Well bread, indeed!
Today I had a little moment. Not one of my best, I confess.
I set out to make a loaf of bread. Nothing very exciting in that. I use a no-knead recipe on a fairly regular basis, and turn out satisfactory loaves, with seeds and or fruit. A little wholemeal. Just so.
This time, though, something went awry. I’m not going into great detail, but, suffice to say that one loaf worth of dough turned into three loaves worth of dough.
It could happen to anyone . . .
Anyone at all.
I’ll come back to that.
Having so much dough to deal with, made me glad that I’d had the luck and foresight to rescue two bread tins that came, originally from the Bakery in Beechworth that used to supply Mayday Hills Mental Asylum with its bread.
Either that, or they belonged to the Asylum, I can’t quite recall which.
My father (George Prem) worked as a Cook in the Asylum Kitchen for many years, and at some point he came across these tins. I believe there may have been several dozen of them disposed of, in all, and he got his hands on a number of them.
There were singles, and doubles and triples. There were short, and there were long.
George collected a quantity of each size and promptly located them in his workshop to hold brass plumbing fittings, bolts and other odds and ends to support his unofficial part-time role as town handyman and unlicensed plumber.
Over time, George stopped doing the more manual work and increasingly focused on clock restoration and repairs – another self-taught role in which he became the local go-to man.
The old workshop needed a lot of clearing up and Leanne and I had a crack at it. In the process we noticed these groups of tins. Coincidentally, I was just starting to work out how to cook up a loaf of bread.
Two tins please. Nicely scrubbed, thank you.
So. What happened to today’s dough?
Well, every day is a new challenge. Always, there is risk.
I didn’t take a picture, but should have, to show the sheer quantity of dough – it was massive.
It rose and rose, until I thought it might try to take over the kitchen. I whacked it, and I smacked it, a bit. There was stickiness. There was mess. True.
It rose again – see above description. Visualise Frank attacking with a wooden spoon.
My two rescued tins weren’t quite enough. I had to call in a ringer for the overflow.
I’m pretty happy with that.
More delight than disaster.
I’m very grateful for my rescued tins.