Bread's rising. Nothing I do in the kitchen is more rewarding and rife with promise than breadmaking. Why don't I do it more often? The actual labor involved is moderate, and most of the process is...waiting. Heck, I'm building character while I make sweet potato dinner rolls!
Will it rise well? Will it taste good? Will it reflect what I've put into it? I love that I can kind of monitor the progress step by step, from proofing the yeast to how much give the dough has during kneading to how much and how quickly it rises, both the first and second time.
Right now, I'm waiting for the little orangey rolls I've shaped to magically fluff up and fulfill their potential. There's no reason they shouldn't, because they've been given everything they need to thrive. I followed the recipe to the letter, and handled every step with care, and have been watchful of the entire process. No detail has escaped my attention.
But still, I wait...and I'm a little nervous. But it's a familiar anticipation. I've been here before.
UPDATE: They are perfect, my little bread-babies. Here's hoping that this really IS a metaphor for my life.