My mentor, is my mother.
She’s a Yankee. Born and raised on Cape Cod.
She’s taught me how to do almost everything I know how to do.
She’s one of those people that’s good at everything important- folding sheets, running a business, throwing a party, telling a joke, applying mascara, and making you feel like your the center of the universe.
She’s known as thrifty with a ‘can-do’ spirit.
She managed two young children, a difficult husband, and her own business with finesse and integrity.
She sewed my wedding dress with the skill of a Parisian seamstress and gave chest compressions to a unresponsive goldfish between fittings (he survived).
But one of the most impressive solutions she ever had revolved around humidity, heat, and yeast.
When I was little, my mother raised bread dough in a furnace closet.
I have been trying to duplicate that space my entire adult life- the perfect balance, that teases the single-celled fungus to release it’s byproduct (carbon dioxide) after gorging on the satisfaction of sugar.
It’s actually poetic.
And, it’s actually- difficult.
I’ve tried warm ovens, sunlit tables, the tops of running dryers, high shelves in dark places.
Until the other day…
|A simple plastic container with locking top|
|After the first rise- the dough is punched down,
reformed, and ready for round two.
Stay tuned for recipe and final results!