Bread. Winner.

This Apron Strings con­test sub­mis­sion comes from Bev Wooding, a food blog­ger and ama­teur pho­tog­ra­pher. Bev’s blog My Daily Bread where, as she describes “I’m a Toronto girl who loves to eat. This is where I tell you how much. Thanks for the great sub­mis­sion Bev. Bread straight from the oven. Can’t. Be. Beat. Be sure to check out the rest of the Apron Strings con­test sub­mis­sions and rate them. The lucky win­ners will receive gift cer­tifi­cates to shop at Fiesta Farms.


 

I always say I inher­ited my father’s cook­ing style.

Food was as impor­tant in our home as was music, and they often went hand in hand. My dad had always been the type of cook who could open the fridge and make magic out of what­ever hap­pened to be in there. He was a mas­ter improviser.

As I’ve turned out to be, he never really had much use for recipes, so bak­ing was never his forté. Then, one day, he got it into his head that my mother shouldn’t have to be the only one bak­ing bread, espe­cially as we all loved hav­ing steam­ing, fresh baked loaves so much. So, one Saturday morn­ing, he picked up a cook­book — I believe it was a well-worn copy of the Red Roses book — and set about mak­ing his very first loaf of clas­sic white bread.

He was instantly in love.

From then on, his new bak­ing skill became what is still one of my favourite food — and life — mem­o­ries. Every Sunday morn­ing, for a cou­ple of years, I would awake to the heady mix of the aro­mas of fresh-baked bread and brew­ing cof­fee, backed by a sound­track of jazz and soul. The great­est scribe couldn’t have writ­ten it more idyllically.

In fact, bread straight from the oven, slathered in real but­ter, remains the cen­tre­piece of my death row meal. For me, it rep­re­sents calm, com­fort and love. And for that, I have to thank my daddy.

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