Bread
Richard Levine
Each
night, in a space he’d make
between
waking and purpose,
my
grandfather donned his one
suit,
in our still dark house, and drove
through
Brooklyn’s deserted streets
following
trolley tracks to the bakery.
There
he’d change into white
linen
work clothes and cap,
and
in the absence of women,
his
hands were both loving, well
into
dawn and throughout the day—
kneading,
rolling out, shaping
each
astonishing moment
of
yeasty predictability
in
that windowless world lit
by
slightly swaying naked bulbs,
where
the shadows staggered, woozy
with
the aromatic warmth of the work.
Then,
the suit and drive, again.
At
our table, graced by a loaf
that
steamed when we sliced it,
softened
the butter and leavened
the
very air we’d breathe,
he’d
count us blessed.
In
my family, one of the chores we are rotating during the pandemic is the weekly
trip to the grocery store. We visit the grocers that from experience seem to be
doing the best job of instituting parameters to protect both the shoppers and the
workers. Each week, the report back from the aisles continues to be that a particular
product (and not just toilet paper) had disappeared from the shelves – graham crackers
or frozen fruit or chicken breasts or skim milk. This week eggs were scarce. And,
each week the missing food reflects either the news cycle such as the infection
rate at meat processing facilities or the home bound food fashion of the moment
such as s’mores or smoothies. Current consumption clearly reflects the new
realities of a challenged food system, our deepest fears and our desire for
comfort foods often tied to deeply held memories and rituals.
Overall,
Americans aren’t used to food scarcity of this magnitude. Since WWII, food
limitations have been primarily related to one’s ability to pay and not so much
to availability. The only time I remember seeing markets with predominantly
empty shelves was in college. It was 1988, and I visited the former Soviet
Union during my junior year abroad in West Germany. Gray was the dominant color
of the weather, buildings, clothing and the mood. And, canned goods, potatoes
and bread were the only staples available for purchase by the average consumer.
So,
I am not surprised that flour is one hot commodity right now and bread baking has
seen a resurgence. Bread was maligned in recent years as Americans continue to search
for a scapegoat in our rising rates of obesity. Carbohydrates became the latest
target now that eggs and animal fats have been largely redeemed. Yet, bread isn’t
going anywhere. It is an ancient food across cultures and continents. It is a
part of religious rituals and symbolic of holy covenants. Bread is part of our
idiomatic expressions and everyday speech – your daily bread, earn your bread
and butter or the best thing since sliced bread, for example. So, I am happy to
see us get reacquainted with yeast and discover the benefits to our mental
health from kneading dough and the rest that follows.
I
am returning to bread baking myself, having some experience and a deep, abiding
affection for homemade bread, salted butter and canned preserves. I
particularly like the dark, flavorful and filling breads of my German heritage made
of grains such as rye and spelt. Weekly bread baking goes back generations in
my family, no recipe required. I ate sandwiches for lunch on homemade bread.
Homemade bread was a part of nearly every dinner. And, bread was slathered with
butter and honey and eaten late at night to calm the fears of a child unable to
sleep when fears and wounds came out of the closet and held me hostage.
Over
the years, I have had the pleasure of knowing some serious bread bakers and
being the grateful and satisfied recipient of their creations. Bread may bring you
closer to your maker. In my experience, it also builds relationships as is
almost always true when eaten across the table from the hands of the maker. Working
with ingredients from scratch is a labor of love these days, one to be shared,
one to be passed down, and one to revere. Bread is a blessing that fills all
the senses and binds us to one another across time and distance, beliefs and
cultures. So, I say, “Bake bread!” And, more importantly, eat it heartily,
knowing at least one good may come from all the current hardships, something to
be shared with our children and our children’s children along with all the
other stories and lessons coming out of 2020.
When the children
in my class make bread, they know that after all the hard work of sifting and
pouring, mixing first with a spoon and then with their hands, and kneading the
dough for a long, long time, in order for the miracle of rising to take place,
they must rest. They must take their hands away and give the dough a chance to
grow.
~The Miracle of
the Bread Dough Rising by Paula Lawrence Wehmiller