For Best Results, Let Rise Six Years

Lately, it seems like Tiffany loves me more and more every single... not so much day, as loaf of bread I make. It's clear to me now that the path to a person's heart really is through the kitchen, and I don't mean on the way to the microwave.

This is great news because I actually like cooking, plus I am secure in the knowledge that Tiffany will still love me on nights I just want to have a cardboard box full of pizza delivered to our door. I know this because when we started dating--six years and two days ago--she loved me when I served her a brick of cream cheese with soy sauce poured on top and called it an appetizer.

Anyway, when I have the time--and I have a lot of it on weekends now that she's in chemistry class--I cook. Well, mostly I bake. I try to put together one real meal a weekend, but breads are where it's at for me. There's something very reassuring about dough; it's so forgiving. Just when I think I've really screwed it up--as I try to peel it in all its stringy stickiness off my countertop--it totally responds to a little extra flour. Plus, I get to slam it around and push into it and roll it out and tear off bits to chew. It's the perfect therapy: mindless and all-consuming work at the same time-- just me, my measuring cups, a big bowl and lots of flour.

And with only a little effort, we get the smell of fresh baked bread AND the taste of fresh baked bread. You'll never hear so many "I love you's."

And what's not to love about that?