Last updated on October 23, 2018
It’s dangerous knowing how to make great homemade bread.
At first, it doesn’t seem like it. You fail a few times and chew stoically on your fifty pound loaf that should have come out light and fluffy because damn it, you MADE this and you’re gonna EAT it and pretend to ENJOY it because it took you HOURS to make it. You think back on everything everyone has told you about bread, with their sneering Bread Overlord smug smiles and advice such as: oh, you’ll know when it’s right. You’ll FEEEEEEEEELLLLL it. Then they secretly bro-fist one another behind your back while you blink stupidly trying to understand the great mysteries.
But then one day it happens. Covered in flour, slipping in it across the kitchen you’ve got the dough in your hands and you feel it. The dough, my young padiwan, is right. Not too sticky, not too hard, not to omgwtfbbq did you just chip the counter? It looks right, smells right, feels right. It’s ready. And so are you.
Ready to become the all-knowing bread making evil genius.
This is what has happened to Shawn.
I watched his transformation this month as we finally moved out into our own place. It started with his sudden fixation on understanding how to make biscuits. Fantastic biscuits, the kind as wide as your palm and as thick as a fist. Golden yellow and flaky, you could pull them apart with your hands. And once he set himself to it–he did it. From there, he wanted to figure out how to make bread. Good Italian bread.
Last night, my friends, he made two of the most crooked, oddly shapped most DELICIOUS loaves of Italian bread I have ever tasted. To celebrate I ran into the kitchen when he was finished and chopped up some tomatoes, basil, garlic, splashed them with balsamic vinegar, dash of olive oil and salt and pepper to slather across that bread. And I did. Like I was doing something naughty and I liked it.
But knowing how to make bread becomes a dangerous business my friends. Soon, he will unlock homemade hamburger and hot dog buns, sub buns, rolls and sweet breads. What next? Croissants? My god--the humanity! Eventually our house will have no need to by the strange, tasteless oblong discs from the grocery store and then what?
It’s dangerous my friends, that’s what.
If you’ll excuse me, I have to prevent some unlucky soul from being endangered by Shawn’s bread by j–OUM NOM NOM NOM NOM.