Imagine cloud-soft dough rising without yeast, cradling golden steam—the kind that makes your hands pause mid-knead while you whisper, “Mama Elara, you witch of the hollow.” My Mama Elara baked this in her 1932 Ozark cabin after the bank took our land, using up Depression-era flour sacks to feed hungry moonshiners. For 92 years, it’s been the star of every harvest moon, snowed-in Sunday, and “the world’s on fire but this loaf is perfect” moment. When you tear into that crust, you’re not just eating bread—you’re tasting the grit of a woman who fed 12 children on a sharecropper’s wage.

Why You’ll Love This Recipe

✅ Dough that rises like a prayer—no yeast, no waiting (Mama’s no-sink rule)

✅ Crust that shatters cold—never soggy, never sad

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