Day 2: Pride Comes Before a Fall Bread (40 Loaves for 40 Days)

So, if you read about my journey in the bread making "Day One" experience, then basically, Day Two is using the same recipe. I wanted to repeat the braided beauty from the previous day. After knowing where all the snafus were in the process, I was determined to do the whole process in less time with even more phenomenal results. Surely, one can learn from their mistakes and apply what they've learned given the task to do over again (?). HA! What pride cometh up into my souleth (souleth? well, it's literary license)

I was familiar with the list of ingredients, the amounts, the process involved and was ready to knead some dough. I was anxious to begin; to get on with it, to make-bake-eat! Mostly eat! Everything went smoothly. The sun was shining through my kitchen window, I had The Eagles playing on the Bose, the kids were outside playing (i.e. out of my hair). The hubby was at his stick fighting class. The domestic goddess was pleasantly blessing her family with....BREAD. There was even an Italian Style soup simmering on the stove. Pride. That beast was cleverly disguised in an "all-is-well" suit! OH! Wait! I forgot to warm up the little room, I know what happens to risen bread when it meets cold air (see Day One for clarification). I still had an hour until the bread needed that warm room. I rushed in and cranked the space heater up to 85 degrees. Really, an hour should be enough time to warm the little room. The moment came for me to take the braided beauty out from the warm oven and into that little room to be brushed (groomed) with egg white (purely for aesthetic reasons...vanity). I carefully pulled the little bundle of braided bread goodness out of the oven and transferred it to the room. I stepped into the room and I could tell is was nowhere near 85 degrees. Seventy degrees maybe, but not a warm, balmy 85! I looked down at the loaf, checking for signs of...of...of deflation. Nope. Whew! I carefully set the baking sheet down on top of the pan with hot water to keep the bread's little "bed" snuggly warm. I held my breath (not physically, the smell was absolutely wonderful). I brushed egg white on top of the bread ever so carefully. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! *phttt* My little braided bundle of happiness...ffffffffffffell. Just like that. It became a horrific looking yeast/flour blob, with glistening egg white pooled in the crevices from where the well-formed braid had been. I huffed out of the room and stomped down the hall with the stupid blob and put in the OVEN (note the bold-faced word and read that with the emotional umph for which it was intended).

Thirty minutes later, I pulled the dang thing out of the oven to let it cool. Six and a Half (6 1/2)...six and a half CUPS of flour when not all puffed up from yeast, causes a dense bread. It wasn't tough, but it was...dense. When my guys showed up back inside the kitchen and saw what the domestic goddess had created, they still heaped praise upon her. It fell on deaf ears. The goddess' (say that out loud) emotional day deteriorated as quickly as her bread fell. The next morning, she and her man ate toast. And just so you know, dense bread, when buttered and toasted, makes delicious toast to accompany morning coffee.