Bread

Sometimes the life of a full-time mother is a frustrating one. Now I don't mean to complain - this was a choice that I made and about which (most of the time) I have no regrets. Being able to share every aspect of my children's early years is a privilege that I feel very fortunate to be able to enjoy.

However, there comes a time for every mother - and I'm sure that this applies equally to working mothers - when she just really needs to let off steam. Taking out one's frustrations on the nearest small person (or, indeed, long-suffering husband) is clearly not a viable option, so when I am having one of those awful days where every little occurrence seems to have been specifically designed with the aim of raising my blood pressure to the maximum possible level short of a full-blown stroke, I do one of two things. If I am feeling virtuous and the weather-Gods are feeling kind (see the previous post about the deficiencies of the Wellington climate), I go for a run. This is a relatively recent development, and my knees, feet and lower back haven't quite decided what they think about it yet, so it may be a short-lived one. Shapely calves and toned thighs are quite an incentive with summer (possibly) on the way, but sometimes a Nigella Lawson style 'burkini' and a bar of chocolate on the sofa seems like a more attractive option. So if I am feeling lazy, and/or the weather is doing it's worst, I make bread.
For many years, making bread from scratch was a complete anathema to me. Why go to all the trouble of measuring out ingredients and exhausting myself kneading (which never quite seemed to produce the silky-smooth dough the recipe books promised), proving, knocking down, waiting for a second rise before finally baking, all the while knowing that the top would be burnt before the middle was properly cooked? Much easier and quicker to pop down to the local supermarket.
Well to some extent all that is still true - it is definitely easier and quicker to buy a loaf of bread from the New World down the road, and I often still do. A couple of times a week, though, I rummage through the cupboard for the high grade flour (which never seems to be in quite the same place I expect it to be), salt, sugar and yeast and set to work making a batch of rolls. I always make rolls, because I find them easier to bake properly, and I am so ham-fisted with a bread knife that I only ever manage about 5 slices (doorstops) from an uncut loaf, which isn't exactly economical.
I have tried a variety of bread recipes, but my current favourite, for sheer ease and foolproofness, is Jamie Oliver's 'basic bread'. Even I can't mess that one up easily. There are very few ingredients, and once they are all mixed together I can start the bit which inspired this whole post - the kneading. Kneading is a bit like knitting - you start off concentrating very hard to make sure you are doing it exactly right, but then after you've done it a few times you find that it becomes automatic, and you can do all sorts of other things while you are doing it. My current distraction of choice is watching Agatha Christies on YouTube, and I can quite happily get through a couple of segments while all the time the dough is getting smoother and more pliable and my frustrations are melting away with every pummel.
Of course, kneading does have another very beneficial side-effect - it is fantastic for banishing bingo wings and toning the upper arms. So perhaps even if mini skirts are out of the question, I can get away with a few sleeveless tops over the next few months...