"What Christmas gift did you always want and never get?" Asked the radio D.J. when I was driving to work one day last week. Alone in my car, I blurted out "Easy Bake Oven". Then I laughed, because the reason why I never got an Easy Bake Oven is the same reason I don't have one now. I was allowed to use the real oven.
Growing up on a rural Nova Scotia farm in the pre-wireless age (it's barely wired now), make your own fun was an essential component of childhood. Having grandparents living 14 feet away was an essential component in that.
My sister Jan and I had a stool when we started baking with Granny; we weren't tall enough to reach the counter without it. We started out with easy gear, like cookies and squares, before migrating to bread. Bread, by comparison, is labour intensive, especially when you have a grandmother intent on teaching it old school and you're four and a half feet tall. Granny was only a few inches taller full grown. Game on!
We started with a cup of very warm water, yeast and sugar in a small bowl, covered with a plate. After that, in a big bowl, really hot water to melt the lard, salt and sugar, with a bit of vinegar thrown in to make the bread keep longer. Once the lard was melted into a shiny slick across the top, we'd add flour until we had an easy to stir slurry. Then it was time to beat in the yeast, which had magically expanded to touch the top of the plate.
Then it was adding flour, flour, and more flour, 'til you couldn't mix it with a spoon any more, at which point, we'd dump it on the counter for kneading. I worked as a baker for a little while. I find kneading bread soothing. This is why. The rhythmic smooshing of dough, pulling up the side to throw fresh flour underneath to be rolled in. Sprinkling flour into the bowl and rubbing the dough stuck to the sides so you can work in every last bit. Waste not, want not.
On to kneading till the dough squeaked. The dough had to squeak, because that meant that the yeast was working and we were crushing air bubbles. Air bubbles are critical to bread success. At the time, had I known the word "sadist" I would have used it for my grandmother. It takes a lot of kneading to make the bread squeak. I certainly don't work the dough for that long now, but I don't have to. The yeast is is better.
But my grandmother had to. Growing up, if I ruined a batch of bread we had Ben's sliced white waiting in the wings, we just didn't get the treat of homemade bread, served hot, with butter and brown sugar. In my depression-era grandmother's day, no homemade bread meant no bread, so you worked it till it you receive squeaks of confirmation. Perhaps even willed it so.
P.S. I have used quick-rise yeast ever since my stint as a baker in '96. I love it. There's no proofing (the small bowl and plate), with quick rise yeast and as with any restaurant employee, you follow the recipe. I didn't know until I was reading recipes today that folks are skipping their first rise with quick-rise yeast. I swear I felt my grandmother cringe inside me when I read about it. Granny had a standard, and that was to get as close to store bought as possible, from canned peas to white bread. Unless you let your dough rise at least once (Granny's was twice, but that's too long), before you form loaves, you'll never work out all the big air bubbles and when it's sliced, there's holes in it. The dough needs to be refined with kneading so the bubbles are tiny throughout. Now grocery stores sell Artisanal bread and a point of authenticity is that it's irregular. Like homemade. How rude.
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