Christmas Eve already?

Boy, that was fast. I know Thanksgiving was late this year, but still...

It's been a busy season. I had some paintings to do, some baking to do, and I finally purchased a candy thermometer and tried my hand at a temperature-sensitive something-or-other... But mostly? Well, I fell back into the typical Mel at Christmastime persona... Crabby, ungrateful, ashamed of what our culture has done to Christmas, alarmed at the state of our country and the happy state of denial where most people reside... My Christmas roller coaster doesn't neatly align with any step program; heck, it isn't even consistent from year to year. But each December, without fail, I end up feeling down about the whole thing, stricken with guilt because the joy I'm supposed to be experiencing is quite absent a lot of the time.

Although, I suppose I am going through some kind of step program, because I've arrived at the acceptance stage now. And I do have some peace about the entire thing. That's no program, though—that's God. I prayed for peace, for the ongoing awareness that Christmas means For Us a Savior. Our pastor did a great sermon on Sunday about that very miracle. It was just what I needed. We have to be intentional about seeking joy. Did you know that?

Don't get me wrong, I'm still going to flit in and out of holiday-induced depression for the next few days. But through it all, I'll be singing a catchy little song to myself: Jesus Christ is coming to town.

Wait, He's already here! He was here, and He is here. That's what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.

I wish you the same song in your heart, through stress and bad weather and Christmas returns. We can still sing.

The good stuff

Bread. So basic, so primitive, yet so rich and complex in every way.

It was one of the first foods. A main part, if not THE main part, of every meal in some countries. The manna form of it sustained people for years. It’s been passed around, shared among people for longer than we can imagine. It represents our savior, the “living bread,” his body, and his body broken. Generations have reserved and used a bit of the family yeast for daily baking. It’s not so hard to make a loaf, but it requires time, a certain touch, respect for the heritage of the task, and a firm but not necessarily heavy hand.

I’m still perfecting my “hand” at making bread, but I do enjoy the “larning” if you know what I mean. There’s something so deeply satisfying about creating the dough, about watching the flour you dumped in become absorbed. And there’s no other sensation like kneading, just rolling up your sleeves and getting your hands in that lump, working it, using your fingers and the heel of your palm and really breaking it down.

There are endless varieties, different grains to use, ways to make it unique and wonderful, whether it begins with plain old bread flour or wheat flour or blended oats or even with a biga. (No, I haven’t tried that yet—biga is the yeasty starter you create to make ciabatta. Maybe when I feel a bit more confident in my abilities…and have managed to get my hands on a baking stone.)

I’m only sorry I waited so long to try it. Living near the Bread Works factory for years didn’t exactly inspire me to bake my own bread, since they do such a fabulous job of it there. But even with that great, cheap bread down the street, I was still missing out on a simple joy: making dough, letting it rise, and popping it into my own oven so as to fill my home with that delicious aroma of life.

If you haven’t yet, or haven’t lately, get out in that kitchen and make a floury mess. It’s good for the soul.

Can’t beat the classics

I think I’m stealing a catch phrase here—isn’t it the ladies’ wear giant Talbots that uses this? I checked their site and I don’t see it word for word, but the ring of it feels so familiar… Well, they won’t care if I borrow it. It’s not like I’m selling clothing or anything. I can’t even lay claim to a Talbots item of clothing—except for that great grey sweater I found at the Vietnam Vets’ resale shop over on the Boulevard…

Anyway, I always spout this “classics” phrase to Todd when he’s shopping for clothes. I keep pointing him to L. L. Bean and Lands’ End and that sort of thing, the straight-laced polo and oxford shirts, flat-front trousers and the like that fill those catalogs. I love the classics. They shift subtly from year to year, but they never really go out of style, not in their truest essence. They’re a wise investment. And it’s not a brand name so much as it is a timelessness, the kind of presence that makes Cary Grant and Katherine Hepburn fashionable even today.

The great thing is that the same is true of foods. I’m thinking about it at this time of year because the wonderful holiday baking season is upon us. And while a number of my gal pals will probably be stressed out, trying crazy, complicated recipes for various sweets, frantically shoving tray after tray in the oven for the next cookie exchange, I’ll be baking the same old shortbread, pumpkin breads, and variations on oatmeal cookies this year. I try some new stuff now and then, but it never measures up. It’s too hard to do, or you have to refrigerate dough before you roll it out, or I’m in the midst of preparation when suddenly I notice that the recipe calls for parchment paper and I have none. (Nor do I have any of those fancy schmancy silicone baking sheets, although I’ve been eyeing them up. I’m in love with all silicone bakeware items. Try ‘em if you haven’t.)

My point is, I don’t want to waste time baking something that might fail, requires ingredients I would never normally buy, and is made not for the love of baking or eating but to impress others. I don’t have time to squander on pastries that will likely pass out of favor in a year or two. I don’t want to bake fragile, risky goods. I spent too much time at design firms catering to the whims of delicate geniuses; frankly, anything delicate had better get out of my way in the kitchen. I want proven, sure thing, sturdy, wonderful classics: Breads, muffins, little cookies that transport easily and melt in your mouth. I want the basics because they’ve earned their place in my baking repertoire. I want the basics because they stand the test of time—and taste. I’m also lazy, and recipes with too many steps are a turn-off. And lastly, I'll confess: I’m not terribly detail oriented. I want a recipe that has some breathing room, some space to personalize—in short, recipes that won’t fall flat if I don’t measure off the top of the flour with a knife. (As IF.)

So, don’t look for anything too prissy from my kitchen this year, or next. Or the one after that. I’m all about the classics, man.