Countryside Caper: Bake Bread

My body quivers with excitement as Vinod assembles the dry stuff for the bread. Flour (the bread kind, not the other kind…??), yeast and whatnot and chucks it into the bread maker. A bucket of shredded courgette follows, with generous dollops of pumpkin seed and linseed, a splash of oil and we’re ready to roll. I’m glued to the whumpa whumpa of the bread machine and am even allowed to watch it with the lid raised. My open mouthed wonder at watching the mass starting to pull together to resemble a human brain elicits a rather rude ‘good house guest, cheap and easy entertainment for the weekend’ from Jan, but I don’t care. It’s fascinating watching it come together as the machine kneads it, accompanied by Vinod’s educative lecture on the release of CO2 that makes the dough rise. The chemistry of it is as fascinating as watching the mixture spin around. My naive question about the consistency makes the chef frown into the machine, swear and fetch some more flour. I do like his panache.

The little bits that are still stuck to the side bother me, and I ask if I can poke at it…. Jan sniggers in the background, as Vinod gives me the go ahead. It’s all in the wrist action (which brings to mind some other less than appropriate application, but that’s another story) and soon, the sides of the machine are smooth, the brain morphing into a ball, frantically knocking around like a child in a padded cell. I assess the dimensions of the bread maker and debate the pros and cons, of carrying it back to India, with the Master. Given that one can buy bread of the freshly baked variety in Bombay, I’m cautiously optimistic that sourcing ‘bread’ flour is achievable, but the fundamental downside is inescapable. I will start to resemble a pachyderm if I begin to bake my own bread. The wispy fingers of the aroma of fresh bread crooking at you, wrapping itself around you, pulling you towards the fridge for that butter… ….. I need a plan B.

Apparently, the dough won’t rise any faster if I hover around watching it….. I bow to Vinod's vastly superior knowledge on the subject and allow myself to be led away from the kitchen, to the real reason for my boarding the 6 am train to the sticks. The inventory check of the Treco lean-to is frustrating, and we spent our time fruitfully cursing the damn Australians for their inability to do anything remotely Swedish with their component parts or instructions. Before you know it, it’s time to check on the dough. As promised, it’s doubled in size, and Vinod plonks it down on the baking tray moulding it into a round loaf. Another rising, somewhere warm, which in this country would mean the oven. He cunningly sprays on some cooking spray to keep it moist (tip: moist tea towels stick to the dough and only work for Suzie Homemaker) and we’re good to go. Just before we’re done, he flips it over and sprays the bottom much to my horror….. now we will have a loaf of bread that’s crusty all over. Is there no end to his craftiness??? I’m reluctantly led away in the direction of the garage where unintelligible diagrams of a lean to await me, so the bread can cool unhindered for the next few hours…..

Eureka!! Plan B!!! I know. I’ll get one for Farsheed and watch it destroy his life as I pop by for breakfast every now and again..... Bwaaahahaahaaaa!!!!