Reciprocity

A Year in Bread is holding a little competition to collect favorite bread stories. As the prize is a signed copy of the new book, Local Breads: Sourdough and Whole-Grain Recipes from Europe’s Best Artisan Bakers (which I greatly covet), I’m offering up the following submission:

My brother and his wife live in an Amish community, and have largely adopted a lifestyle of voluntary simplicity. Not long ago both parents and several older siblings were called away from the farm for the day, and their youngest son was left in the care of his elder brother. Four-year-old M. was his big brother’s right hand man for a few hours, but eventually he lost interest in the shop work and wandered back up to the house where he decided to make bread. He tried to call his sisters for some advice, but finding their cell phones out of range, he launched in on his own. He had watched the process many times, and was sure he could do it by himself.

Sometime during the afternoon my brother was able to telephone from the road to see how things were going. Here is his retelling of story.

All alone in a quiet kitchen, M. had put half a quart of warm water in a bowl, added sugar for extra sweetness (because he meant to make cinnamon rolls), and molasses, and let the yeast start working while he ground whole wheat flour in the mill.

Apparently all went successfully until he moved the container of flour to the work table to add to the dough, whereupon it fell off the edge of the table and spilled all over the floor.

No problem.

He proceeded to pick it up and put it back in the container, then stirred it into the bread, adding salt. Soon he was kneading.

My main concern was how much yeast he had used, and I asked him, “How did you measure the yeast?”

“With the bag,” he said.

“The whole bag?”

“No way!”

“Did you just guess the amount?” I prodded.

“Yep.”

And so for the rest of the one hour drive we had an animated conversation about just what we might find when we got back to the farm kitchen.

When we arrived the dough had risen, and M. was in the process of rolling it out to layer on the cinnamon, raisins and dried cranberries. Curious, I tasted a little dough — and, lo and behold, it tasted perfectly normal. Big sister helped him divide the logs of dough, and he filled two pans.

Soon the aroma of sweet rolls was wafting out of the oven.

As he cut the rolls apart the next morning, he expressed some dissatisfaction with the unevenness of the product in the pans. Nevertheless, his ambition was fully met as the rare treat was served at the breakfast table, and the family enjoyed some of the best cinnamon rolls ever baked!

Isn’t it amazing what a young child can learn from attentiveness, then accomplish given the opportunity!

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