.
When I started 4-H she helped me with my early projects. I would win so many awards and it was from her careful instructions. There was only one way to measure, one way to mix, really one way to do anything. No exceptions.
So today as I decided to bake a couple quick breads ( banana with cream cheese and cranberry orange) I am thinking of her. It would be so much fun to have her here checking them out over a cup of tea of coffee (I don't know what she prefers because I was not drinking either when she left us).
So my bread is going to work for the gang. That is where my baking binges go.
Bon Appetit!
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