I make bread. Up until recently I’d been making it about once a week.
I do a white/wheat mix with instant yeast. Two cups white, three cups wheat, and then whatever flour is needed to keep the dough from sticking to the counter. Three cups water, including the cup that goes in with the yeast and sugar. And a tablespoon of salt. (Never forget the tablespoon of salt…)
I’m thinking of maybe getting a sourdough starter type thing, because that could be yummy and everyone likes sourdough. (Except the people who don’t obviously.)
I like whiter bread better, because it’s fluffier. I also tend to have better luck with the crust then. (I really don’t know what’s wrong with my crusts. They fall off. What kind of crust falls off?)
I like making bread.
It’s easy, but it feels hard, so I feel accomplished when I’m done. And other people think it’s impressive. And it’s yummy when it’s fresh. (Although, only when it’s fresh. My bread does not keep well. It gets very crumbly, and very thick.)
The kneading is fun. It’s work, too. It makes me sweat. And I can do it to music, like cleaning. Except, I run out of cleaning.
(I wish I didn’t run out of cleaning. There are so many things that are harder to do, that I don’t want to do, ever, that I feel like I could get out of if there was just more to clean… But there’s a point at which that’s ridiculous, and things being clean is just really not that important.)
It’s so cool how the dough rises. You kneed it and kneed it and you have this little ball, and then you tuck it up like a child and (instead of getting up and demanding to be taken to the bathroom) it just grows. And then it’s bigger! Which is cool. And it feels and silky and soft.
Like the most excellent blanket.
Except if you tried to use it as a blanket it would get sticky all over you.
I like the rhythm. It feels, right. It feels old. Like I belong to something, or know a secret art known only to the select few. (And everyone with access to the internet, obviously, but hey.)
It used to feel prayerful. There was a time when I made bread nearly every day. And I would be up, in the pale light of the early morning, and making bread before anyone else got up.
And there was a time when I felt like it helped. Because I made bread every day and it got eaten every day. And that felt… good.
Because it feels good to be appreciated. And it feels good to have worked hard on something that turned out right.
3 thoughts on “Bread”
When did it stop working and why?
Also one time you made turtle bread or something like that that had like a glaze or something and the crust was shiny and it was super good and soft and fluffy and warm inside but probably it didn’t have any wheat flour and anyways you never made it again and usually you don’t know what I’m talking about when I mention it and it was really good so I wish it would happen again but probably it never happened and my memory does not correspond to an event in the world and that is sad and I miss it and I wish it would happen again cause it was very yummy 😦
It looked like this kinda:
only without the super cool cross of braided bread and with the turtle bread pattern on top instead kinda.
Also this bread I found when looking for something that looks like I was thinking of makes all other bread I’ve seen look like they totally aren’t even trying to look cool, and I’ve been to a couple of fancy-looking bread factories that make not-very-good bread that is just supposed to look fancy:
I mean, it’s like an entire freaking Easter mural on a bread. There are feathers on the wings of the twin doves, center, and different feathers on the wings of the seraphim in the top right. The tiny laurel is braided. So much texture, so much detail, so much awesome.
😯 HOLY COW. THAT IS AMAZING. 😯 😯
Also, yeah, did it look like a turtle with a little head and feet? I don’t remember making that, but I have a recipe for it. The shiny crust is usually one egg breads. You brush the top with an egg before you put it in the oven to get the shine.
As to when my bread stopped working: I have no idea.