Oliver and I were married in 1950 on Bell Island, N.L. At the time it was an understanding that any wife worth her salt made her own bread. So I tried.
I bought a lovely large white enamel bowl and added all the ingredients. But with each punch to my dough, the enamel came off my bowl, and spoiled my first batch of dough. We had a large wooden ash-bin with a cover attached to our shed out back of our house. So in went my first batch of bread dough. My next batch was a disaster too, as I forgot to add the foaming yeast. It too went into the ash-bin. My third try at bread making went well, but the dough wouldn't rise. At last I had to consult my mother on the problem. She said that the water I had added to my yeast was either too hot or too cold. Again my dough went into the ash-bin. As I wanted to surprise my new husband with homemade bread, I hadn't told him about my three failed attempts. So when Oliver came home for lunch, he came into the house laughing. "That's the best bit of dough I've ever seen,"€ he said. Apparently, the hot sun had made my "bad" bread dough rise and it pushed up the cover of our ash-bin. After my mother taught me, I made perfect bread for over 60 years.   Submitted By: NULL