BURNT BREAD – NO EXCUSES
This morning I wake up to skies that are close to menopausal moods (I know), and I feel like homemade bread would cheer me up. The arm-work of kneading and the aroma would do me good. I also love to watch the yeast brewing.
I choose to make some quick yeast rolls.
I am checking my rising dough when the radio suddenly stops. I turn on the kitchen light switch. No power. I have not been wise enough to check out for power outage alerts.
Experience has taught me that bread also has mood swings. While I am knocking back the dough, I speak all the nicest words to it to be kind to me. Perhaps I should also have sung to it, for some magic effect.
No big deal, I try to reassure myself. Thankfully, my sigiri (charcoal stove) is lit. I prepare my salt oven. When the saucepan is hot enough (I tell when the salt starts to make small popping sounds), I place my baking tin carefully and cover it well.
A few minutes later, I worry about the heat on the sigiri, so I transfer my oven to a kerosene stove, whose fire I am sure I can regulate. The pleasant and tantalising aroma of baking bread saunters though the air. I am feeling good.
By now the skies have decided which mood to operate in, and the sun is shining.
Then suddenly, the pleasant aroma changes its tune and burning bread calls out to me.
I ran to check on my baking. The top is still white, barely cooked! I quickly pour out the red-hot charcoal onto a tray. I transfer my oven onto the empty but hot sigiri and replace its cover with the charcoal tray. In a few minutes, my rolls are golden on top. What a relief! I am elated.
I turn out the rolls onto a cooling rack and, behold, burnt offerings!
These are the stories we rarely share, the successful failures. Black-bottom bread on a grumpy sky morning.
I do not like excuses. As a child, adequate ‘discipline’ was administered to ensure my full immunisation against them. I take full responsibility.
Note: The tops I salvaged were yummy 😋
alexandra 