I made my first loaf in seventh grade and it was terrible.

In my Spanish class, we needed to get puntos (“points”) over the course of the semester as part of our grade. These were extra activities to help us engage with the Spanish language or culture outside of class time. Now, as a seventh grader, I was pretty mediocre at school, so doing more vocabulary sheets wasn’t the ideal way to get points; making and sharing Spanish cuisine, on the other hand, was much more tractable. I sifted through many culinary delights of South and Central America and Spain, but what caught my eye was a type of bread called pan de muerto or “dead bread.” 

This traditional Mexican bread is baked in the days preceding a celebration on November 2, Dia de los Muertos, or “Day of the Dead,” where individuals and communities gather to remember their passed ancestors and family members. The bread itself is a hearty white bread flavored with orange zest and anise seed (think mild, black licorice flavor), and — as I unfortunately discovered — is very easy to make very dense and very dry very quickly.

While my puntos were satisfied, I was not. The promise of good flavor was in this loaf, so what went wrong? What was missing? Did I need more orange zest? What if I poked holes into the bread so the glaze could penetrate the thick crust? Could this be better if…? I needed to try again. 

So I made another loaf, new gears in my mind turning, constantly shifting between analysis and creativity. In secret, bread making was taking me through the steps of a scientific method. First step: form a question. How can I make the bread better? Second step: form a hypothesis. If I poke holes in the crust, the bread will be more moist and more flavorful. Third step: conduct the experiment. Make and bake the bread! Fourth step: perform the (possibly-delicious) analysis. Is the bread moist and flavorful? Fifth step: draw a data-supported conclusion: poking holes in the crust produces a qualitatively better loaf from a flavor and moisture perspective.

Commonplace bakers like myself are not traditional scientists, but they embody the traits of a scientist. If you give it the thought, you will find there are many pursuits — some that you would scarcely expect — that can be made rich by embracing this simple methodology; in fact, I am almost certain you are engaged in one right now. 

It is not solely up to the scientists of this world to think critically, ask innovative questions and seek deep understanding, while still embracing uncertainty and mystery. It is up to all of us. 

If you need something in your life to help foster this pattern of thought, start with a simple loaf of bread and rise from there.

I made my first loaf in seventh grade and it has helped encourage a life of budding curiosity.