To market, to market . . .

This Saturday marks the first week of our local farmer's market on the downtown square. This is going to be the first time that I am officially attempting to sell, market, produce my bread for profit.

Tonight, I planned to prepare some of the dough so that it could ferment or retard overnight and be ready to bake tomorrow.

Right before I walked into the kitchen, though, a tsunami of self-doubt crashed ashore in my mind. What on earth am I thinking, throwing my life upside down based on the delusion that people would actually pay money to buy my bread?!

What if I fail? What if my dough doesn't rise? What if I end up with a bunch of half-baked ideas that I am too embarrassed to sell? What on earth am I doing?!?

Deeeeep breaths. A moment to focus. And a supportive husband. These are what got me into the kitchen to bake tonight.

Much to my delight, my dough rose perfectly, doubling in bulk, pulling together, kneading into beautifully elastic hunks of goodness. My banana bread came out beautifully crisp on top, nicely domed and cracked, decadently moist on the inside. My house smelled like heaven, and I felt like myself again.

I think I'm going to be okay. I really can do this. By the end of the evening, I was prancing happily around the kitchen calling myself "The Master Baker." For now.