loaf number 2

I made this loaf of bread this morning.  It was a big deal.  But not as big a deal as the one I made on Thursday.

On Thursday, Anniemay was off galavanting with a gang of girls in Birmingham.  So, being at a bit of a loose end, I made a loaf of bread.  (I went and bought a bread maker first after dropping her off at the station.  I also bought a ready made bread mix).  

I poured in the mix, added water and switched on the machine.  A couple of hours later - hey presto - a loaf of bread appears, as if by magic.  Now I know the purists and hipsters out there will no doubt frown on my efforts - surely anyone can do what I just did?  Well not if some of the online reviews are to be believed.  

Sure - my bread has no ‘authenticity’, not is it ‘artisan’.  So what?  I was a whoopin’ and a hollerin’ around the kitchen like I’d just discovered the Mother Lode.  I was immediately connected to my ancient forebears when they stopped eating Mammoth steaks and mixed flour and water to make their first burger bun.  If that's not authentic, I don't know what is.

But there was no one there to share the moment - or the bread.  So I made another one this morning so that Anniemay could join in and also experience that sense of a primordial bake-off.  When the machine beeped to indicate that it had done its work, she inspected  the resulting loaf and uttered the time-honoured benediction; “no soggy bottom”.  And indeed there wasn’t.