Bread, Two Ways.

We are a family of bread eaters. Yet there is only one among us who knows how to make bread. Today, I hosted bread-making class with the boys, because they need skills. Knowing how to make bread? That is an awesome skill for a young man to have.

We started with an explanation of yeast. We proofed some yeast in warm water and talked about how the yeast in the bread would eat the sugar and emit gas. It took SC1 two seconds to ask me if I meant that the yeast farts in the bread dough. I shrugged, said “sure,” and endured 10 minutes of raucous laughter, because FARTS. Then we talked about letting dough rise, and how the oven kills the yeast, but leaves the air pockets in the bread. Then there were 10 more minutes of laughter, because we are baking FART BREAD.

The SCs were involved in all parts of the process, and they actually learned something, I think, in spite of all the fart talk. We made wheat bread in the loaf pans, then some white braided bread to go with our lasagna for tonight.

This is all the stuff we used for both kinds of bread.

Wheat Fart Bread

Ingredients:

2 cups warm water
2 1/4 tsp active dry yeast
2 oz melted (and cooled) butter
1/8 cup molasses
1/4 cup honey
1 tsp salt
3 cups whole wheat flour
1-2 cups white (AP or bread) flour

Dissolve the yeast in the water and let proof for 5 minutes. Combine the butter, honey, molasses, and salt in a large bowl. Stir in the yeasty water, then add the whole wheat flour and mix.

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Add a cup of white flour and combine – you will probably have to start using your hands about now. Gradually add more white flour until the dough comes together into a firm ball. The dough should have a damp surface, but not stick to the sides of the bowl. Turn the dough out onto a floured surface and knead it until it becomes smooth.

The winner of kneading was SC2. He totally did it like a pro. SC3 just kind of poked it, and SC1 lost interest after 10 seconds.

Place the dough into an oiled bowl, cover with a damp towel, and let rise for 2 hours.

It should look kind of like this. If it doesn’t, you might as well start over.

Punch the dough down and let it rest for 10 minutes, then turn it out onto a floured surface and knead another 5 minutes or so. Divide the dough in half and place each half in a loaf pan, cover with a damp towel and let it rise another hour.Bake at 375 for 40 minutes. Finished loaves should be browned on top and should sound hollow when you hit them with a wooden spoon. Cool in the pans, then remove, slice, and enjoy!

Braided White Fart Bread

Ingredients:

1.5 cups warm water
4.5 tsp active dry yeast
1/4 cup melted (cooled) butter
1 heaping tbsp sugar
1 heaping tsp salt
3+ cups bread flour

Combine the yeast and water and let proof for 5 minutes. In a large bowl, combine the butter, salt, and sugar. Add the yeasty water and mix. Add 3 cups of flour and mix, then add more flour until the dough forms a firm ball. The dough should have a damp surface, but not stick to the sides of the bowl (yeah, that’s pretty much always the case for bread dough). Turn the dough out onto a floured surface and knead until smooth. Place the dough in an oiled bowl, cover with a damp towel, and let rise for an hour. Punch the dough down and let it rest for 10 minutes, then turn it out onto a floured surface and knead for another 5 minutes. Half the dough. Take the first half, divide into thirds, and roll each of the thirds into a rope at least a foot long. Start at the middle and braid the dough to the end, then flip it over and braid from the middle to the other end. Tuck the edges and place onto a greased cookie sheet. Repeat this with the other half of the dough. Cover the two loaves with a damp towel and let rise 30 minutes. Bake at 350 for 35-45 minutes. Finished loaves should be browned on top and should sound hollow when you hit them with a wooden spoon. Cool loaves on a wire rack.

Pretzel M&M, Butterscotch and Chalocolate Blondies

Yay, it’s spring break! Which means that my usual quiet, busy Wednesday off becomes, for one week, a loud, busy Wednesday off. This is a preview of every Wednesday of summer vacation. It is fun, but loud. Also, really loud. And sometimes, just to change things up, very loud.

Yesterday, the Sous Chefs spent the day with an 18 year old boy. This, by all reports, meant that they played X-Box and did an awful lot of running and jumping and yelling and throwing and catching and climbing and falling and delighted squealing and it was generally COMPLETELY AWESOME. They love this particular 18 year old boy more than pretty much anyone on earth, myself included, and they somehow love him even more now, because of the X-Boxing and the wild rumpusing. I am glad they had a good time, and I am even gladder that the 18 year old boy survived, because the SCs are not at all like those children you see occasionally who just sit quietly, hands in their laps, and do as they are told. The SCs are brilliant criminal masterminds who can hone in on your weaknesses and snipe them from unbelievable distances with mind-blowing accuracy.

So, a round of applause for the 18 year old boy, who left my home exhausted, but alive and sane, and with enough money to take a girl out on a nice date.

I am not at all like that 18 year old boy. I am mean and terrible and awful and MOM-ish. I have a physical aversion to the sound of video games. Simulated gunfire, robot voices, repetitive music, and bleeps and bloops of all sorts turn me into a girl-shaped pile of twitching rage. I am also not known for my wild rumpusing. Therefore, when I am in charge, I come up with activities – activities that all of the SCs can do, preferably together, because the internet says that this is how we create MEMORIES and memories are important.

I am aware that my grandmother would laugh in my face at that statement, then she’d shove the SCs out the front door and tell them to watch out for cars and stay out of the crick and do NOT under ANY circumstances come back until sunset. But I am raising them in the suburbs in 2013, not in the the middle of nowhere in 1950, and we have things like paved roads and killer bees and Child Protective Services.

I’d send them to the backyard, but I’d have to scoop the dog poo first, and I just don’t want to do that.

