So I am happy for the Passover respite. It is a gentle, enforced sabbatical that provides perspective. It reminds me as a person to recall my history and imagine Moses' trek. It reminds me as a baker, to respect my craft and to appreciate the luxury of abundance in its simple ingredients, and the opportunity to do what I love. In keeping with the holiday ritual, the flour canisters are scoured, stored or covered.
Bread machines go into hibernation.
My stock of home fashioned frozen bagels and French breads dwindle and disappear. Instead, familiar, friendly boxes of Streit, Yehuda, and Manischevitz matzoh, as well as matzoh meal, appear. The holiday draws closer. Soon, slabs of thin dough, pricked with a docker, get a brisk bake on the oven stone. The first matzoh, the prototype, after all, was homemade too.