In 1925, an Italian school girl named Vera Marziali won a national competition for essays about bread.

In her composition she wrote: “For us, bread is not just useful, it is holy, not just a reality but a symbol: work, the intimacy of the family, sacrifice, humility, faith and life. I find that speaking about bread is like speaking about light.” Although her writing reflects the political objectification of bread during the fascist era, it also captures the power that this simple foodstuff exerts over the collective imagination.

I made bread for the first time when I was 16. It was a dense and unappealing brick. Over the years, I made a few more attempts, some more successful than others. I tried to get my head around what a starter was and how to care for it, even though mine always seemed dead. And then, after years of haphazard dabbling, I got bitten by the bread bug. There was no turning back. It happened rather suddenly and my bread making took off in a big way. It was not just a food, it was an emotion. I dreamt about bread. Like running, writing, and cooking, making bread became part of who I am.

I have two faithful starters that I nurture with care, Tiberia Claudia and Andrew in the Rye. I home mill my own flour and I bake a couple of times a week. Bread People are enraptured with the infinitely varied possibilities that arise from the simple combination of yeast, flour, and water. We enter into a symbiosis with various external conditions and the raw materials, trying to unlock the secrets and ride the wave.

This is a portrait gallery of my life with bread. No recipes. Just sharing the joy.