When the Bread Maker Becomes Your Enemy!!!

 I can make bread by hand like a proud Sicilian Nonnie — flour everywhere, instincts engaged, yeast respected. Knead it, feel it, whisper encouraging words… perfect loaf, you can do this, I know you can rise to the occasion.  You know like you're encouraging a toddler to walk for the first time!

But introduce a bread maker?

Immediate hostility.

That machine hums confidently, like it’s on my side, then delivers a loaf with the personality of a cinder block. Too dense. Too tall. Emotionally unavailable. One loaf had the nerve to crack and stare at me like, “You thought I was going to be great, but here I am killing it (literally).”

I followed the recipe exactly. Measured. Weighed. Obeyed.
Still — betrayal bread!!

At this point, I’m convinced the bread maker senses independence. It knows I don’t need it… and it’s deeply offended!

So yes, I can make bread with my hands, my heritage, and my Italian soul.
But the bread maker?

It’s a personal Italian vendetta.

NO PICTURES, IT'S TOO EMBARRASSING!

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