Day 5: Fried Bread Friday

We had our monthly small group over on Friday evening. I made French doughnuts. They are called "beignets" (ben-yays). They are light and puffy. They are typically served hot with a cup of chicory coffee or a cup of cafe Au Lait. Powdered sugar is the traditional topping. You can go anywhere in New Orleans and order these scrumptous fried and sugared concoctions. Mmmmmmmmm.

I cheated though. I used a boxed mix. But, it's the best boxed mix you can get. And you can get it at World Market.  It's Cafe Du Monde. A renown little place in New Orleans. If you're in New Orleans, you absoulutely must go there! The box looks like this:

Forgive me? I promise to make it up another Friday when I make regular yeast-risen doughnuts and possibly sourdough doughnuts. I thought that would make you make that noise I just virtually heard.

The biegnets looked like this:

The powdered sugar melted into the hot dough. It's very important that you sprinkle generously with powdered sugar. And then, just for good measure, sprinkle some more! Using a sifter works fabulously.

If you don't want a boxed mix, then here's a recipe for them from "The Little New Orleans Cookbook" by Gwen McKee. (pg 19):                                           

                                             Beignets

1 Cup of whole milk

2 Tablespoons shortening

2 Tablespoons sugar

1 (1 oz) package dry yeast

3 cups plain flour

1 teaspoon salt

1 egg

Oil for deep frying

Powdered sugar

  Heat milk till almost boiling, stirring so as not to scorch. Place shortening and sugar ina big bowl; pour scalded milk over and stir until smooth and melted.  Cool to lukewarm, then add yeast; stir till dissolved.

  Sift dry flour and salt into another bowl. Stir about half of this flour mixture into the milk mixture gradually, then add egg.  Beat batter thoroughly, stirring in remaining flour a little at a time.  Cover with a towel and set aside for about an hour till it doubles in bulk. Knead gently on floured board; roll to 1/4-inch thickness.  Cut into 2 - inch squares or diamonds with a sharp knife (I use pizza cutter/roller thingie). Cover and let rise again 30-45 minutes.

 Drop squares into hot oil (385 degrees), turning once when golden brown on bottom side.  Drain on paper towels and dust with sifted powdered sugar. Serve warm. Makes about 2 dozen.

Day 4: Life is #@*! Bread (40 Loaves for 40 Days)

Once again, I thought I could duplicate something so yummy. I really should've kneaded bread today. I woke up in a bad mood. Not sure why that happens. It takes a string of good things to happen to pull me out of it, otherwise, it's all down hill from there. Sometimes, if things  don't go too terribly wrong and I can reach the "emotionally neutral" mark on the emote-o-meter. That mark is usually where I start from.  I imagine the Price is Right Wheel and the happy mark is that big glittery green 100 mark and the @#* mark is that bright orange 0 directly under the big glittery 100. I don't know who or what does the spinning of my emote-o-meter wheel, but sometimes it isn't where I left it the day before. Let's blame my thyroid and hormones! Yeah! My thyroid made me do it. HA! HA!

Oops, I'm supposed to be talking about my Day 4 bread. I basically followed the recipe from Day 3 which was a beautiful loaf and it was consumed by my men as a bedtime snack.  Day 4 was an up hill climb for me emotionally. It was raining outside, too. Since the only mistake from the day before was the egg incident, I had pretty good hopes that today would yield better results. I even remembered the measurements and ingredients by memory. But I double checked to be sure. (whew!)  The mixing was uneventful, all went well. I even got the dough into the not-quite-the-right-dimension loaf pan and had it rising in the 200 degree/hot pot of water oven/sauna. I threw a tea towel over it for good measure. So far, a whole string of good events happening. My emote-o-meter reading was at 50 and I was going to take another spin to go for the green, glittery 100. I can hear the beep, beep, beep now and feel the anticipation of the little arrow landing on just the right number.

The tea towel became the problem. My bread rose really tall, like 4X the height of my loaf pan. I opened the oven door after an hour and went to remove the tea towel. There.Was. A. Sticky. Place. On the dough. I finagled the towel gently. *phfffff* a hole was created when the towel tore off a piece of dough from where the sticky place had been.  1/3 of the loaf deflated, then, the weight of the 4X -as- high -as- the- sides -of- the- pan caused the other side to slip down and it was cut off by the edge of the pan and I watched the dough  *plop* right into the hot pot of water.

