Bread

Tasty, if not beautiful

I don't know where my husband comes up with some of his ideas. He somehow got it into his head that he had to make bread. Or rather, that we had to make bread.

One of the scary things about getting older is some of the things that just pop out of your mouth, like "It has been 25 years since I made bread." The first time I said such an old-person thing I really shocked myself.

But it's true. Back then I was living alone for the first time, in that apartment with no air conditioning across from Vulcan's bare backside. Back before the internets. Before VCRs, or at least before most people could afford them. Due to scheduling mixups I wound up with a lot of free time that quarter. And that's the only time I've ever made bread.

To tell you the truth, it was a lot easier than I remembered. It's also very forgiving. We had an afternoon full of recipe-misreading and recriminations, punctuated with fits of hysterical laughter.

That means another 3 cups of flour, not the original 3 cups!
You said 125°, not 115°!
That's not what I'd call kneading!

When it was done it was delicious. I gorged myself. I ate so much bread that I gave myself a stomachache.

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Updated:
Well I was a bit embarrassed to have such a fine baker as Susan see our less-than-perfect loaves, but I think she's just happy to know that folks are baking bread. Go check out one of her special projects, A Year in Bread.