My earliest memory of food is tasting my mother's fresh bread as it came from the oven.The aroma of fresh bread hit me as soon as I opened the front door.

My siblings and I would race to the kitchen to see who would win the prized end piece of bread. Most of the time my older brother would get there first as he had longer legs than I. Any piece of homemade bread from the oven was manna from heaven.

We would lather our bread with butter amidst much pushing and shoving. However, once the first bite touched my tongue a feeling of contentment flowed through my body. It was as if everything I encountered up until that time paled into insignificance. I was holding the holy grail within my palm. The texture was moist and soft but the brown crust was hard enough to hold the fluffy, white center.

My mother put everything imaginable between those succulent pieces of airy soft white bread from egg salad to sliced meatballs with cheese. It didn't really matter that my bread was thicker or not quite as square as my friends' Wonder Bread at school. I just wanted to be the one who received the thick end piece of bread because it tasted so good whether it was hot from the oven or cold from the refrigerator.

It's memories like these that help me to be grateful for my sense of taste. I for one don't know where I would be without it in my life!

And in case you'd like to make your own homemade bread, here's a video to show you how!