For any occasion (or when all else fails) my default is: I cook.
So last night, after a dinner of angel hair pasta with roasted asparagus and red peppers, and feta, I began the process of making bread: envisioning freshly baked rolls for breakfast, to brighten what would be a long day of appointments and driving, with Deb.
Yeast dough can be temperamental, and ours (sheesh – we coddled it so much, we should have named it!) definitely was. It did not like the chill of the cottage. So although I perched it atop a tray of steaming water, and later sat it next to me by the woodstove; it remained in a vegetative state. There was none of that Pillsbury Dough Boy pudginess to it; that tender bounce-back of fleshy dough when you poke a finger in it. It was DOA.
I won’t go into the details that made heat such a luxury, but there were things like Deb’s rent, meds, treatment, gas to/from treatments (1 ½ hours away) to consider, along with the cost of my trip north (with gas delightfully hitting a peak right before I left) plus a few sacks of groceries; concurrent with the un-funding of a mutual employer. There was just no budget for a kerosene delivery ($250 min) … so we would have to scrounge for more wood.
But first we did chores and rallied for the trip to Calistoga, where Deb would get an immune boost to ready her for tomorrow’s chemo. While she got her IV drip, I was so exhausted I slept in the car in the parking lot. As we drove home the clouds thickened: it looked like the promised storm was rolling in.
As I spoke he continued to pick at a plate of sweet potatoes. He looked me up and down, and checked out Deb – still sitting in the front of the car. A bit gaunt, wearing countless layers of clothes, a cheetah print hat, and a sweeping magenta scarf, she looked part hobo, part Lawrence of Arabia. Charles continued to eat, look us over, and nod, and finally said – “Back up to the pile and I’ll git you enough for tonight and tomorrow. It’s gonna rain. I’ll bring the rest Thursday.”
Yes, I cried when I told Deb that he insisted on delivering the wood – at no charge – to her home. His only concern was how we would unload the car, which I told him I could easily do. We drove back feeling very blessed, with a trunk full of firewood. I made stir fried veggies for dinner, and an enormous vat of ginger carrot soup to freeze for future meals once I’m gone. We drank a touch more of the wine Molly gave us.
As for our dead bread dough? I read a tip online for resuscitating it: take a fresh packet of yeast, minimal amount of water (perfect temp) and dab of honey, and set it to rise. After about five minutes (presuming it has bloomed and exploded with life) pour this slurry on top of your dead dough. I poked my fingers throughout to integrate the new yeast paste and sure enough, within 20 minutes we had a living, breathing slab of dough! We kneaded it all together with some more flour, and then lovingly sat it with us by the fire in the living room until it had risen. Determined, we shaped three loaves of bread (one regular loaf, one braid, and a ‘tea ring’ with olive oil, basil and feta rolled into it) and finally at midnight, were enjoying a slice of hot crusty bread slathered with butter.
Tomorrow we leave at 11:30 for her chemotherapy, and return home around 8 or 9PM. Long day, and – oh – very late tonight. So goodnight!
PHOTOS: Warming junior (our little bread loaf) by the fire; Deb in her evening get up - 3 hats and twice as many layers; end result - bread at midnight
