Give Us This Day...

Marge, Minnie and Mona, January 2011
These children know what's about to come out of this oven.  
Smart girls.

Freshly baked bread...no wait, homemade freshly baked bread.  Many people who engage in the baking of this culinary prize want you to think it's difficult.  Complicated.  Worth the $10-$15 per loaf that an artisan bread bakery will ask you to part with in order to enjoy their creations.

Robbery.  Baking a gorgeous loaf of bread in your own oven does not require any special skills, unless you consider the ability to use measuring cups and shop for simple ingredients 'special skills'.  My adventures with bread began 6 years ago when we moved our little family to the state of Washington.  Our oldest was just a baby, I didn't know a soul, the Father was extremely busy with a new job at a local university and I was unemployed.  I had months of cold weather stretched out in front of me and decided that I would try baking bread.  Yep.  Just like that I decided to jump in and give it a try.  Now, I did not grow up in a bread baking house.  My mom recalls how she used to make these yeast breads and tea rings, I'm sure she is telling the truth and I'm sure they were yummy, but I have no memory of these creations.  She'll also tell you she stopped making them because they were so much work and nobody appreciated them.  Must be true, hence, no memory.  Sorry Mom.  But I digress.

Long story short, I really had no experience with yeast breads.  Let me clarify what I mean here...quick breads, like your classic banana, pumpkin or zucchini, are breads with which I have lots of experience.  But I don't put them in the same category as yeast breads.  A quick bread, in my humble, unqualified opinion is not much different than following a cake recipe or any other simple baked good recipe.  Put in the ingredients, stir it, spray the loaf pan with Pam, pop it in the oven, 45 minutes.  Done.  Not hard if you can read.

The yeast bread, with the activating and the foaming and the incorporating and the kneading and the glutens and the rising and the poking and the punching and the stretching was truly a scary task to be tackled.  But back then, when it was just the 1 year old and me in the kitchen, and the grocery store was right down the street, I was willing to give it a shot.  Just read the directions right?  And the eventual failure can just be thrown away and nobody will ever have to know about it.  Right?

Well it turned out that there never was an epic failure.  Every single one I made was at least edible.  Some rose better than others.  Some were a little doughy raw on the inside, a few were a little too crunchy burned on the outside.  But we ate every single one of them.  Sweet breads, savory ones, international varieties, pitas, peasant loaves and baguettes.  I have tried more than I can count.  After 6 years of baking yeast breads my summary statement on baking bread is, "All you need is time.  And a good set of directions."  Fancy flours, special tools, stand mixers, bread boards, double ovens, blah, blah, blah.  All nice, but not necessary for making a gorgeous loaf of delicious bread.  This is not hard. I have become one of those people that bakes her own bread.  No, not the bread I use for grilled cheese and peanut butter and jelly.  But during the cold winter months here in the Middle, we have soup and bread once a week, and that bread, we make at home.

TheMiddleBit is not going to turn into a food blog.  There are so many of those out there written by people who are infinitely more qualified than myself to share recipes and one of a kind creations.  They take gorgeous pictures of their food and invent new things weekly.  If that's what you're looking for go here.  And here.  And here.  Those are some of my favorites.  Know this.  Most of my recipes have been adapted from Cooking Light and I will give credit where credit is due.  I have scraped together a few from other sources and will note those of course too, but what I'm setting out to do here is give you a collection of some of my favorites.  To help you understand that baking these wonderful loaves is not difficult.  And to give you the benefit of some of the things I have learned in the last 6 years of making bread in my humble kitchen.  You'll find one here every Sunday, under the heading of Give Us This Day, until I run out of favorites, or until the weather gets warm again and I can no longer bring myself to bake a loaf of bread and raise the ambient temperature in my kitchen 15 degrees.

So...on that note...here's one of our all time favorites.

