I know I shouldn't have, but the allure was too strong. She's a persuasive temptress. But she is a fickle temptress and yet again, even with the best of intentions, I came away scratching my head with more questions than answers. I followed the instructions. I did what I thought was right. But in the end the result was burnt edges and soft gooey inside. I'm just not good at these things. Every time I've tried baking a cake I fail in some monumental way. This is a celebration for some, because it's something they can relish in my failure (in a funny way not a bitter hate his arse and wanna see more failure kinda way). There is a person in my life that is convinced that I'm good at everything I try and it at times drive them a tad crazy. It's not true though you know, I have many failures, more than this post can allow for. But here in the baking realm of failure I offer some sort of comfort to them, they are aware of my baking short comings and although they have never said it I'm sure they're happy to know that I'm very much human.
Okay so I may have to eat my words. It appears that I can bake. There is however a specificity to this discovered ability. I concede that bread making is officially baking, but don't get too excited, there are no cakes, cookies or biscuits planned or anything for that matter that would involve creaming butter. And I think I'll stick to my appreciation of function over form. It's not a super sexy loaf, but it is bread. The kind that would have been made in wood fired ovens in a small country house many seasons ago. No wonder I like all things rustic.
I made 6 loaves yesterday, only one remains after we had a bunch of friends over for a twin birthday celebration. And yes the smell of baking bread in the kitchen is intoxicating. Or was that the Sav?