So, fun indoor activity! And yes, 2/3 of my SCs groaned loudly when they heard me say that, but I live to find ways to repay them for all the times they have climbed into my bed in the middle of the night and repeatedly kicked me in the head until my alarm went off.

Indoor activities with the SCs basically comes down to arts and crafts, which involves things like glue and glitter and paint (NO), playing with the toys (I do this ALL THE TIME, it is boring for me because I am a girl, and I usually end up stepping on Legos and being hit in the face by flying matchbox cars), or cooking (WHEEE! SOMETHING I LIKE DOING!). Cooking to me = baking. So, we are baking. Baking with the Sous Chefs. First, basic bread, because everyone should know how to bake bread. You can see that post here. Then, a treat. And, God help us, this is always a terrible idea, but to make it fun and to create MEMORIES like the internet says I should, I let them each pick an ingredient for the treat, and I proceed to wrack my brain trying to figure out a way to combine potato chips, caramel, and marshmallows.

Just kidding. I got wise after doing this a few times, and created the Mom Veto to prevent myself from having to add tater tots or pickle relish to something. I only use the Mom Veto for things that just don’t belong in baked desserts or will not practically work, like cumin, or pinto beans, or those terrifying orange Styrofoam-like circus peanuts (I do not want to know what happens to those in the oven, because it is probably carcinogenic and/or mutagenic). The veto is important, because the SCs often pick ingredients which show just how little they understand about baking things that do not taste like crap.

This whole activity is like gambling, but the prize is diabetes. The first time I let them pick the ingredients, we ended up making some completely ridiculous cupcakes with cheesecake, bananas, and a truly frightening amount of chocolate. They were strange and slimy (because of the bananas), but also kind of delicious, so they got eaten, every one. We were all slightly fatter for the experience.

Yes, this is a lot like a certain food network show (actually, it’s like EVERY food network show). The difference is that I have “help” from the three least helpful human beings on earth. I would have better luck asking the cats to help, in that they would just look at me like I was a lunatic and return to licking themselves, whereas the SCs actively impede every single step along the way, because they need multiple breaks for dance parties and wrestling matches and screaming and jumping off of stuff.

I asked SC3 (age 2.5, though he often claims to be 3 or sometimes 35 like his daddy) what ingredient we should use, and that dear, wonderful, brilliant child, after a moment of serious contemplation, said one word to me. That word was “chalocolate,” which means chocolate. This proves that he is my child, because he understands that the point of baking is to create something that actually tastes good. I patted him on the head and reminded myself to shuffle an extra 10% of the inheritance to him next time we revise our wills.

SC2 (age nearly-6) said BUTTER. I told him that butter was included as part of the package deal, as was sugar and flour and a few other uninteresting but Very Important Things, but he could pick something else. He decided on butterSCOTCH. Okay, I can handle that, and I find his play on the word “butter” delightful.

After the initial, typical suggestion of orange Skittles (Mom Veto), SC1 (age 8.5) decided on harpoons. He offered no explanation for this selection other than “harpoons are awesome, mom, think of Moby Dick.” I told him harpoons are indeed awesome, but they are too expensive, because they are not in season. So he decided on Pretzel M&Ms. Okay. At least they are edible. Sort of.

So chalocolate, butterscotch, and pretzel M&Ms, and now you understand that diabetes statement I made a minute ago.

SC3 has expressed loudly to the whole world (no, really, you probably heard him from your house) that he wants CUPCAKES, but I am not a cupcake girl. I like cake very much, but not cupcakes. Furthermore, these particular ingredients scream BLONDIES to me. I am the only one of the four of us allowed to work the oven, and I am Head Chef, so I win. Blondies, loaded with brown sugar and butter. And, apparently, chalocolate and butterscotch and pretzel M&Ms.

Pretzel M&M Butterscotch and Chalocolate Blondies. We have a winner. Draw up your insulin and fast for a few days (should be easy, since it’s Lent). Here we go.

Ingredients:

8 oz butter
2 cups brown sugar
2 eggs
1 tbsp vanilla
1 tsp salt
2 cups flour
1 cup crushed pretzel M&Ms
1 cup shaved dark chocolate
3/4 cup butterscotch chips

Preheat the oven to 350 and grease a 13×9 baking pan. Blend together the brown sugar and butter until smooth. Add the eggs and vanilla and blend. At this point, I would usually add bourbon, but the SCs said no.

Add the salt and flour and mix until combined (you’ll want to add a little extra flour if you managed to slop some bourbon in there). Stir in the chocolate, butterscotch, and M&Ms.

Pour into the prepared pan and bake 45 minutes.

I admit, I didn’t try these yet. I wanted another adult in the house in case I went into an insulin coma. The SCs assure me that they are DELICIOUS. I’d ask them to elaborate, but I can’t get them down from the trees.

The Littlest Chef

This sweet boy is in my bed, and I am telling him about the twelve dancing princesses with their worn out shoes and the three shining branches, and he is smiling and giggling, his eyes alight with the wonder of fairy stories.

He is so easy with his love for me, so easy to love in return.

I spent the day with him yesterday, and we shopped and drove and sang. We ate apples and drank chocolate milk and licked cake batter and icing from spoons. We danced to punk rock and raced matchbox cars and splashed too much in the bathwater and had a lovely, lovely day.

Tonight I am flipping out about getting my teeth pulled and whether my back will ever, ever stop hurting and how things keep changing no matter how much you want them to stay the same, but, you see, there’s this boy in my bed with his long eyelashes and chubby hands and apple cheeks, so I will kiss the tip of his nose and each finger all sticky from helping me finish off yesterday’s cake and remind myself that what is important is here, and now, and this. This.

Good night.