I doubt that the machine operator in a bread factory has time to think about that too often, but I like to think that artisan bakers are a little more romantic. The paths to the oven door are varied. For me it all began in my childhood. My mother baked most of the bread eaten by our family and I still recall the aroma of her loaves as they cooled in the kitchen; and the pleasure of her firm and tasty sandwiches compared to the limp and bland offerings at friends’ birthday parties. In the perverse way of the teenager, as I grew older I shied away from the kitchen and never really experienced the simple delights of mixing and baking. However flour had definitely entered my blood and when I left home it was not long before I tinkered with baking my own. My mother's bread was certainly an inspiration and so at that time was John Seymour's freshly published 'Complete book of self-sufficiency', which also had me bottling, allotmenting and trying many other food related crafts. A milestone in my bakery life was a recipe shared by a colleague from Yorkshire for his family's Treacle Bread. This wholesome, wholemeal loaf was a revelation and I've been baking this now for 34 years and which has morphed into the 'Builder's bread' that I sell on my farmers market stall. That name perhaps needs an explanation. In my early bakes my loaves did not rise so well and my long suffering wife compared them unflatteringly with the bricks we were then using to extend our house. In my defence, everyone has to learn their craft, but the name has stuck down the years. I'm sure that many of you also bake bread in your kitchens, by hand or by machine. For me the step up to becoming a micro-bakery came with the creation of the North Walsham Farmers Market five years ago. At that time no baker could be found to join the market and fortuitously for me someone recalled that I enjoyed baking bread and asked if I'd be interested. Now I'm a serial volunteer and so I promptly agreed without really realising what I was getting myself into. Multiple batches of bread are somewhat harder to produce and coordinate than my family-focussed experience up until then. However, my first tentative stall proved a success and now, with a second oven to speed things up, I make by hand around a hundred loaves each week, of seven or eight fairly traditional and sourdough types, for farmers’ markets; and in-between those events for a local bistro, deli, neighbours, friends and colleagues too. I like to think that my mother would be proud that I have built upon her example and I often feel her watching over my shoulder. From a hot kitchen surrounded by the aromas of rising dough, to bagging up loaves on my stall, baking bread is indeed sending love to a stranger.
