July 9, 2001 ~ A long, long time ago...
when I was newly married, a mere child of about 20 or 21, I learned to bake bread. I did not spring from a baking family, not so's you'd notice. My grandmother baked cookies and cakes and wonderful things, but she died when I was young, long before she was able to teach me any how-to's. I have her recipe box, though. Notes scrawled out in her delicate hand, "butter the size of an egg." Makes me smile, reading things like that, but how big is an egg? Did she mean a large egg or a small one? My mother worked (back when most mothers didn't) and didn't have much time for baking, except for special occasions.
But way back when, the freshly married me was an earth-mother type, who thought things should be made from scratch whenever possible. At fourteen, I'd visited a cousin's farm, and Cousin Lilly baked. Everything. Bread, rolls, cookies, cakes... all the time, too, not just for my visit. I'd never been a fan of Wonder Bread or its ilk, but the bread that Lilly baked was the best I'd ever had. Hearty. It had substance. It TASTED like something, wasn't cottony and soft like the usual stuff. I kept that in mind, always, and when I had my own home, I started baking.
Well, it was a lot of work, all that kneading. And pretty messy, too. My then-husband... I can't even remember now if he even liked the home-baked goodies. At any rate, baking lost its appeal. I put away my bread pans, and a lot of years passed. Every now and then I'd bake something from scratch. For a while there, I baked sourdough bread every single week. Had that "starter," you know, and just kept it going for months. I think it was carpal tunnel problems that put an end to the Suzy Homemaker stuff; the kneading was just too much for me.
I don't know why, but "home-baked" has always meant "love" to me. I know that's silly. Still. You have no idea how happy I am, when someone gives me something they baked. It just... touches something in me. Is it those fading memories of beloved relatives? The ones who didn't teach me anything about baking? Couple of weeks ago, a friend gave me a loaf of bread she'd made especially for me. Low in calories, low in fat. I actually had a lump in my throat when she handed me the foil-wrapped loaf. And last week, a neighbor's daughter brought me zucchini bread she'd baked with zucchini from our garden. I think I'm still smiling.
A friend recently mentioned something she used to enjoy, Anadama bread. It was comfort food for her. She pointed me in the direction of the recipe, and after some hesitation and procrastination, I decided to try it yesterday. Larry said I dirtied every dish in the house, and he's probably right. I was afraid I'd forgotten how to do it, but it all came back to me. Like riding a bicycle, I guess. How warm the water should be for the yeast, how long to knead the bread, where to put it in the kitchen so it would rise properly. It all worked out just fine, and the results are delicious. So even though my friend didn't actually bake the bread FOR me (she lives far away), it almost felt that way. Her idea, you know. Her encouragement. She showed me the recipe. And now, I think that every time I bake this particular type of bread (and there will definitely be a next time), I'll remember my faraway friend.
I'm thinking that maybe my grandmother taught me a thing or two about baking after all.
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