The Gnarly Barley pale ale I was sipping at Corner Café and Brewery in Tequesta was rich and full-bodied, with a yeasty finish that reminded me of the bread my mother used to bake when I was a kid. Mom didn't bake bread often, so when she did, it was special. She'd place the dough in loaf pans on the countertop to rise, and the smell of fresh yeast would permeate the house — a smell that only grew stronger while it baked. Later, I'd spread butter over the still-warm slices and savor the way the thick crust gave in to my teeth, how it pulled apart in ropey strands, releasing a plume of fragrant steam into the air. After tasting that bread, returning to the supermarket's bleached white loaves always seemed like punishment. Everyone deserves to eat real bread, I thought. Not... More >>>