It has been years since I made my first loaf of bread, and it has been an occasional activity since, but never one I was completely comfortable with.

The bread was almost always oatmeal brown bread, a classic from Nova Scotia's Annapolis Valley. It is a tradition from my mother's side of the family, where it is considered an essential alongside baked beans.

But I was never all that happy with the results. It never rose as much as I expected, and would often break open on one side in the oven. I was never sure what to do about it.

Then at Christmas a book arrived to boost my confidence: The Breads of France and How to Bake Them in Your own Kitchen, by Bernard Clayton Jr.

The book, described as a classic from the 1970s, is written in a no-nonsense, comforting style. In the section on kneading, for example, it recommends throwing the bread down hard on the work surface occasionally, which not only assists the process but, "alerts the household that bread is being made."

It reminded me of Cook Until Done, by George Bradshaw and Ruth Norman, an obscure title that decades ago made me comfortable with making soufflé.

Now I fearlessly charge into such fanciful creations as Kugelhupf (sounds German, I know, a Strasbourg recipe), which is rather like a gigantic brioche. I have even gone at recipes from other cookbooks, undaunted when the recipe turns out to be poorly tested and I find I still have a cup of warm milk on the counter when the bread's in the oven.

On Sunday, I tried molasses brown bread again, patiently letting it rise much longer this time, and coming to the realization the recipe I have is short on yeast. I will do my grandmother proud on this bread yet.

Has a cookbook ever changed your entire approach in the kitchen?