Bread

She kept saying "bread is forgiving," as she mixed the ingredients with her hands. Calling for more flour. Getting her husband to heat the honey/molasses mixture. She was blind, but she still made bread every week, and was teaching us her special recipe. Trying her recipe on my own, I hoped it was true.

I had to change some things. We were almost out of white flour, so it was going to be mainly wheat instead of mainly white. I was halving it too, and realized only once I'd finished the dough that we'd stopped taking notes once the dough was done, so I didn't know how long to cook it or at what temperature. I hadn't really expected to get past the "add flour until it's just right" part of the recipe though, so what's a couple botches more or less?

Not that I'm horrible at bread, but it seems so hit and miss. Such a mystery. Like when to use a comma. I remember deciding to make some Challa bread as a teenager and it went gangbusters. But I had a friend with some whipped butter on hand to garnish the top which really helped. I tried again a couple years ago thinking it'd go perfect with some lemon curd I was attempting, but the yeast didn't rise. The recipe said to put the yeast in warm water, but my definition of "warm" didn't match the yeast's. It was a dismal. I have since learned that "warm" means as hot as it'll come out of most taps.

So it was with a mixture of apprehension in past attempts, new knowledge of my old foe, and faith in my mentor's attitude about bread that I approached this new recipe.

It was wonderful. It turns out that tasting delicious buttered and be-jam-ed bread that I made myself is one of life's really sweet moments. Couldn't get over it all night.

And it wasn't a fluke. My second batch was just as good. Or better?!