Fail

My mother tells me my grandmother made homemade bread often. She would have it hot and ready when they came home from school for lunch. Mom made it less often and tripled the recipe so it was a big deal when she did. We often had it with soup and whole milk. It was a true comfort food and looking back I don't know I appropriately appreciated it.

A couple of years ago I made a plea to get all of Mom's classic recipes. Grandma Grace's homemade bread was among them. During the last April General Conference I thought I'd give it a try since I'd be home all day anyway. I knew my Grandma was tough, but I had no idea how tough until I did some true kneading. Not only did I break a sweat, but I keenly felt the old injuries from my broken arms. All that work was more than worth it though as it started to rise and then bake. Really, the smell that filled the house was just heavenly. The physical food seemed to fit quite well with the spiritual feast we were getting. Mom also passed along a recipe for honey butter which complimented the warm loaves nicely. YUM!

Of course I was looking forward to repeating it with October Conference. We'd bought our own bread pans just for the occasion (I LOVE Crate and Barrel!!!). We talked about who we'd give the extra loaves to: home teaching families, some new people in the ward, and a coworker who recently had a baby. Brent commented the kitchen seemed cleaner as I breezed through the recipe (I was now a bit more familiar). I just forgot one tiny detail: tinfoil over the tops so the crust wouldn't burn. Brent noticed the smoke just before the alarm went off. I ran into the kitchen in time to see all four big loaves and four mini loaves completely burnt. Well, not completely, but let's just say the tinfoil is not a whimsical suggestion.

My heart dropped as I thought about the wasted ingredients, the families we'd been looking forward to surprising, and worst of all, my grandmother who would undoubtedly be so ashamed of her clumsy progeny. She'd never make a mistake like this! Liesel stood in the doorway with a look of alarm on her face as Brent and I tried to figure out what to do. They might be salvageable, they just wouldn't be pretty. I figured the small loaves were cooked through but the big needed more time. We cut open a loaf of each just to be sure. Really it was just the top crust that was ruined but it was REALLY ruined. I sat down, defeated, with two halves of the small loaf in my hands and called my mother to confess.

While I lamented my incompetency to my mother, Liesel moved from the doorway over to me and slowly picked a piece of the warm, soft interior. She popped out her binkie and tried it. Then she took another, then another. She started eating voraciously and I kid you not she gave me a look that said, "See Mom, I like it!" When I mentioned to my mother that at least Liesel seemed to like it she added, "That's amazing! She's a picky eater!" I looked down at my little strawberry blonde who just grinned at me through mouthfuls. My heart melted.

We finished cooking the large loaves, cut one in half to make sure it was finished and then Brent cut off all the tops. I couldn't watch him decapitate the bread I'd worked so hard on. They just look so sad... like a squirrel with no tail or a bird missing a leg. What is bread without the lovely golden brown top? Sure it will taste the same, but you can bet I will never, EVER make this mistake again!!!