Originally published by Cooking Light under the name Swedish Saffron Bread, this bread was renamed by my Middle Bit the first time I ever made it.  There was a lot going on in my kitchen that day, it was a new recipe, and I was expecting company.  There is much to be written about the wisdom stupidity of trying a new recipe when guests are on your doorstep.  Several children were asking for things, a timer was beeping somewhere, a dog was barking, the phone was probably ringing...you get the picture.  It had a few more ingredients than some of the simpler loaves I do and at one point I screamed out, "Everyone just be quiet for a second!  These ingredients are making me nervous!"  Slowly backing out of the kitchen, they retreated to their bedrooms.  When the Father came in the door with our guests, he called out, "What's everybody up to?"  The Middle Bit yelled out, "Mommy's making Nervous Bread.  Stay out of the kitchen or she'll yell at you."  And thus our bread got its new name.

Nervous Bread

1 cup hot water
1/2 cup golden raisins *see note
1/4 cup currants *see note
1/4 cup sugar, divided
1/2 teaspoon saffron threads, crushed
1 package dry yeast (or 2 1/4 teaspoons)
1 cup warm milk **see note
3 cups of all purpose flour, plus more for kneading
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
3 tablespoons butter, melted
2 large eggs, divided
Cooking spray

*Note.  I have made this bread with golden raisins and currants as called for, however there are lots of other lovely combinations of dried fruits that work just as well.  I have used coarsely chopped dried dates, apricots and cherries.  I used regular raisins once in a pinch.  Cranberries work well too.  Bottom line, you need between 3/4 cup and 1 cup of coarsely chopped, dried fruit of some kind.  This is one of those places where you can personalize this recipe without too much stress and walk away feeling a little "cheffy".

**Note.  The recipe originally called for 2% and a true artisan bread baker will have an opinion on this one, but I have used everything from skim milk to heavy cream here, not because I was being clever, but because I failed to check my ingredients list before I started cooking.  The recipe also gets really specific about the temperature the milk is supposed to be heated to, but I think that just makes people afraid to try it if they don't have a thermometer.  Technically you're supposed to shoot for 110 degrees, but I never pay attention.  I measure the milk in my pyrex, pop it in the microwave for 1 minutes and wing it.  Always works.  Every time.  Promise.

1.  Put your hot water and your dried fruit in a bowl.  Ignore it for 10 minutes while you get everything else together.  When it's all plumped up again, drain the water off and set it aside.

2.  Put 1 tablespoon of sugar, saffron and yeast in a small bowl.  Pour the warmed milk over it and let it stand for 5 minutes until it gets foamy.  The saffron turns it this odd yellow color, that if you're not prepared for, might shock the heck out of you.  Don't panic.  That's what it's supposed to look like.

3.  In a large bowl, combine 3 cups of flour, remaining 3 tablespoons of sugar, salt and cinnamon.  Add your fruit, the scary, frothy yeast mixture, the melted butter and one of your eggs to the flour mixture and stir until dough forms.  You can add pinches of flour while you stir to get all the bits of the mixture from the side of the bowl to join the dough ball.

4.  Turn the dough ball out onto a lightly flour surface.  Knead it for at least 8 minutes and don't be afraid to add more flour, 1 tablespoon at a time, to keep the dough from sticking to the counter or your hands.  You'll know it ok to stop adding flour when you can punch the dough into the counter and hold it in your hands without it sticking to everything.  If you add the flour slowly you'll be okay.  Worst case scenario, if you add too much flour, your arms will just get more of a work out and the dough will be a bit stiffer.  But it will still be edible.  Promise.  Go triceps!

5.  Put your dough ball in a large bowl coated with cooking spray.  Turn the dough to coat all the sides and cover the bowl with plastic wrap.  Find a warm spot for it to rise for 1 hour.  On a sunny day, I leave my dough on the counter.  Sometimes I turn my oven on for 5 minutes to warm it up and then turn it off and let the dough stay cozy in there while it rises.  Wait the whole hour and the press your finger into it.  If the indentation stays there, it's ready.  If the dough springs right back at you, give it another 15 minutes and poke it again.

6.  Dump it out onto a floured surface again and divide it into three equal portions.  The less you mess with it here, the better.  Just cut it into three parts and roll those into ropes about 18 inches long.  Part rolling, part stretching, don't be scared.  Lay them alongside each other and braid them.  Just flop one rope over the other until you get to the end.  I always have to go back and fix the ends.  Then pinch the ends together and turn them under to keep them from unraveling.  Spray it lightly with cooking spray, cover it with plastic wrap and let it rise again for an hour.

