Three families were fed with today’s gigantic pot of beef stew. I used the pizza stone to make fresh pita bread. Mom more or less claimed the loaf of apple-oatmeal bread as her own and Dear Old Dad has taken to ripping handfuls off of yesterday’s Pennsylvania Dutch raisin bread.
I thought about getting a stand mixer. Making bread entirely by hand is a lot of work, but the work is the entire point of making bread. So I don’t need one.
When I start working the dough with my hands I find myself dropping into the horse stance from my early training in Kenpo. My breath falls into a rhythm and I knead with the heels of my hands for ten or fifteen minutes without much effort. I like watching the raw materials fall into a shaggy mix, then a sticky mess and eventually silky smooth ball ready to rise. The very best part is handing my folks a buttered slice of warm bread.
I am happily tired. Time for some herbal tea, a terrible movie and curling up with Pooka.
This was a wonderful day.