I muttered a few words under my breath (and maybe not so much under my breath. but just maybe. I, after all, have learned to bridle my foul tongue; source of evil that it is). I heard the big buzzer from my emote-o-meter wheel go off. I over spun. Anyway,  I grabbed the loaf pan. I... with beady, narrowed eyes, and a puckered mouth with a looks-could-kill scowl, put the loaf pan down on the counter (nicely, with much control). I took out the dough, reformed it and placed it back into the loaf pan for yet another hour in the oven/sauna.

It rose beautifully. Again. Okay, I was back to a 50 on the emote-o-meter. I cranked up the temperature and waited patiently for 45 minutes today (to help compensate for the under-baked, holey bread from yesterday). I pulled out from the oven this beautiful loaf. The aroma of fresh bread is one of the most superb aromas of all  ( up there with leather and new car. Oh, and cookies). I turned the loaf out onto the wire rack to cool and the lovely (read that with terseness) loaf wouldn't pop out of the pan. The rounded top was doing the muffin top thing and sticking to the side and edges. I took a knife to wedge the edges loose. The bread was so soft on the underside of the muffin top part, that the knife slipped into the bread. Then, I had to get the knife between the pan and sides of the bread (like you do with brownies). I was mutilating my loaf. It was sad. I turned the pan upside down. Nothing happened, just a few crumbs...I shook the pan... and THE TOP FELL OFF! I flip the damn pan back over and there's still bread in it. I wedge the knife around (it was easier now that the top was removed). I turned the pan over. NOTHING! HOW was I going to get the stupid bread out?!

I....uhmmmm *ahem* slammed the pan against the side of the counter. That should do it. When all else fails, resort to violence. Nothing happened. Well, something did happen, I dented my loaf pan.

 I took the knife and hacked and scraped and tore and sliced the remaining bread to pieces until it begged me to just turn the pan over and let it fall out. It fell out. I threw the pan into the sink. I told the men there would not be anymore knives taken to the bread, we would just use our hands and rip whatever we wanted off. And that's what we did.

Day 3: I Throw an Egg at the Dough (40 Loaves for 40 Days)

Found a new recipe, one that doesn't require much kneading. And it only uses 3 1/2 cups of flour instead of 6 1/2! And...once I make it, I can choose to let it rise someplace warm or shove the little dough ball into an airtight container and put it in the fridge for up to FIVE days! And...I thought that would be quite nice and useful. And...the recipe also calls for 1 egg. Egg makes bread yummy (it also makes sauces,salads and tuna yummy). The note with the recipe says I can shape the dough or put it in a loaf pan or make rolls out of it. So versiatile. That's why the recipe is named "Versatile Yeast Dough".

So, I begin with heating up the oven to the 200 degrees and put my pan of boiling water in there. We'll make it like a miniature sauna. I decided I would use my not-quite-the-right-dimension bread loaf pan. (I am supposedly to use a 9 1/2 x 4 1/2 x 3 1/2 loaf pan. Mine is like 2 inches less all way round. Well, all way rectangle). I grab one egg from the fridge and place it in a warm water bath (I've read that when baking, eggs should be room temperature. i.e. warm - not like my house which is...cold). My Kitchen Aid is happy to be working with less flour. I warm the water to somewhere between 105 and 115 degrees, because we wouldn't want to destroy the little yeast thingies. Did you know that yeast is a living organism? It is. I'll have to look up what the science classification is since we are studying genetics and Kingdom, Phyllum, etc. stuff. O.K., back to the bread. My mixer had mixed it so well. There was a beautiful dough ball in the bowl waiting to be put into it's sauna. I pick the dough up to place it into the well greased bowl and OH MY STARS! THE EGG WAS STILL IN IT'S RELAXING BATH! Grrrrr. I put the little ball back in the mixing bowl. I crack the egg and slop it on the dough. I take a spatula and start smashing it in. I turn on the mixer and the dough hook just takes the dough ball and starts sloshing the egg while swinging the dough. It wasn't a pretty sight. The egg was getting beaten and the dough was dripping with the beaten egg. I let this horrific beating continue until it seemed the egg was fully incorporated into the dough. It was hard to be sure, but I couldn't take watching this anymore.

