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  • my mom and i used to make bread together on saturdays. we'd knead the dough before i was old enough to reach the counter top. she'd pull out the stool and i would grow two feet, high enough to lean in and push the dough with my fists. first dip them in flour, then the dough won't stick. push and pull. my tiny hands would sink into the warm puddy and disappear. there's a just right, she'd say. now let it rest until the time is right.

    i know what that means now. sift, mix, knead, wait. then wait just a little bit longer. watch it grow and grow, then lean in and gently push the dough down. the perfect moment is now. there is almost a sound, the pillow of dough letting go, relief. the whiff of yeast is strong and nutty. something created from nothing on a saturday afternoon.
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