Nothing in the glutenous world beats freshly-baked bread. If you’re yearning for that homemade taste, store-bought frozen bread dough will do in a pinch, but I have to say, nothing beats mom’s homemade bread recipe.
If you’ve never witnessed the making of homemade bread, it’s quite a process. I remember the long hours mom spent mixing all the ingredients in her large black kettle; how she covered it with a flour sack towel (or heating pad) waiting for it to rise; and the violent punching and kneading that was necessary to work it over before forming it into little loaves and buns. All that work she put into it was well worth it and our reward for being ‘helpful’ was a sampling from the first batch.
Us kids would wait patiently near the oven for the first loaves to come out. As soon as that oven door opened, the intoxicating smells of yeast filled the entire house. After sternly reminding us to stay safely away from the hot pans, she would take a paper towel, swab it with butter and gently rub the golden brown tops of the piping hot bread. Waiting for the bread to cool was the hardest part so we often risked burning our lips to taste what had been teasing our taste buds for so long.
It’s not often that we get to enjoy mom’s homemade bread but we can usually count on Thanksgiving to get a taste of those incredible buns. They’ve become so popular that she usually doubles her normal batch (half of which always seem to go home with someone very lucky). Maybe, just maybe, we can hope to have homemade buns for Easter this year.
I like turkey as much as the next guy, but have to admit that our bird was a little large this year. The fridge (and freezer) is full of it. Beyond the main event, it’s been turkey for every meal and we’re still dealing with an impressive surplus. I fear what creative form it will take next. Turkey protein shake, anyone?
I couldn’t think of a more fitting image for today’s Inkling than the oft reproduced photograph-turned-oil painting Grace by Rhoda Nyberg. One of my childhood friends had this very painting hanging in his dining room. Every time I went to his house I saw it and never gave it much thought. There are so many things that I have in my life that I’m thankful for, but many days, like that painting, I don’t really think much about it. Thanksgiving Day, to me, is a reminder to be appreciative of just how fortunate and blessed I am. So, before enjoying that bountiful Thanksgiving feast with family today, I plan to take a moment to thank God for the abundance of blessings in my life.
“The potatoes are lumpy, the turkey’s like shoe leather, the gravy’s cold, I found a hair in my cranberries and, I’m sorry, I don’t see what’s so fabulous about maize. First Thanksgiving?! This will be my last!”