I thought the bread I've been buying was a pretty healthy choice. I'd opt for whole-grain, fiber-rich versions from the Arnold [1] brand, such as Oat Nut. Then I happened to read the label, and saw that this seemingly wholesome bread has high fructose corn syrup listed as one of the ingredients.

Suddenly, the squishy loaves on my supermarket's shelves seemed rife with danger — preservatives, low fiber content, refined grains. Without a decent bakery nearby, what's a concerned mom to do?

It just so happened that Panasonic loaned me a bread machine [2] to try out, reminding me of a phase after culinary school where I was obsessed with making homemade bread (much to my husband's delight). Then I ran out of time and energy. But a bread machine could solve all of our problems — bread whose ingredients I can count on one hand, but without the tedium of monitoring multiple kneadings, risings and bakings.

I hadn't ever used a bread machine and was skeptical about the caliber of the loaves it would produce, so I decided to experiment. Which would make a better loaf, faster — a bread machine, or my own two hands?

Beth Hensperger's excellent book, The Bread Bible [3] (Chronicle Books, 2004), gave me the perfect control. Her recipe for "Old-fashioned 100 Percent Whole-Wheat Bread" has a version that's adapted to a bread maker.

Eager to play with my new toy, I decided to try the bread maker version first. Using this machine couldn't be easier — you basically put all of the wet and dry ingredients into the machine, poured the yeast into a little dispenser on the top, program the machine to the type and size of loaf you want, and press start. Many machines require you to put the wet ingredients in first, then layer the dry ingredients on top, make a little divot in the flour, and pour the yeast into the hole. But Panasonic's machine eliminates this exactitude with its YeastPro feature, which keeps the yeast separate until the other ingredients have been combined, so the yeast won't prematurely activate.

I was surprised, though, when I programmed the machine, that the countdown started off at more than 5 hours! Even with a bread machine, you can't rush the multiple, hours-long rise times that bread needs to develop, particularly heavier, whole-wheat versions. (I should note that not all bread machines take this long — a similar recipe made in a Breadman machine took only about three and a half hours.)

Nonetheless, those five hours were largely unmonitored ones; I ran errands and played in the yard with my daughter, just making sure that I was in the house when the beeper went off, so I could immediately take the loaf out of the pan (a must — otherwise it'll get soggy).

The resulting loaf was tall and skinny, as most bread machine loaves are (yielding slices that make the biggest PB&J you've ever seen), but it had a nice light, even texture and the crust had just the right amount of crispness to it, particularly on the bottom.

On day two, I attempted the "unplugged" version of Beth's whole wheat recipe, setting my stopwatch so I could see how long the whole process took. The recipe called for making a sponge first, which is a batter-like mixture of the yeast, liquid, sweetener and some of the flour, which is allowed to rise. This helps to develop the glutens and gives the bread an improved flavor and an even texture.

Did I say unplugged? After the sponge rose for about an hour, I did use my stand mixer to mix in the rest of the flour. Then I turned the dough out onto my counter and kneaded it for five minutes. Yes, this is work that the bread machine does for you (and which I could've let my stand mixer perform), but kneading is a satisfying, primal process. I enjoyed letting the sticky feel of the dough dictate how much more flour I should work in, and feeling the mass transform from a slack lump to a springy, elastic ball.

The dough had to rise another couple of hours, not quite enough time for me to run an errand without fear of not getting back in time. And then, after dividing the dough and forming the loaves into baking pans, there was still another 45 minute rise. Finally, the loaves went into the oven to bake for 45 minutes.

I stopped my stopwatch when the fragrant bread came out of the oven — at 5 hours and 45 minutes, the process took just a little longer than the bread machine, although it required quite a bit of intervention on my part.

My homemade loaves were disappointingly short and squat after the towering loaf produced by the bread machine, too small for a sandwich, but just right for a couple of slices of buttered toast the next day with my eggs. The texture was slightly denser than the bread machine, perhaps due to my inexpert kneading or not letting the bread rise enough the final time. But it was amazing to see how different the flavor was, even though the ingredients were the same. My hand-kneaded bread had a tangier, nuttier, deeper flavor, and a thick, crisp crust.

The verdict: The bread machine was so easy to use that it might become part of my weekly cooking routine, although perhaps I'll figure out how to transfer the dough to a pan and bake it in my oven, so that I can reach a happy medium with loaf sizes.

And, when I have the time, I'll definitely take the opportunity to get my hands dirty by making some good old-fashioned hand-made bread.