Yesterday I did something I have never done before: I made bread. Not from a bread machine--I have done that before and haven't been terribly impressed. I made real, homemade bread all by myself. I did this loaf with my bare hands from start to finish. I didn't even use a spoon, because I didn't have a wooden one. I got the recipe from my Domestic Goddess cookbook, a.k.a. the World's Best Cookbook Ever, Because Just Reading it Makes Me Drool. I kneaded it by hand since I don't have my Bosch with me, and it was so fun and relaxing--which really surprised me. Andrew said I looked like a Navajo Indian, but I'm pretty sure that was a compliment.
After it had risen for the specified time, I put it in my brand new bread pan (NOT from the dollar store--I got a new, good one), sprinkled it with flour, and eagerly put it in the oven.
It smelled SO good baking, I couldn't wait to take it out and eat it. I felt so happily domestic. Seriously, everyone should do this at least once--make bread by hand. No mixer, no nothing--just dig right into the gooey mess with your clean hands and knead away. It's therapy, I swear. Unfortunately, the ovens here in our TLF home are old and crappy, and while chasing after Eva a minute too long, I suddenly smelled the bread turn from delicious bread to overdone bread. I raced to the oven to take it out, and I was sad when I saw the top was a dark, very non-golden, brown.
But I determined to eat it anyway. And guess what--it was DELICIOUS. Seriously, it tasted like a restaurant. Even with the brown top. I was so proud of myself. And Andrew loved it too--even better. Even Eva ate some. Now that's what being a homemaker really feels like.