breaking bread

i'm making my vanilla challah bread today. since it takes about half a day to make, seth and i started on it after we dropped wyatt off at school this morning.

i love making bread, even though i don't do it that often. i love the yeasty smell of the dough, the feel of it in my hands, and the simplicity of the process: take some flour, salt, water, yeast, and a couple other ingredients, and when you're finished, you've got something wholesome, earthy, and delicious.

i also love the physicality of kneading the dough--you have to put your whole body into it. i pinched off a small piece of dough for seth to have, and we went to work, kneading and kneading and kneading. we danced a little while we did this, listening to shelby lynne's version of i only want to be with you and john mayer's say. when the ten minutes of kneading were up, seth said, "thank God."

now we are waiting. i even like this part. i like that things are happening in that lump of dough, things that i can't see or understand. i periodically lift up the corner of the damp towel covering the bowl, and i can see that change is taking place. it seems so surprising and miraculous. i know there's a perfectly good explanation for this chemical process, but i prefer not to be bothered with the facts. i like the mystery.

in about forty minutes, i will divide the dough into three parts, roll each of those parts into long ropes, and then braid. i'll brush the braided dough with a mixture of egg yolk and salt and slide it into a hot, hot oven. it will bake for about half an hour, rising up even more and turning a lovely golden brown.

this yummy loaf of bread will feed my family tonight, along with the corn chowder i plan to make later. i'd like to be able to say that dinner will be a peaceful, harmonious affair, but i know only too well that wyatt will loudly and obstinately remind me that he, for one, doesn't like corn chowder and then at some point, seth and wyatt will start to argue.

no matter. i revel in these simple pleasures.