7.  Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.

8.  Lightly beat the remaining egg.  Gently brush the dough with the egg.  I use a pastry brush, but dipping a paper towel in the egg and sloshing it over the braid works just as well if you don't have a brush.  This step gives the bread a gorgeous shine.  Bake at 375 for 25 minutes.  Watch it during those last few minutes to make sure it doesn't get too brown.  Remove from pan and cool on a wire rack...or at least try and let it cool off a bit before diving into it so you and your loved ones don't burn yourselves.  Ours rarely makes it to the table intact.  They come out of the woodwork when it starts smelling yummy and I have to fight them off with the bread knife to have any left for the meal.

This sweet bread was originally run as a breakfast idea, but considering it takes a minimum of 2 1/2 hours from start to finish, I find it hard to imagine my family ever getting to have it for their morning meal.  I'm not getting up that early to bake bread.  We usually have it when we do brinner (breakfast for dinner) and there's never a crumb left over for the next morning.

Enjoy.

Rare January Storm. Massive Damage Reports.

Authorities have confirmed a rare January tornado in one small Minnesota town.  Preliminary reports indicate that although the twister touched down for only 14 inches, it wrecked havoc on a small development of gingerbread houses.  A source from the National Weather Service says there was no time to issue warnings for the storm and residents are very lucky there wasn't more damage.

Rooftops ripped off two homes resulted in massive exposure to frigid temperatures and a loss of virtually everything in the homes.  A third home has sustained massive roof damage from a large object tossed by the record wind speeds.  Debris has been found as far away as 10 inches from the area of devastation but unfortunately none of it has been recovered.  It appears to have been eaten by three young girls and a pair of dogs living near the damaged homes.

No injuries or deaths have been reported as the homes were unoccupied. Neighbors report that the trio of confections are only seasonally inhabited by their owners who have gone south for the worst of the cold months ahead. Sources say the owners do have plans to rebuild but may wait until the upcoming 2011 holiday season to finalize their plans for reconstruction.

If You Invited Me for Coffee Today...

I'd tell you I am so in need of this caffeine because I haven't been sleeping.  I don't know why really.  I'm not extraordinarily stressed.  I have things on my mind, but not that many things.  I'm busy, but not that busy.  You'd  roll your eyes and say, "Right Nanc. Whatever. This week you broke a dish, sliced off the tip of your finger and told your husband you were too busy for yoga."  I think I'm just moving too fast and I'm tired.  I just need to go to bed earlier.  Really.

I'd ask you if you'd heard the song "Great Escape" on Pat Monahan's solo album.  And you'd roll your eyes and say, "Really?  Don't you ever listen to anything but Train?"  And I'd explain that yes.  I do.  And in fact I'd added several new artists to my iTunes library over the holiday, but I always return to my favorites and his lyrics reach right into my soul.  He sings, "I need you.  Everybody needs someone like you.  If you need me too, you would be the only thing that I'd take, on my great escape."  Great love story.  Really.

I'd own up to the feelings of technological superiority that I have been having for the last 3 weeks.  That man I love gave me an iPad for Christmas and I love it.  It's an amazing toy disguised as the most amazing tool I've ever held in my hands.  I'd tell you I use it for my calendar, and my addresses, for reading the news, for filing my recipes, blah, blah, blah...I'm smug.  I love this thing.  Really. 

I'd tell you I'm so glad we're having coffee and not a glass of wine.  Don't misunderstand, I still love my wine, but I there were too many cocktail parties in the final days of 2010 and I'm taking a break from the wine for awhile.  But then you'd look askance at me and say, "Really?"  And I'd say, no not really, but I am partied out for awhile.  For me...that's huge.  Really.

I'd admit that I brought a little more of 2010 into 2011 than I had planned...like about 10 pounds more than I'd planned.  That's a tough one for me because I have this job where I stand up in front of a group of people every week and talk about healthy lifestyles.  People who are on an epic journey of weight loss and behavior change.  People, who frankly, inspire me in a way they cannot ever understand.  But I'm working on it.  And they're helping me as much as they tell me I'm helping them.  That's a tough one for me to admit.  Really. 

