my kitchen

My paternal grandmother made bread a lot; she saved the plastic sleeves from store-bought bread to put her own loaves in. I remember eating at her house–there was always bread and butter on the table. Always.

My kitchen is a whole different place to me now that I’m baking bread. I mean, I had made bread before–but I had never had great success with it and I had TERRIBLE luck with whole-grain bread. Since white bread is so bad for you, it was a once-in-a-while thing to eat, much less bake, and I never really got into it.

Since Conor brought me the Laurel’s Kitchen book, I have baked bread a handful of times and already I can see I’ll be doing it weekly. Probably forever. Today I made sourdough rolls.

Did you catch that? I made sourdough rolls.

That means that I have planned ahead to these rolls for a week (I had to make my starter, as I’ve never done sourdough before). I made the dough starter last night. And today I made the bread. It takes time–not that you’re DOING anything for most of that time, just that the bread is–and it takes a certain amount of concentration. It’s relaxing, interesting (who knew that dough went through so many stages?), and meditative. And it’s cool to think that people have been making bread just like this for years and years–the sourdough contains yeast, water, flour, and salt. That’s it. It’s like a time-out from modernity or something.

So tonight we had dinner and I put out some bread. Mary was eating hers (with butter on some, jam on some–she loves it). It was a sort of timeless thing.

And, to top it all off, these sourdough rolls? They are killer. I would not have believed that it was possible to make bread this good in my pathetic oven.

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One response to this post.

  1. Posted by Sandy on May 28, 2009 at 5:09 am

    Hmmmmm! Sounds like something we need to try next time we’re there for dinner!

    Reply

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