Breaking/Bread

I have had a post in my drafts folder for more than a month now entitled "I'm Really Back This Time" that was obviously not true, given I never finished or sent it. I did finish working on Breaducation, finally (mostly), but not until about a week ago, and I've been in something of a postpartum funk ever since. I'm sure I'll snap out of it (seeing as I have little choice, given all my other commitments, including and especially this newsletter), but it's hard to say just how long it will take.

Breaducation is good (I think), and I am proud of it (I think), but I am not gonna lie: making it was somewhat traumatic. To begin with, it required a lot more work than I ever anticipated it would—three years rather than eighteen months, the last year of which was a nearly seven-days-a-week effort, with barely a handful of full days off.

For all of my life, I've basically existed as a high-functioning slacker, able to produce decent-to-excellent work with a minimum of effort, fooling teachers and employers alike. But in this case I had nobody to fool other than myself, and no choice but to put my head down and find the time and energy to make the book I set out to. It's a good thing I had no idea when I began how much effort it would take, because I had no prior evidence to support the notion that I could pull it off. Frankly, I'm still amazed I didn't throw in the towel and return my advance ages ago.

The time, energy, and emotional focus it took also was deeply isolating. Breads requiring two- or three-day fermentations kept me stuck at home most of the time. Moreover, the anxiety I felt about how much work remained to be done and whether or not I'd reach the finish line on time (or ever) left me unable to fully enjoy myself outside of the house or in the company of others. The book—or, more accurately, THE BOOK—weighed on my mind constantly, particularly because for much of the past three years, it mostly existed only in my mind. I couldn't talk about it except in the abstract, and couldn't talk about much else either, so I wasn't much fun to be around.

Relationships with friends suffered as a result, and a couple were strained to the point of breaking entirely. I'm not sure how to feel about this just yet. Obviously it's sad and not great to lose friends, especially old ones, but I'm 100% certain I could not have made this book without going into near-total isolation as I did. If said friendships could not withstand my holing up in the flour mines for a few years, knowing full well what I was up to and why, I'm not sure how solid they were to begin with. (Friends who stuck around at least got access to buttloads of bread as a consolation for my absence. In fact, my most common mode of communication over the past few years was almost-daily texts imploring friends, family, and neighbors to come get this stuff off my hands before it stales.)

All of that was exhausting and even painful to get through, but it wasn't really the traumatic part. What was traumatic was having to muster the energy and enthusiasm for the project while being presented daily with news of the latest atrocity or disaster du jour.

I signed the contract for Breaducation on January 17, 2023, and since then we've endured (to name but a few lowlights):

• the ongoing war in Ukraine
• the genocide of Armenians living in Artsakh by Azerbaijan
• the Hamas attacks on October 7
• the war on Gaza
• wildfires in Maui and Los Angeles
• the shitshow that was the 2024 U.S. presidential election, up to and including the return of the Orange Menace to the White House
• the pardoning of the January 6 insurrectionists
• DOGE gutting the U.S bureaucracy
• the Trump tariffs
• airstrikes on Venezuelan fishermen in the Caribbean
• RFK, Jr
• the release of the Epstein files
• ICE surges on liberal U.S. cities
• ICE murdering American citizens on our streets
• ICE illegally deporting undocumented immigrants, legal immigrants, and even American citizens, some to third-party countries to be tortured or jailed
• the invasion of Venezuela
• the war on Iran
• three of Earth's warmest years on record

And on and on and on. Every day—every hour, practically—some new fresh hell to greet us from our radios, front pages, and social media feeds.

I'm not suggesting at all that my own suffering during this time is anywhere near equivalent to the actual victims of these ongoing crimes against humanity. I am comfortably housed and fed, healthy and insured, and almost entirely insulated from the ravages of climate change (so far) and the evils and idiocies our government (so far). But still, getting up each day and talking oneself into working on a book about bread, something that—in the face of all this—seems superfluous, even trivial, was really, really hard. I did it, because I had no choice, but it took its toll on my mental health, and it's going to take awhile to recover from that.

All of which is to say that I am actually, really back, but a) I had to explain all that first before I could jump into sharing recipes or talking about bread and food, and b) it's probably going to take me some time to return to full speed around here. I do have lots to share, whether excerpts or outtakes from Breaducation (the latter of which there are many), or things unrelated to it. I am very glad that the book is finished for all the reasons described above, but also because I've missed being able to make Wordloaf my priority and my main outlet for writing and recipe-sharing. Thank you all for being here, and for being patient in my absence these past few months.

—Andrew

Ps. I've been reluctant to share this given that the cover has not been finalized yet, but the book is actually available for preorder already, at all the usual places, including Bookshop.org, Barnes & Noble, and your local bookshop if you ask nicely at the information desk. (It's also at the evil place but please do not buy it there.)