by Lou
(New Jersey)
Crusty No Knead Bread
My life for many reasons evolved around the heavenly aroma of freshly baked bead. The golden brown crust cradling the soft white core, riddled with pockets of air holes, always had a magical place in the life style of my family. Although I am much older now and less surrounded by my love ones, the memories of my early life are focused in our kitchen with family, friends, and loaves of wonderful crisp bread at our meals.
Moments seem frozen in my mind’s eye of a curly-hair boy dashing to the bread baker’s for his mother. My chore was to pick out the best two loaves of bread “one with seeds, and the other without – the crust not too light.” Never did both loaves ever make it back to the sanctuary of our kitchen without the ritual of tearing off one on the crisp ends and devouring it on the run.
Sometimes on those special cold autumn evenings, if the bread was still hot, I would watch the smoke rise out of the warm torn end of the freshly baked loaf while the heavenly aroma would fill my nostrils. Grandma was a devotee of the large round domed shaped loaf with a dark, thick crust known as bonnelle. She would tuck the round crusty loaf under her arm, resting it against her stomach and always cut slices toward her apron.
In our predominately Italian neighborhood, bread reigned supreme. Bread filled our stomachs, warmed our hearts and was our daily companion at the kitchen table, Bread was Family.
Lou Sisbarro
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