All of us have special talents, and within those talents we have subgroups where we fall. For instance, many people are born with musical gifts and yet some play string instruments, others sing, or even play drums. Only one of our four sons can actually play all the instruments he has come across, and I find people like that to be somewhat like a recessive gene.
I also find this in the culinary world. There are those who can bake and those who can cook. My neighbor is one of those recessive genes.
I don't feel gifted in either area, but cooking lends more to the creative right brain thinker because you can just dump a lot of things into a pot and let them simmer to "marry" until that thickness and rich aroma fills the house. My mother-in-law taught me how to do this, and I can certainly wing it when needed.
Baking, on the other hand, is a left brain mathematical scientific process that requires exact measurements, exact temperatures in the house as well as the oven, and exact combinations of ingredients to come out at all or cook into a hard clump or sloppy mess. People who can bake amaze me.
As I wrote in a recent column, I have taken on the task of learning to bake bread. I have baked a couple loaves of white bread, several loads of whole wheat bread due to popular demand with the boys, and a stab at French bread which turned out to be pretty good. My neighbor with the recessive gene also sent over her fresh baked French bread and mine was only half the size and not as light, but the flavor was close. My husband recommended I take a lesson in her kitchen. There is nothing like a poboy made with fresh warm French bread.
Baking bread is its own science, and learning how to activate the yeast was my greatest hurdle. Unlike baking fancy pastries, bread requires some good old beating and rolling and tossing and kneading. It is the leg work or "arm work" that I really love to let off some stress. And the fun of it is as you do this for ten minutes at a time building arm muscles and patience muscles,l a sweet smell begins to resonate and a soft texture begins to form with a bit of bouncy push back.
In fact, the art of baking bread is a lot like life. My friend's daughters were coaching me on how to make really good bread and one said, "You have to make bad bread to make good bread." In other words, we can only learn from our mistakes. If we are not patient with the yeast and the temperature of the liquid is off there will be no good bread. If the bread does not have proper time to rise effectively the bread will be hard. And the thing I love the most about this metaphor is that there is no exact temperature or time. There is not even an exact measurement. It is based on all the "things" going on at once that might require variation. And that can only be determined by the one making the creation.
There is an estimated amount of flour, but depending on the setting more may be needed or even less. The amount of time the bread will take to rise will also vary depending on humidity or temperature. And at the end of the process, you will have a product to feed others, but will it be sweet and light and enjoyable? Will all the patience and hard work bring about something good to share? This is us every day, and some days we must make bad bread to make good bread.
Some days we get in a rush and what we have to offer is not our best, but it is an offering. And some days distractions throw us off and all we put in did not bring about what was expected from others in return. But the effort was there. And then there are the days when it all comes together. The sweet smell of dough fills the air. The bread is broken with those we love. Life is rich. We have arrived in this moment through trial and error and the help of our recessive gene friends. And life is good.
