Bread is a funny thing. It’s the stuff of life and the one thing I probably couldn’t live without, but the thought of making it at home fills me with dread. Maybe it’s the time and effort you have to put in which, in an instant, can all be for nothing – a minute too long in the oven, a forgotten pinch of salt, so many little things that could be fixed in cooking are irreparable when you’re baking.
Yesterday we had a bonafide Italian in the house, so I took advantage and asked how real Italians make bruschetta. Not surprisingly, it’s much simpler than the hundreds of versions you find on the internet. In fact, if it hadn’t come straight from the horse’s mouth I probably wouldn’t have believed it could be so easy.
Ever found yourself home alone and at a loss as to what to eat for dinner? I usually don’t bother to cook anything too strenuous when it’s just me – telling yourself how delicious something is isn’t quite the same as someone else saying it, is it?