I'd confess to you that I'm bracing for the next few months when the Father traipses across the globe nearly every weekend and leaves me alone with the girls, the house, the dogs, the falling snow that needs to be shoveled, the groceries that need to be shopped for, the lot of it.  And there is a LOT of it.  It would be a confession because most of the time I want you to think I don't mind doing it alone.  I'm certainly capable, but I do mind.  I mind alot.  He does these extra jobs so I don't have to have a full time job, and the kids don't have to be in daycare and we have money for things like vacations and dancing lessons and new bicycles.  So I'm grateful.  But, I do mind.  Really. 

I'd thank you again and again for inviting me.  For coming up with the idea all by yourself and asking me if it was something I'd like to do.  And not asking me to plan anything, or decide where we were going or what we should eat or whether or not we should bring our kids.  I'd thank you for telling me where to be this morning, because I love being the hostess and planning the event, but sometimes I want to just show up.  Really.

I'd talk to you about TheMiddleBit, which I don't usually do.  Somehow it feels strange to talk out loud about things I write.  I can't really put my finger on why, but there it is.  I'd tell you I don't know what my pattern is going to be for 2011.  I find my inspiration arriving in waves these days.  Weeks with no time and no ideas.  Hours, usually between 2am and 4am, with more ideas than I have time or energy for.  Things I want to write about that are real.  Really real.  Sometimes more real than I think anyone would have any interest in reading about.  Explaining.  Complaining.  A fine line divides them for sure.  Polished?  Sometimes.  But not so much that my raw thoughts are no longer visible.  There's so much there to say, just under the surface.  I haven't been writing, but I've been thinking.  Really.

I'd reveal that I have been checking the stat counter on my blog (that little bit of computer spyware that tells me how many people visit my blog every day) and that I can't believe people actually check in repeatedly.  I actually have readers.  I started this blog over a year ago to give myself a place to put my thoughts.  Sometimes what lands on the blog just spills right out of my heart, often it's inspired by what I'm thinking, regularly it's something I think just needs to be written about.  But I can't believe people actually read it.  I love it, but I can't believe it.  Really.


I'd tell you all of this if you had invited me for coffee today. 

Now I'm off to write my blog.

On This Side of It

I've learned some things in 2010.  I've been reminded of some things in 2010.  I've come to a clearer understanding of some things in 2010.  Part highlight reel, part summary statement, part points to ponder, part stuff I can't let myself forget.  Here's 10 for 2010.

1.  A shower is not always about getting clean.  Sometimes it's about being behind two closed doors, locked of course.  Sometimes it's about being wet and unavailable so those people who needs things either have to wait...or figure it out themselves.  Sometimes it's about taking a little bit of time for yourself...to wash your body and clear your head.

2.  If you have time to worry about not having time, then you have time.

3.  Want is not about need...BUT you'd better figure out a way to want what you need.  This year I learned a lot about what I really need.  He is one of those things.

4.  Spooning is nice.  But so is forking.  Wink wink.

5.  There are only two women at the community pool who are memorable in their bathing suits.  The one who looks the best...you know who she is, the one in the bikini that's not meant to get wet or the mother of three who doesn't appear to have a single stretch mark...you remember her.  And the one who looks the worst...you remember her too, enough said.  So if you're somewhere in the middle, like most of us, you're not memorable.  A momentary glance will be forgotten.  An extended stare will be purged. Stop worrying about it and enjoy yourself. 

6.  You must be present to win. 

7. The things you do most of the time are what make you who you are.  There will be epic fails.  There will be days where one thing after another goes wrong.  There will be weeks where your weight is up, your mood is down, your plate is full and your luck runs out.  But that's not most of the time.

8.  You can hold your breath, but you cannot pretend you don't breathe.

9.  Lead or be led.  But don't just go.

10.  The way you do anything, is the way you do everything. 

Worth 1,000 Words?

A picture does not always seem to be worth a thousand words.  So far, this picture has proven to be worth approximately three words..."Who is that?"...has been the most popular response to my showing it around for the last few days, but it says so much more than it seems to say. 