I picked up the dough ball, apologized to it and felt remorseful about forgetting the egg earlier in the process. I placed the dough in the loaf pan so it could...loaf around in the sauna for an hour. It loafed allright! And I'm here to tell you that yeast likes to loaf. Yeast likes the sauna. My precious dough that was egged by me, it rose. It rose really tall. It was 2X taller than the 1 1/2" sides of the loaf pan. Well, as I metioned in the last two entries about having a warm little room in my house, this time, I didn't have the room ready at all. I thought I would try to bake the bread without removing it from it's little warm oven/sauna. I removed the pot of water, and cranked the oven up to 350 degrees. I came back and checked on the little cherub bread after 10 minutes and it was now 3X taller than the sides of the loaf pan. I thought it was going to reach all the way to the top of the oven and scorch it's shapely rounded top. It didn't. After 35 minutes in the oven I took the most beautiful loaf of bread out of the oven and turned it out onto the wire rack to cool. One problem to note though; because of my not-quite-the-right-dimension loaf pan, the interior part of the bread was probably under cooked because I was able to put finger holes in the side and bottom. However, there wasn't any slimy/doughy places either. Finger holes do not affect the taste of this bread. This is my new favorite recipe for dough. Granted, it's only been three days. But, if my bread loafs can turn out this pretty and perky and tasty...with no extensive kneading or too much flour...then, it's a keeper. Next time, the egg won't get as long of a bath and the dough won't get tortured.

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.

40 Loaves for 40 Days

I've been to the Dark Side and camped there for about 4 months. At first, I thought it was my S.A.D. (Seasonal Affective Disorder). Then, there was a week of sunshine and nothing really changed for me emotionally. Nothing changed?! Oh my. I must've been worse off than I had originally thought. My sweet husband said he had never seen me so "bad off". So, in January, I started peeling back another layer of my emotional onion (BTW, onions always make me cry). By the time February rolled around, I was in the darkest place ever. I had remembered a phrase, "Depression is masked anger". Hmmm... my onion was rotting. So, through a series of events and questions that month, I had an epiphany. I found what I was angry about. I will not write about that right now.

I was telling a friend about this new revelation of mine and had at some point mentioned how my 10 year old bread machine had just went kaput on me. It really made me....mad....no....angry. Silly, I know. But at the time, I felt my anger was justified. So, she mentioned how her mother would make bread by hand and would put all her tension and anger into the kneading of bread. I laughed and made a quip about me making bread every day for 40 days. I'll have ripped biceps in time for Summer.

The idea stayed with me for a couple of weeks. I have decided to take this journey. I am now in anger management therapy. Bread making will be the assignment. I'm not sure I'll make a loaf every day, but I do plan on completing this self-assigned assignment before Summer. So, I pulled out my Southern Living Cookbook and looked up "Basic White Bread".

Day One: "Experimental Bread"

It took me 4 stinkin' hours to make this bread. I was so frustrated! My loaf pan was too small, so I had to make the braided bread version. And just so everyone knows, our house is at a cool 58 degrees. It's old and drafty and is heated by $3.00/Gal Oil and it takes 150 gallons/ month to keep it at a cozy (Not) 62 degrees. So, we just use some space heaters and bundle up. There, I just exposed another reason for my anger. Please, don't comment on that. Anyway, I placed the loaf in the pre-heated200 degree oven with a pot of really hot water and wished I could crawl in there with it. It took two and half hours for it to do it's rising and kneading and rising again cycle. And let me tell you, I kneaded that loaf for 12 minutes and my triceps were sore the next day. I put alot of "umph" into it. Now, the recipe calls for brushing egg white on the top of it and that requires taking it out of the warm cocoon of an oven. Gasp! Let me tell you what risen bread does when it makes a -142 degree temperature change. It FALLS! This was what I have learned pre-day One from some other disastrous cooking day (hence the bread machine began being used). But, my braided beauty...would not have such fate. I took it to a small room in the house where I had the space heater cranked up to 81 degrees for 5 hours, the door closed and people were banned from this room until the braided beauty was finally baking in the oven! I brushed egg white on the top. I kept a pan of hot water under the bread pan to help maintain the warmth. I put it back in the oven. So far, so good. It was beautiful. It baked, it browned, it was aromatic. I took a picture of it. We ate it. It was delicious. I wasn't sure I'd make another loaf until we finished the loaf the next morning (toasted with butter). Yeah. I could do it again.

