A couple of years ago, I was impressed enough to take this picture. My Easter breads.
The Saturday before Easter is one of my favorite days. No stress, just anticipation. It’s almost resurrection, the pause before celebration. It’s relaxed, like Thanksgiving back when my mom did all the cooking and I just set the table.
One of my favorite memories is the blessing of the baskets. I was old enough to drive, and I wasn’t too full of myself, not yet. Sure … yeah mom, I’ll take the basket to church. I mostly remember the bread. Yeah, there were the meats and eggs and dairy. But ummmm …. the bread. What smells better than just baked homemade bread?
We put the basket right on the floor, just outside the pew. Pulled back the linen. The special Easter linen. So the bread and other Easter foods could receive the blessing. The priest walked up and down the isle, extended his arm, sprinkled holy water. He always remarked. About the aroma, of course. You can’t beat that aroma. Inevitably, there was a lady two rows up with her hair in curlers. Cause it was the Saturday before Easter.
I guess that’s why I tried to make homemade bread. To be honest, it tasted better than it looks.
My best to all.