Making Bricks

Once upon a time, early Americans made their houses out of bricks. They mixed mud, grass, and sometimes manure and shaped the mixture into bricks which they dried in the sun. I make bricks a little differently. First, I put some flour in a bowl. Then I add salt, butter, yeast and warm milk, pray that it rises, put in the oven and viola! One browned, crusty brick for your building pleasure!

I am being sarcastic. Obviously.

I tried to make bread again, this time a super simple recipe for sandwhich bread from an issue of Mother Earth News. And yet again, it did not rise. It got bigger, yes. But double in size? No. I gave it three hours for the first rise and three for the second. You would think that brand spanking new packet of yeast could rise to the occasion if given six gloriously uninterrupted hours of time in a nice warm place. Apparently not. I'm thinking there is something in my body chemistry that kills the yeast the moment I touch the packet.


Gee....I wonder why she's so bad at making bread?

People have been making bread for thousands of year. THOUSANDS. Why can't I tackle this one, seemingly simple task of domesticity? I even screw it up when I do it in the bread machine! I get it. I'm on board with whole foods. Cook from scratch. Good for you, good for the planet. I know, I know. Bread is a big part of my family's day and I would LOVE to be able to make it for them. I'm on try 13. THIRTEEN people!! Thirteen loaves of hard, dense, barely edible, I guess you could call it, bread.
Though my chickens are thoroughly relishing in my failures (they get to eat my rejects) I am not amused.The first person to arrive at my house with a mixing bowl and few hours time gets a prize. Help MEEEEEE!