I'm looking forward to marking 2009 off the "To Do" list. We did it. It was a rough, challenging year and I'm glad it's about over. The image in my mind is of Joseph (the Old Testament character), who was sold by his brothers, had a few moments of glory serving Potipher, then, was scandalized and thrown into prison. For years. I'm sure he marked the passing of days/weeks/months with tick marks on some stone wall. It felt good to do that I'm sure. A little sigh of relief mixed with a little angst. Relief that he made it through one more day/week/month with that little, teeny, tiny, dim spark of hope banked in the ashes of despair. And the deep breath of angst with the knowledge of how nothing new or eventful has happened and the surmising that it will probably go on like this. Forever. And how that angst would like to snuff out the spark. Living in the tension of those two feelings, everyday for what I believe was 17 years. Can you think back over the last 17 years of your life? That's a whole lot of time and events and people and lessons and hopes and discouragements and gloriies and sufferings and well...LIFE!

I am not saying my life is anything like Joseph's, but I can understand (however small that understanding is) some of his feelings. And even though I haven't lived in that tension on a daily basis for 17 years (Thank you, Jesus), I have lived in that tension almost daily for 2009. I'm not out of this dark place yet. I'm not sure 2010 will be any better, or any worse. I may just be marking off another year next year at this time. Who knows?

God knows. God knew how long Joseph was going to stay in that place. And then...well...and then....AND THEN!!!

I'm not looking for that sort of ending...being the #2 who is treated like a #1. What I am looking for is seeing God fulfill all He has planned for me. Joseph had a dream from God about his future. And even though sitting in a dark dungeon of a prison wasn't included in that dream, it definitely made Joseph who God needed him to be before God could fulfill that destiny. So, I guess I'll try to encourage myself and perhaps you if you're still in a dark place waiting for fulfillment. Embrace this time. Embrace this suffering. Embrace this tension. Go ahead and give up the dreams. Come to the end of yourself. If you lose the battle one day, it's ok. Even if it's a string of days that you feel you've lost. It's ok. Because see, there is this promise in the Bible that says "all things work together for the good for those who love God and who are called according to His purpose". We all have a call of purpose on our lives. And He causes ALL THINGS to work together for the good of us. Not just the good, ooey-gooey, all is great things, but also the life-is-crap things. Even our emotions would be included in that "ALL things". (I'm thankful for that, because, let me tell you, I think I'm the queen of emotion. I can vacillate between two opposing emotions so fast, it makes my head spin...my poor guys...)

Take joy in knowing that we are not forgotten by Him, even when we might feel that way. Whatever you or I may be going through right now, it too is a part of that. "That" being a purpose of His. He knows when we are done with a particular season of life and he brings new things to us and for us ultimately for Him. We just have to trust that He knows what He is doing and we don't have to know and we need to be ok with it. *SIGH. BIG SIGH*

Happy New Year.

I'm Waiting Here

That's right. I'm waiting.

People constantly ask me, "What are you going to do now?". This question is usually in response to them finding out James' employment status, which has a direct correlation to our circumstances/situation. Currently, James is once again, unemployed. That constant question is once again being asked. So what's my answer? I'm waiting. We are waiting.

It is very easy and sometimes gratifying to scramble around and work your mind into a lather trying to figure out the "what now". We are guilty of responding that way. Perhaps respond is too delicate a word to use. What I really mean is: react. We (me) typically react to things beyond our control. We (me) stay on the defensive and try our own strategies. We (me) try to figure it out and make our moves based on the circumstances. It's all I got to work with, right? Life keeps coming at me like the Steeler's Linebackers. Just a fast wall of large, mean, attack-hungry muscle with a mission to mow me over.

I currently feel beaten down. Discouraged. I want to give up. I'm a flattened pancake on the playing field. Send in the medics. Put me on a gurney. I'm an injured player. I've played this rough game for the last 6 years. It's been a close game; a riveting game. I'm done. I'm not strategizing. I'm not going to play with a limp. I'm going to lay here and wait.

The Bible talks about waiting on the Lord. "He who waits upon the Lord will renew their strength, they will walk and not grow weary." "He who waits on the Lord will rise up on wings of Eagles". "Be still and know that I am God". "I will make a way for you, I will make streams in the desert places". The God I believe in, that I am supposed to trust says, "I know the plans that I have for you, plans to prosper you and give you hope, not to harm you". This wounded warrior is going to wait on God. My plans have brought me enough harm. God has allowed it, but only to get me into His arms and to reveal His loving ways. Like a hurting child (and I am a child of God, as we all are, whether we know it or not), I will yell for my Daddy. God, my Daddy, promises to answer and come to all who call out for Him. Well, I'm laying here, in the rubble of this train-wreck life and I'm screaming at the top of my lungs because I REALLY HURT! I don't want to figure out anything. I want my Daddy! I want healing. And I'm not moving anywhere until He says.

I'm waiting. That's what I'm going to do now.