My Bread Blog

It seems as though I am a little late catching onto the COVID 19 bread making binge, but after having trouble getting yeast at a number of places, I put it out of my mind and entertained myself with other fun activities such as going through the paint which have accumulated in our basement over the years. This job of course  includes a trip to the dump, not to mention doing some patch up jobs with the paint kept behind reminding me of  a number of spots around the house that need a face life.

With  most of the chores being checked off my COVID list of things to do,  and after finally remembering to put yeast back on my shopping list, today I returned to my place of refuge – my kitchen.

Bread making is not new to me. As a young mother, our one son and I made bread or some version thereof every week. He stood on his little stool with his wooden, child sized rolling pin and using  a mound of dough would fashion it into a unique bread roll for each member of the family. A nice memory. Today, I’m taking a short cut using a bread machine which I have acquired over the last few years.

My mother recounts the bread making that went on in her family kitchen when she was a child. This conversation is retold in Love Stories, a book about her life which I wrote and  presented to her for her eighty-fifth birthday. If you would care to listen in, here are some snippets from that conversation which lasted well into the afternoon. You will notice there is no talk of instant yeast or bread machines, not to mention  an electric stove.

“Mother made fourteen loaves at a time.and since she used the leftover potato water from the noon hour meal, it would be  noon the next day before the bread was finished. But she didn’t think anything of that, as she was always doing other jobs while the dough was rising. She never used a recipe. It was just in her head. ‘Why potato water?” I asked.

“It helps the bread to rise slightly higher and last longer. Although that part didn’t seem to work at our place,” Mom laughs. She continues, “The yeast came in cakes rather than granules. Mother preferred the Royal brand.

As I point out how easy it is to make bread using a bread machine my mother recalls the numerous steps when making bread the old-fashioned way. First sugar had to be stirred into the warm water before the yeast cake was added. When the yeast bubbled as it dissolved , you knew that it was  working so you could go ahead adding a little lard or butter to the mixture. Then mother added a little salt in with the flour and stirred just enough into the yeast mixture  to make a sponge. At bedtime, she added more flour to make a stiff dough and  then put the mixture into a giant bowl which she covered with a blanket and set on  the rocking chair close to the stove so the dough could rise. She got up at 2 a.m. to punch the dough down so it could rise again until morning. When she got up in the morning around  6, she punched the bread down again. Finally it was time to shape the dough into loaves to rise one last time.” This was all done before breakfast, my mother reminds me. “It took exactly 1 hour and 20 minutes to bake the bread ( 4 loaves at a time) at a moderate temperature.

“How would grandma know when the oven was at the right temperature without a thermometer?”  I ask.

“She just stuck her arm in the oven, ” Mom chuckles.

“How would she know how to keep the temperature at that setting with it taking over 15 hours to bake the 14 loaves?”I ask.

“Oh, that comes with experience,”Mom explains.

“Once the loaves were golden in colour, it was time to take them out of the oven, and If they made a hollow sound when you rapped them on the bottom with your knuckles, that told you that they were baked. You knew that you had an exceptional loaf if cracks formed on the crust. Mother always brushed the top with butter too, which made them all the more irresistible, especially when they was hot out of the oven.”

Several hours later, after returning home from a trip to the local grocery store, the timer goes off on my bread machine indicating that my loaf of bread is done. I lift the lid and carefully remove the steaming hot bread from the bread bucket. The recipe distinctly says to wait for the bread to cool before slicing it, but the temptation is too great. As we enjoy our warm buttery treat, this leads to a new conversation as mother recalls churning butter as a child. But that’s another story…











Doing things you maybe didn’t do before COVID

One good thing about COVID is  that we have been returning to some of the simpler things in life-picking  peas or tomatoes fresh off the vine from your own garden, smelling that wonderful yeasty aroma of freshly baked bread  wafting from your kitchen or  making pie from berries from a tree growing in your own back yard .

My husband and I have a garden every year,  so it was not  something we took up because of COVID as was the case for many others, along with the return to making bread.  But I had almost forgotten  about the tree at the back of our property as over time it has become rather hidden with the large Oak tree in front of it. However, I was reminded about it recently by the great number of  robins congregating in our area.  No wonder, as I discovered that our tree has been covered with berries. Since our neighbours also have Service Berry Trees,  our properties  have been particularly popular locations. The robins have had great feasts, to the point of appearing intoxicated, flying erratically through our carport often forgetting there is a door into the back yard. There has  been at least one fatality because of this.

My husband had brought the subject of a berry pie up  a few times, and he had even taken the ladder down in readiness for picking . So  as he watered the garden  one evening,  up I climbed, only to be dive bombed by robins annoyed at my impertinence of taking their berries. I told them it is my tree too and I continued picking. Luckily I did,  as by this time they hadn’t left many for me.

Saskatoon berries are small and it takes a lot of picking to get enough for a pie, but I persisted despite the ruckus and we enjoyed the fruits of my labour for dessert this evening. It was a sweet treat. But now I know to pick more berries before the robins beat me to it.

It takes four cups to make a pie, but since I had only two cups, I combined them with wild blackberries ( blueberries are often suggested ) that we had picked and then added raspberries  after the other two berries had  been sweetened and cooked until thickened. Personally, I think combining other berries makes for an even more delicious pie.

I discovered that there are different species of serviceberry trees  a smaller bush-like version which grows throughout Ontario as far north as James Bay and a tree sized one that can be found in the area of the Ontario Manitoba border. We obviously bought the tree version as over the years it has grown to quite a height.

You may have wondered as I have, about how the berry got it’s name. One explanation  is that when the first settlers reached New England, they often timed their funeral services according to the time the trees were in blossom as that meant the ground had thawed enough to dig a grave. Hence the berry came to be referred to as the  serviceberry.