Bread and Jelly

April 26 - May 10, 2013

 

I went home to The Homeland to visit my parents. My mom was having more health challenges and I went home to be the caregiver. Well, she ended up in the Nursing Home, so I was, instead, a visitor to her and a caregiver to my dad (I called him 'my Ted-year old - it really was like caring for toddlers).  I love my parents. I love spending time with them. I always leave their home having learned something - this trip was no different:  I learned to make bread and jelly.

You need to know this about my childhood:  at least three days a week I would come home from school to be greeted by the smell of fresh bread.  Fresh from the oven bread, buns, and cinnamon rolls - I can still smell it. My mom would have been mixing it up by the time we left for school and would have timed it perfectly that we would have a fresh bun with peanut butter on it when we got home.  Or a cinnamon roll - warm from the oven -- the very best way to enjoy them.  This was an all day project for her - usually done more than once a week to feed a family the size of ours. What can I say - we ate a lot of bread!  I also remember being quite jealous of my friends who were so lucky:  they got store bought bread and we had to eat this homemade stuff....we never appreciate our childhood until it's gone.  My mom continued this bread making  task probably up until this past spring (although for several years she only had to make bread once/week -- always on Monday).  Mother had lost full use of her hand/arm this winter/spring, so she actually had to let Daddy help her. This was a pretty big deal because in all those years of eating her bread, we'd never been taught how do make it and she'd never shared her recipe (because is was in her head, not on paper) - and bigger still: we were never allowed to help her.  I'm sure she just didn't want people in her way.

SO. I was home and Daddy was out of bread. We were desperate.  Daddy knew how to mix stuff up and how to 'knit it'.  This became quite a joke between us - the word is 'knead', but Daddy always said 'knit'. My mom - ever the wit - piped up once, "I prefer to crochet mine." It went way over Daddy's head, but I caught it. And chuckled. So we managed to get a rough recipe in our heads and away we went.

Mix yeast with warm water.
Add that to a mixture of sugar, oil, water and salt.

Add enough flour to make a dough.
Stir until you can't stir with a spoon anymore, then dump it on the table.
Add more flour and 'knit' it all together.

Expletives were flowing.
We should have stirred in more flour before turning
it out onto the table.

Let the bread rise (raise?) until doubled in a warm place.

Cut the bread into loaves.
Put in pans and let rise (raise?) until doubled in size.

Bake the bread until it sounds hollow when you thump it.

Serve to sweet children who have just come home from school.

Love this picture -
My dad always has his tongue out when he is working hard.

Cinnamon rolls for the girls:
Just as good as Grandma's.