There are few things in life better than a loaf of freshly baked bread.
At least for me, there’s a good chance that if there’s fresh bread in the house, I’ll eat pretty much nothing else until it’s gone.
Part of fresh bread’s appeal comes down to its tangible attributes. The smell it fills the house with as it bakes, the way it feels in your mouth as you bite through the hard crust into the soft, still-warm center, and of course, the flavour, understated though it may be.
Another part of the appeal, however, is its hearty simplicity.
Fresh bread is humble, unpretentious, made of simple ingredients that have remained largely unchanged over centuries if not millennia.
In an increasingly experimental culinary world highlighted by flashy, exotic, Instagram-worthy ingredients and presentations, good simple bread persists—and in many cases remains uniquely capable of stealing the show out from under a more ostentatious main course.
Perhaps part of the magic of good bread is that it defies our expectations of what a few simple ingredients are capable of adding up to.
Or perhaps we’re presented with so much bland, mundane, mass-produced bread that when it’s done right, we can’t help but take notice.
Whatever it is, for all its simplicity, good bread is–often literally–remarkable.
Bread is not alone in its simple, durable remarkability.
Beer, wine, cheese, olive oil, a steaming bowl of soup, stew or goulash—all of which pair excellently with a fresh loaf of bread by the way—are just a few products of simple ingredients that have continued to persist, comfort, and delight through the centuries.
In a world that is changing ever more quickly, the fact that these foods, made often from just a few simple ingredients have not only endured in their appeal is incredible.
But what if these foods have persisted not in spite of their simple, pedestrian, unassuming ingredients but because of them?
And if so, what can we learn about cooking with simple ingredients when it comes to our creative practices?
Simplicity is a Feature Not a Bug
A basic loaf of sourdough bread is made from just three ingredients, flour, salt, and water.
For most of us, these ingredients are not only easily-accessible, but ubiquitous. If we don’t already have our cupboard stocked with them, we can get them quickly and cheaply.
The basic building blocks of creative work are even more ubiquitous.
At its core, all creative work comes down to just two basic ingredients:
- A novel idea
- A way to express it
We’re all equally capable of finding good ideas if we’re willing to learn how to look for, notice, and develop them.
And while there are certainly complex and expensive ways of expressing ideas, most of us have the ability, both physically & technically, to share our ideas in either written or recorded form.
Writing, in particular, has persisted as a durable form of communicating ideas for millennia.
Despite the limited number of prerequisites, we have a hard time believing that these simple ingredients are enough to succeed creatively.
And so we start adding in trendy, exotic, and flashy ingredients, thinking that what our recipe is missing is more spice, more garnish, or more “Wow” factor.
In the hands of a skilled chef, these finishing touches might elevate a dish from great to extraordinary.
In the hands of an amateur, they lead to a dish that may look impressive… but leaves a disappointing taste in your mouth.
Perhaps it’s the most skilled chef of all who is able to deliver an extraordinary, remarkable experience without the ornamentation. With nothing but a few simple ingredients, prepared masterfully.
And indeed, it’s precisely the method of preparation that has the ability to transform many a set of simple ingredients into something exponentially greater than the sum of their parts.
The Magic is in the Process
For all the joy a loaf of fresh bread is capable of bringing us, it’s surprising we don’t bake them more often.
The reason, I think, is that while the ingredients may be simple and readily available, the process required to transform those ingredients into something special requires more time, patience, and commitment than we’re typically willing to invest.
A single loaf of sourdough, for example, can take over a week to create, with regular attention and adjustments to the fermenting sourdough starter mix.
So instead, more often than not, we settle for an off-the-shelf, pre-packaged loaf that—while it might occupy the same space in our stomach—lacks the substance and the magic of the carefully and attentively prepared alternative.
It turns out, sourdough is not alone in its patient magic.
The same slow, caring, attentive process transforms all kinds of simple ingredients into something special.
Wine, whiskey, beer, barbecue, stew, cheese, and many other foods all improve with age. Many even require it.
Balsamic vinegar, for example, takes anywhere from 12-25 years to prepare from scratch.
The same concept holds true for us as creators, both in regard to our individual ideas and projects as well as our broader careers.
Applying Time & Patience to Your Creative Work
Every full-time creator I know has a slew of ideas for blog posts, podcast episodes, or videos they’ve been patiently allowing to ferment for multiple years without publishing.
On the surface, these ideas are almost always simple, mundane, quotidian.
And yet… for one reason or another, there’s something about the idea they can’t quite shake or articulate.
And they begin to obsess over it.
When the time finally comes to publish, the process of fermentation has done what it always does: Transformed the simple base ingredients into something entirely unrecognizable and, perhaps even, remarkable.
The same process of fermentation occurs at the career level as well.
It’s absurd to think that someone who’s been creating around a topic, genre, or medium for two years would have anywhere near the level of nuanced insight, mastery of the tools, or ability to articulate ideas as effectively as someone who’s been baking with those same ingredients for a decade (let alone three, or five).
The most successful creators are often those who dedicate an entire body of work to a simple topic others overlook as unworthy of more than a single blog post or podcast episode.
Think Ryan Holiday with Stoicism applied to modern life.
Brene Brown with vulnerability.
Krista Tippett with what it means to be a human today.
None of their work is defined by exotic spice or extravagant garnish, but instead, a few simple ingredients, given decades to ferment and transform into something magical.
Which is all any of us needs.
The ingredients are all around us. In fact, we likely already have them.
Which means the surest path to success might be to stop looking outward for the ingredients we feel we’re missing and instead look inward.
To the simple ingredients that have already been fermenting, perhaps for years, unseen, waiting patiently to be combined, nurtured, and distilled into something entirely magical.
Explore how to navigate a creative life that matters
This article originally appeared in my weekly Creative Wayfinding Newsletter. Each issue is the product of a week of work, and contains something not available for sale.
A fresh perspective, a shot of encouragement when you need it most, and maybe even some genuine wisdom from time to time.
Each week, we explore a different facet of the question “How do we navigate the wilds of creating work that matters?”
It’s something I’m proud to create and I’d be honoured to share it with you.
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