I'm Italian (part italian...despite what I tell you.) I'm Italian.
I love bread. I love the Italian bread I can remember from my grandmother's home as a child. I'm sure it was store bought. She had eight children and more grandchildren then can be counted on two hands. But I remember her serving it with warmth. I remember the slightly crusty but chewy outside with the soft inside. I remember it being served with rigatoni and meatballs, spaghetti, penne! I remember bread with every meal growing up.
This tradition has carried over into my adult life and my children love bread as much as I do. For better or worse, we love bread.
Tonight was pasta night. We needed bread. For the first time, I can plan ahead and make bread instead of sending the hubsters to the store moments before dinner to pick some up. (Or worse, him refusing and the family having wheat sandwich bread with our pasta. Oh the humanity!)
I spent the better part of my morning searching for bread recipes that I could make up in the bread machine then cook in the oven. I stumbled across this one which had great reviews.
I prepared mine exactly as written, adding the water and oil, then the sugar and salt and lastly the flour and yeast. Popped it in the machine and it did it's thing for 1 hour and 50 minutes.
When it was done, I flattened it out and rolled it up. Then left it to rise again.
After about an hour of sitting, I popped it in the oven.
When I say the first loaf was gone in record time, I really mean it. My kids didn't even bother with the pasta. They just wanted bread. They wanted to eat the second loaf. They want me to make loaves for all their friends. It was a real hit. The house smelled wonderful. The hubsters might have cracked a smile. Which to me, means it gets an eight. I said he might have smiled, not that he did. The only bread that will crack an eight will have to get some kind of response out of my otherwise emotionless hubster.