After such a successful batch of bread yesterday, I decided to make another batch. Little known to me, my mother was also making bread at home in Indonesia. Papa joked about how she didn't ask him if he wanted any. After 30 something years of marriage you'd think that he'd just hack them away like usual the way he so kindly did in my early stage of baking when all my bread turned out so craptastic.
I swapped tips with Mama while I waiting for the 3 hour fermentation to be up and after a long conversation that hopped from recipes to travel plan and a various other completely unrelated topics, she told me to go to bed. I hung up the phone and if I had listened to her maybe this disaster wouldn't have taken place. A word of advice for all of you who are reading this: Listen to your parents and this applies and will apply regardless of how many jars of anti-wrikle cream you have stashed away in your bathroom and fridges.
I went on to shape the sweet-sweet beautiful pillow-like dough into beautiful knotted bread rolls and waited for a good hour by which time it was already 2 AM. I preheated my oven for 10 minutes, put the bread into the oven and FELL ASLEEP!!! I was woken by my nose, stimulated by the smell of something sweet, something buttery burning inside my oven. Realizing the catasthrope that was taking place, I took the bread out, turned my oven off and went straight to bed. I admit that I couldn't care less at that moment. Analysis of the damage would just have to wait until the morning came. The whole batch was black despite the lovely texture inside, the evenly distributed air pockets. How my heart aches.
9 years ago