The story leading up to the taking of this terrible, cell phone picture began in early October when one morning, my favorite local radio station announced that they would be giving away tickets to a concert featuring Train, only my favorite band in the entire universe, and that the tickets would not be for sale.  To anyone.  The only way to get them was to be the 9th caller when they played the cue to call.  Several times a day they would give pairs away.  For weeks and weeks until all the tickets were gone.  All the way up until the day before the concert.  In December.

I listened.  I called.  I listened some more.  All day, every day.  Waiting for the cue.  I had every commercial memorized, every word to every song in the top 40 list.  My children learned the cue to call.  My little girls will even sing three different versions of the radio station's jingle if you ask them to.  I was held hostage by the radio station.  The dogs waited to be let back into the house when I had to dial.  The 3 year old sat patiently on the toilet and waited until after I made my calls so I could wipe her butt for her.  The 6 year old ate a piece of toast that I burned while waiting for the cue and the 4 year old got her own socks from the dryer because I couldn't hear the radio in the laundry room.  My husband took over scrambling the eggs, buttering the bread, rinsing the conditioner out of wet heads and countless other half started tasks when I had to speed dial.  And he never complained, rolled his eyes, or questioned my commitment to this seemingly impossible contest.  I wanted those tickets so badly.

Want.  That's a funny thing.  Want.  It kind of takes over, if you let it.  I let it.  I made it clear to anyone that asked that these tickets were a want and certainly not a need, but that had very little effect on my behavior.  I listened.  I called.  Again and again.  For weeks.  I was caller #1...several times...but being #1 was not what I wanted to be.  I was every single caller number there was to be.  The most painfully unsuccessful calls were the ones where I was caller #8.  I actually felt pain.  Don't judge me.

One particularly unsuccessful Friday afternoon my husband came in the door from work and noticed that the radio was not on.  I love him for his next frantic question which was, "Why is the radio turned off?  They're about to play the cue to call!  I was listening in the car on my way home!"  Next to tears, ridiculous I know, I told him I had had enough that day.  I turned the radio off because I was tired of my failed attempts and I needed a break.  I explained that I would start again on Monday.  "Oh.  Ok." was all he said.

He tried with me all that next week.  We made calls in the kitchen.  He learned to time his calls so he could get through.  He programmed the number into his phone.  We stood by the radio together and dialed as fast as we could.  He rigged up a radio for me in the garage so we could be ready outside while the kids rode bikes in the driveway.  He hooted and hollered with me when we got through and stamped his feet in frustration with me when we were caller #4 or #5 or #7.  We dialed in the car together on our way to a dinner date.  He waited in the car with me, with the engine running, until the song playing on the radio was over just in case they played the cue to call.  And then dialed again with me in the car on the way home.

If you've looked carefully at that picture I started with, you might guess that this story does have a happy ending, but not for the reason you think.  Not because I got what I wanted one Saturday morning as we stood there dialing over pancakes in the kitchen.  Together.  As he stood there with me when he was #1 and then I was #3 and then he dialed again and it rang and rang and rang and rang and then a voice said, "Who's this?  Because you're caller #9!"  And he screamed.  And I I fell over.  And the girls went crazy.  And we ran around the house yelling so loud that when they played the call back over the radio you can hear us all in the background acting like idiots.

It has a happy ending because in the process of seeking what I wanted, I got exactly what I needed.  This man who loves me, saw how much I wanted this silly thing and jumped right in with both feet to try and help me get it.  This man never once rolled his eyes, told me I was neglecting my life, sighed as I leaped away from a task when it was time to dial, or ever gave me one tiny impression that he thought the whole thing was a waste of time.  This man was with me.  With ME.  He declared to the world, "I love this woman.  She is crazy.  But I am with her.  She loves Train and I love her so we're going to get us some tickets even if I have to dial the phone 100 times!"  He took a hold of something that was important to me the same way he embraces things that are important to him.  That's what I need.  That's what anybody needs.   

It was an amazing concert.  It exceeded my expectations.  I absolutely loved every minute of it.  And I couldn't believe I was lucky enough to be there.  With them.

He is an amazing partner.  He regularly exceeds my expectations.  I absolutely love every minute of him.  I cannot believe I am lucky enough to be here.  With him.

