Bust my Bubble

I admit I cheat on bread-making.  I buy the premade loaves that you slap in the pan and cover with a dishcloth to rise.  It's a no-sweat production and everyone is impressed.  The end result is the same.  You get the same feel, the same look, and the same smell with little-to-no effort.

The rising process has always been the hardest part for me.  It is just as delicate and important as though you made it yourself with raw yeast.  It can either rise too much or not enough.  I had a hard time conquering the rise and fall of bread.  Until...one day I did.  And it's been a happy family of bread-eaters that I feed on a weekly basis.

But the rising process remains a delicate business.  Ask my middle daughter.  Upon arriving home last night, the loaf I had put to rise earlier in the day had risen to a glowing massive heap of golden dough.  Like a tar bubble on the road that you are compelled to pop with your bicycle tire, this golden bubble was too tempting to resist.  She gently reached out to touch it with her forefinger and...

Twas a little thing to fret about.  I told her we could eat it like the unleaven bread the Jews ate in the desert.  I told her it would work wonderfully in sopping up the Country Style Ham Au Gratin I had put in the slow cooker that morning.

But, alas, her bubble had already burst...bust...busted... ah, whatever.  The end result was still the end result. She cried her little heart out, her spirit as deflated as the bread before her.  It was a hard lesson learned but that's what bubbles teach us.

Comments

[Jennifer]

Homemade bread sounds sooo good right now!

[Maureen]

I'm with you on this one, Cay!!!!