A week ago I baked my very first loaf of bread from scratch… ever.
Before the pandemic, I rarely engaged in serious cooking, preferring to eat out or make simple meals. With the long winter ahead and nowhere to go, I thought this is the year to give the culinary arts a try.
For Christmas, I gifted myself with an encyclopedia sized cookbook that might make Julia Child proud. In my kitchen, I opened the cookbook and quickly noted how I lacked numerous ingredients to complete even the most basic recipe. I was also short on necessary cooking utensils.
So began my quest to parts of the grocery store I never knew existed.
I needed oat flour. I found, instead, whole wheat flour, all-purpose flour (bleached and unbleached), almond flour, and gluten-free. Who knew there were so many different kinds? Rather than walk aimlessly all day, I called a friend for help who knew more about cooking than I did. It turns out the oat flour was in the organic section.
Finding the right cooking tools was a separate challenge entirely. This may sound unusual: I sometimes hyperventilate in the kitchen aisle at Target. I quickly fall victim to the paralysis of overanalysis. There are too many variations of spatulas, to give just one example.
During this last trip, however, I had built enough experience in the kitchen aisle to remain calm. It was partly my imagination, and partly the mask I was required to wear indoors. Yet, I well understood the mask would be easier on me than the coronavirus would be. I focused my breathing and made a decision on cooking gear to carry on with my objective.
Much ado and I had not yet turned on my oven.
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At the time of writing this essay, the New York Times database is showing about 4,000 deaths a day in the United States due to COVID-19. There are about 240,000 new cases per day in the U.S. and an overall death toll of about 390,000 people. The global toll is almost 2 million.
It is very hard. Hard to wrap one’s mind around the scale. Hard to find words that might honor all of those who have been lost.
Some day, when the hysteria of this sad winter is but a memory, I hope we can properly honor the lives that were lost. I hope we also remember the sacrifice of many epidemiologists, healthcare workers, and scientists who have labored intensely to pull the entire world back to health.
We have attempted to articulate what life will look like when this is over. We are still far from knowing.
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These reflections – of being in deep uncertainty and finding a way out – reminded me of solid advice I once received from a friend. Ironically, I was standing in a grocery store, trying not to hyperventilate.
I was one week into rebuilding my life after going through a divorce. I had no clear idea of what normal looked like and, with anxiety steadily rising, I called for help.
My friend listened to my concerns, then offered this advice:
Choose carefully. We only get a few opportunities in our whole lives to start over again. Choose carefully. Think about what you are bringing into your life. Think about what you want your future to feel like. Take your time to create it.
Of course, my anxiety had nothing to do with products on the shelf. The advice served as the invitation I needed to do what I felt was right without judgment or fear. It seemed fitting as I entered 2021. Confusion and chaos aside, I would firmly wager that most people just want these hard times to end. If this could be achieved without extra drama, all the better.
So, what can I do in the meantime?
I surveyed many options and chose one: There will be bread.
I returned home with mixing bowls, yeast, oils, salts, and the right flour. I fumbled cookbook instructions, and I spilled flour around my kitchen for several hours before slipping a pan of fresh dough into the oven.
It was well after dark when I pulled my first warm loaf of oat bread out to cool. With unreasonable excitement, I gathered my kids around the table for a cutting ceremony. Our first slice of fresh bread baked from my own hand. I am happy to report that all came out delicious.
With my new baking skill, I am exploring a recipe for sourdough, or maybe a ciabatta. A babka would be nice to attempt, should I feel ready.
The most important part of my resolution: I plan to give this bread away. I am not yet sure how. Baking for others out of kindness feels like something people would do in the old times.
Maybe these are old times. Bread is as ancient as the human story itself. Nothing new. Neither is pandemic. Nor hard times. The gesture feels right.
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