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I am going to  a party tonight and I have decided to be a good guest and bring some of my home made jam and freshly baked bread. I have the jam so all I need to do is bake. After my successful 19 jars of jam I  am feeling quite like the domestic goddess and have been looking through my cook-books. But even with all the mouthwatering recipes and long instructions on offer I have decided to go rouge and wing-it, after all I do like to break the rules.

I have rummaged through my baking drawer and have found some seeds and yeast so I will let the dough rise and kneed in the kernels with love. I may even get adventures and braid or twirl the dough to give the bread a lovely shape.

But the real reason for baking bread is the way the super mouthwatering smell of dough and fresh crust wafts through the house, the ultimate scent of home and comfort. And when you pull that fresh loaf out of the oven, letting it cool just for a moment, cut off a slice and then spread some butter on it, letting it melt and steep into the fresh bread, there is nothing better, more delicious you can treat you taste-buds to, in my opinion anyway. A slice of heaven straight from the oven.

An afternoon of backing and dancing is all I need to get myself in the mood for a Thursday night soiree with friends and strangers in a lovely wine bar on the banks of the Liffey. So now I am going to but on some blues and my apron, get my hands all floury and kneed, stir and bake.

Blues is to jazz what yeast is to bread. Without it, it’s flat.

Carmen McRae, Jazz vocalist and pianist. (1920-1994)

 

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