.......that baking bread isn't so much a symbol of quintessential domestic prowess as it is hard work, bodily risk and basic chemistry.

January seems like an appropriate time of year to be holed up in ones warm kitchen cooking as though for an army. I mean, really, what else is there to do? The Christmas frenzy has come and gone. The weather outside is frigidly bleak. And who, despite the best of intentioned New Year's resolutions, is truly motivated to do anything. Except eat.

So I have been cooking; exotically fragrant curries, that cheer with their vibrant colors and clear sinuses with their heat. (Heat that is best described as 'pouncing'.....for the deft way it sneaks up on you.) And beautiful, billowy meringue Pavlovas, that so resemble drifts of pristine winter snow. (Of course, it wasn't until I stirred in the vanilla, brown sugar and cocoa powder that they resembled the actual dirt streaked, rain ravaged stuff we are left with these days.) And, obviously, bread.

It started, and as with most things in my life, as a desire to control; namely what my husband and daughter put into their bodies when eating bread. (I myself, having Celiac, do not eat bread.) I was appalled at how many, many, unnecessary ingredients appear on the labels of most store brands. And equally appalling was the price of those few other specialty brands that have only a handful of ingredients. Last time I checked bread was pretty much flour, water, yeast and time. Not that complicated. And not that expensive. So I decided, what the heck I'll start baking our own bread. It's a little retro, a little throwback but as I understand it, that kind of thing is not only very "in" right now, it's also being re-defined as very "green."

Well, bread baking, while tremendously fulfilling, is not nearly as culinar-ily glamorous as I imagined. I've actually found it to be pretty.....instinctual. And in order to develop the right instincts, you have to bake a lot of bread. So, initially, there's a tremendous amount of trial and error. All edible, mind you. (Well, mostly edible.) But not always so nice looking.

What I mean is, no matter how detailed the recipe you're using, there exists in the process a number of variables. The ratio of flour to water depends on the temperature and humidity of the air. The response of the yeast depends also on the temperature of the air, but the temperature of the water as well. Plus the age of the yeast. Plus the yeast's exposure to air. Plus the kind of yeast you're using.

Then there's kneading. I am told the best bread makers go completely by feel. But very few recipes tell you how a properly kneaded ball of dough should feel. Or if they do, it's vague. "Smooth." "Supple." "Elastic." (Is this bread dough we're talking about or skin care? I'm confused.) Most give you time increments instead. 8 to 10 minutes. Sounds do-able when you read it. But remember, this isn't ten minutes of Playdo sculpting we're talking about. This is work. This is a workout. You'll definitely feel it the first couple of times you really, properly, knead a lump of uncooperative dough. And you'll be more than a little reluctant to admit why your arms are so sore to anyone who happens to ask.

Then there's the actual baking. Again most recipes give you time increments. Or color descriptions. But both can be misleading. Especially if your oven is at all temperamental. Rather, the experienced bread baker relies first, on smell, and second, on the sound the bread makes when it is thumped by a sharp flick of the index finger. (I have received some of the worst burns of my life trying to perform this last "party trick". Either I've failed to notice how close my wrist is to the upper coils, when I leave the loaf in the oven. Or when I take it out, I remove my oven mit to do the thumping and forget to put it back on before re-handling the HOT bread pan.)

And I haven't even mentioned the rising. Or The Rising; to make it sound like some ominous horror film. But I guess maybe that analogy isn't too far off. Considering my experience anyway. Several times I've ended up with, when the particulars of the chemistry behind bread baking have gone science-fiction wrong, something akin to a swamp creature; formless, freakish, unmannered. And one memorable time, after using a French recipe, I failed to realize that when the author said he just let the bread dough rise while he was at work, a typical work day in France is not a typical work day in America. I ended up with bread dough that had grown to near hostile take-over proportions.

So, I've been baking bread. Or practicing the fine art of it. And I am getting better. But now I do understand why in it's mass produced form it's full of chemicals. And why in it's purer from, it's pricey. Because it is more than just flour, water, yeast and time. It's actually a living medium, relatively adverse to being manipulated and controlled. Not unlike the daughter and husband I began all this for, I guess.