I have this crazy fantasy of being all Ma Ingalls and making all of the food that my family needs and sewing clothes and just being that ultimate mother figure that Karen Grassle evoked as she played Caroline. I am sure that Michael Landon figures in there somewhere in this fantsy, but that is neither here nor there. The whole working a day job and having student loans and other bills to pay sort of crushes the fantasy (for now). However, I can bake some bread.
While resting the dough, I talked to a friend (ahhh, good times) and played a board game with my son. And there was more resting/waiting to happen, so I made a cup of tea and played a half-hearted game of Candyland with the young one. Then there was a tryst with a piece of pita bread (well, half), half a banana and some mini chocolate chips accompanied by another cup of tea. What? 38 minutes and 28 more seconds? Well, there’s always Such a Pretty Fat, a book I’ve been reading in little bite-sized morsels. And then there is the bread fantasy, me and a piece of bread slathered in butter (both of us if need be) and, then, mmmmm. Uh, somehow that didn’t strike me as Ma Ingalls.
And that was before the smell took hold, yes, with 17 minutes and 17 seconds of baking to go, the kitchen began to smell like a bakery. It took a great deal of restraint to keep my saliva under control, and not on my keyboard.
Can’t you just smell it. Yes, that was the hard part, being able to smell it, knowing that I could partake of it’s yeasty warmth, but that I should wait for an hour (or two) before cutting into it. So, what else to do but return to the world of fantasy. I imagine a deep Barry Whitesque voice saying to me, “Woman, you sure do know how to make a finely-shaped loaf of bread.” Then I swoon and wait until my knife can defile the virgin loaf.
And then she had dinner for bread.