Rise to the Occassion

I baked two loaves of bread this week. A golden brown Italian loaf with a snowy white interior, and a gorgeously-hideous loaf of rustic European bread that uses three types of flour, sports a black crust that gives away no hint of the toothy, flavorful goodness inside, and a big, no-nonsense X slashed across the top, just like bakers have been doing for centuries. Then I created an old fashioned apple tart--the kind that gets all folded up, free of the confines of a pan or casserole, to look like a little purse that bursts open at the center and reveals the mounds of sweet apples inside. That same day I whipped up a batch of buttery cinnamon scones for breakfast, and whimpered on the inside as they sat cooling on the counter, murmuring to me, "Who needs to wait for tomorrow's breakfast? Eat us noooooowwwwww......"

And I have been restraining myself. I would have baked a loaf of bread every day this week if I could have conceived of anywhere to put them. If you made a request right now, I'm sure I could have a loaf of whatever you'd like waiting for you to pick it up tomorrow afternoon. I'd be happy to do it. On the train the other day I found myself thinking, "Apple butter. Why don't I whip up a batch of apple butter?" I've never even eaten apple butter, but somehow the urge to fill my cabinets with jars of apple preserves is unshakable. Yesterday I was seriously considering getting a gallon of organic milk and making my own butter. Next week I will track down some goats milk and make cheese using the kit Mr. Gastro gave me so long ago.

What is it about crisis that makes me get all "Little House on the Prairie?" Is it the primal comfort of stockpiling food, something that humans have been doing in uncertain times for millenia? Maybe it's the time involved. Between kneading and rising and resting, baking bread can take up just as much time as a full time job, filling me in the end with a sense of accomplishment, a day spent doing something other than trolling youtube, and sustenance for myself and Mr. Gastro.

Whatever the reason, when i haven't been looking for jobs, baking and cooking in the old school style seems to be keeping my restlessness and my sense of impending doom at bay. I may not have a steady paycheck, but when I turn over that basket and remove the linen from the perfectly round mound of dough sitting on my lightly floured counter, I have accomplished something. I may not be a millionaire, baby, but I can make a mean batch of scones, and feel pretty darn good. There's just one thing about all this food fun I am going to have to deal with. If I want my spiffy job interview dud to continue to fit me, eventually...

I'm going to have to switch to salads.