Still another thing we did on our lovely Sunday in Akko and Rosh Hanikra was to have dinner at an olive farm somewhere north of Haifa. As we walked into this green, peaceful grove we were met by a vivacious black-haired woman called Shoshi who told us (with a smile) that we would work for our supper. Sitting on benches at long wooden tables we each had to prepare a pita to bake in her Bedouin oven. I used to make all kinds of wonderful breads throughout the years when the kids were growing up: making black bread, potato bread with caraway seeds, pumpernickel, Anadama, walnut bread, all were a part of my children's childhoods. Even before they turned two years old each of my children knew how to help mix the batter, knead the dough,
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