Here. After.

This is a repost from October of last year but timely on this day for a lady I'm lucky to have in my life.

I'm thinking about a friend of mine today.  I'm thinking about the contradiction that you feel when you lose something you never had, didn't ask for and weren't sure you wanted.  The hollow, unsatisfying relief that comes when something ends that never had a chance at a beginning.

She's in the middle bit right now.  The middle that's the pits.  The middle that comes between the blissfully ignorant part before and the resolved to heal part that envelopes the after.   

I'm sure I don't know what happens to those little ones we lose.  Some are comforted by the knowledge that they journey to the Hereafter.  All I know is that we mother's that lose...we have to be here.  After.  Here without something we never had in the first place.  Here in this place.  Here in this day.  Here in this life.  After.   

She'll be the one to decide how long this middle bit goes on.  She'll have some help, but it will truly be up to her to decide.  That's when the middle bit that is so difficult comes to an end and becomes a beginning.  A beginning where you can look around at the Here.  And after everything.  Be happy you've arrived.

Santa's Not Watching!

It's one of the biggest lies out there and it makes me insane!  And don't even get me started about the true meaning of Christmas...that's not what this post is about, so just back off!  I'm ranting about Santa! 

So we're in Target today, the littlest ones and me.  With the outside temps hanging just below zero, they were bundled to within an inch of their lives and so, after about 34 seconds in the store they started moaning about being hot.  Not one tiny bit interested in their overly dramatic display of discomfort, and actually a bit sweaty myself as we rushed through the aisles to grab toothpaste and chapstick, I hurried them along.  Three year old Minnie proceeded to remove her mittens and throw them at me.  "Pick them up NOW!  And start walking," erupted from me just as this striking, young gal with a pep in her step rounded the corner.  And by 'striking' I mean wearing boots because they were cute and not because they keep your feet warm and dry.  And by 'young gal' I mean clearly single.  With no offspring.  And by 'pep' I mean she didn't just break up an argument between two short people about why we should get Dora toothpaste instead of Thomas or have to quiet the screams of the middle one when the little one chose the green chapstick, "But NOOOOO!  Momma!  That stuff makes my lips sting!!!  NOOOOOOOO!"

Anyway, this striking, young gal leaned over to my littlest bundle and whispered, "Better pick up your gloves.  Santa's watching."  Both of my children snapped their heads around and looked at me with big saucer eyes.  The middle one said, "He is?"  To which I replied, "Nope.  But I am.  So WALK!"  They walked.

Santa's watching...so you better be good.  And then what?  If you're not good is your mom going to cancel Christmas?  Take back your gifts?  I don't think so.  Does anyone ever actually do that?  What Santa would have seen today if he had been watching was a three year old acting like a three year old.  Should she be punished or rewarded for that?  And what the hell would Santa know about three year olds anyway, he lives with adults...short ones, but adults.

I love the mystery.  I foster the tradition.  I tell the story of Santa Claus.  I've bought into the image created by Coca Cola to boost sales of soda pop during the holiday that has turned into everyone's image of the jolly old elf who lives in the North Pole and has thousands of pint sized employees.  But never, will you ever hear me say to one of my children, "Santa's watching", with that lilting, sing-songy tone that is really saying 'I don't feel like yelling at you right now or bothering with the actual follow through and doling out of consequences so will you please just stop hitting your sister and play nice while Gramma is visiting.'

It makes me insane!  Do people not realize that this is not an effective strategy for seasonally managing the bad behavior of small children?  Do people not realize that if they, the parents are not capable of encouraging forcing their children to follow rules and act like civilized creatures then threatening the wrath of a jolly old elf is never going to do the trick either.  I can't actually imagine the wrath of Santa...maybe being pelted with candy canes...oh, the horror!  And how come nobody ever says, "Santa's watching," in July?


The end of the story is that we made it through Target.  There was very little crying after that initial incident.  Minnie did pick up her mittens.  They did brush their teeth with their new toothpaste.  Mona's bottom lip is not quite as chapped as it was this morning, and the story chosen at bedtime was 'Twas the Night Before Christmas.  What a lovely evening it was...but not because Santa was watching.