{"id":1770,"date":"2005-02-26T01:38:00","date_gmt":"2005-02-26T01:38:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/elitemporaryblog.wordpress.com\/2005\/02\/26\/the-bread-baking-frenzy"},"modified":"2015-09-24T03:54:29","modified_gmt":"2015-09-24T03:54:29","slug":"the-bread-baking-frenzy","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/orangette.net\/2005\/02\/the-bread-baking-frenzy\/","title":{"rendered":"The bread-baking frenzy"},"content":{"rendered":"
Dear reader, I\u2019ve been wielding the tools of anthropology haphazardly again<\/a>.<\/p>\n Lately I\u2019ve noticed that every time I cross paths with women of a certain age, the conversation ends the same way. After a few moments of pleasant exchange, talk comes to an abrupt halt with the following exclamation: \u201cOh Molly, you\u2019re baking? I used to bake bread too! For years, I baked every loaf we ate!\u201d Without fail, in the seconds that follow, her eyes glaze over, her pulse visibly quickens, and she lets slip a telltale sigh that settles into silence. This is more than a simple fit of nostalgia. I know, because I am what these women used to be. What they wistfully recall, and what I embody, is an as-yet-undocumented stage in the development of the human female: the bread-baking frenzy<\/strong>.* As you can see, I will make my mark on anthropology yet.<\/p>\n With no further ado, I present the evidence. In the beginning, there was Jack Lang\u2019s sourdough method<\/a>, a lean dough baked into a rustic boule which, when well-behaved, quite nearly made a (pioneer) woman out of me<\/a>. But unfortunately, it\u2019s not well-behaved very often. My sourdough starter is tough to please and very temperamental. It gets lonely. It gets cold easily. It wants more food. My Jack Lang bread is like the little girl with the little curl right in the middle of her forehead: when it\u2019s good, it\u2019s very good, and when it\u2019s bad, it\u2019s gummy. This tall, nutty loaf not only brings together all kinds of tasty, wholesome stuff\u2014milk, honey<\/strong>, whole wheat flour, wheat germ, oats\u2014but it invites my lonely, prissy sourdough starter in from the cold to get cozy with a strong, dependable package of yeast. It was quite a Friday night for all of us.<\/p>\n And Saturday afternoon, after a good night’s rest, I tucked two slices into a sandwich bag and headed out to meet Margot and Kate at Pioneer Square Park (or, as Kate explained over the phone, \u201cle parc o\u00f9 tous les hommes font pipi<\/em>\u201d (the park where all the [drunk] men pee); we\u2019re practicing our French together, and Kate is really outdoing herself). It was sunny but deceptively cold, and the lovely sisters were waiting for me on a bench, squinting happily into the light. I handed over the slices for their inspection. They inhaled them solemnly, thoughtfully, co-conspirators in a very serious mission. * The bread-baking frenzy generally occurs between ages 22 and 35, after college and before the kids start school. It is occasionally seen to be coterminous with the <\/span>knitting stage<\/span><\/a>, although the two should not be conflated.<\/span><\/p>\n Honey Gold Oatmeal Bread Last Christmas, Kate officially brought me into the clan by giving me a copy of her family\u2019s recipe book. This is serious stuff, and I feel a bit more sappy about it than I should probably admit.<\/p>\n
Margot, the source of all things sourdough<\/a>, has no fewer than five loaves in her freezer at all times. She is a machine. And Kate, her little sister, is also producing like there\u2019s no tomorrow: she\u2019s up at six in the morning to bake<\/a> boules for her father, and in one of her more brilliant schemes, she\u2019s trading bread for sashimi-grade ahi<\/strong> at Pike Place Market. Even Keaton, a self-proclaimed non-baker, recently made a loaf or two. And as for me, ever since that momentous evening in October when Margot gave me a jar of starter, I too have been compelled by a mysterious inner drive<\/strong>\u2014something visceral and inarticulate, something that doesn\u2019t ask but tells. I must<\/em> bake bread. I must, I must, I must<\/em>.<\/p>\n
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Not being one to take failure well, I\u2019ve kept these dark moments from you, gentle reader, and I\u2019ve sought solace in the company of another: Fleischmann\u2019s active dry yeast. I\u2019ve retreated into Rancho La Puerta whole wheat bread<\/a>, dense, delicious, and reliable, and last Friday night, I stayed home with my oven and two loaves of honey gold oatmeal bread<\/strong>.<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
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And then we spent the afternoon as one would expect, walking the city and talking bread\u2014give or take a few minor tangents involving barbeque-pork hum bows, fresh tofu, and mini handcuffs for a roasted chicken. It was beautiful, an afternoon for the social science books<\/strong>. We\u2019re in it together, fervent and frenzied, until the next stage.<\/p>\n
<\/strong>Adapted from Knight Family Recipes 2005<\/em>, which in turn excerpted from Sourdough Jack\u2019s Cookery<\/em><\/a><\/p>\n<\/p>\n