D’oh!Mestic

More bread in honor of the Capt’n’s going and getting himself born.

I eschewed the yellow book this go around in favor of “The Bread Baker’s Apprentice.” Pop loaned his copy to me after my modest success with the Irish Soda bread of last week, and I decided, after spending most of the week reading it like a novel, to try the french bread recipe.

(Along about Wednesday, the Capt’n may or may not have looked over at me and may or may not have said, “y’know, real people don’t actually talk about character arcs for cookbooks,” and I may or may not have told him to shove it.)

French bread — maybe not the most inspired, hipster-specific, aspirationally artisan bread recipe on the planet, but I have very fond memories of spending a rainy summer afternoon making a loaf of french bread with my mother, and part of the D’oh!mestic mission is to honor traditions handed down from mother to daughter.

Or to at least justify being a third wave feminist who enjoys spending time participating in traditional gender role-based hobbies.

I like baking, damnit.

Grimlock enjoys baking, too.

It took most of the day to make one loaf of bread. (“Which would go for less than three bucks at the store,” the Capt’n pointed out. “Which seems kind of off.”) Really, it was more patience than anything. Knead for ten minutes, wait two hours. Roll and braid, wait two hours. Bake and nearly burn down the house? Wait an hour.

No, I did not burn down the house.

Though there was a very important lesson to be learned: the book suggested parchment paper. Paper burns at 451°F (thanks, Ray!). The oven is preheated to 500°F, and then lowered to 450°F. And my oven sometimes runs a little warm.

The smoke detector’s very finicky.

It was worth it, though, in the end.