I can’t remember the last time I bought bread – the sliced,
sandwich type bread. Yes, there is the
occasional loaf of warm boule from the bakery to be savored, thickly spread
with a soft brie. I’ve been known to go
out of my way for an authentic French baguette which I never seem to achieve at
home, the crunchy crust that shatters
into spiky shards, the rough textured and raggedy interior. It is the bread that will never be produced from my
oven, a fossilized remnant of the 1980s.
But for the daily loaf it works just fine. And so I bake.
Baking bread is the essence of a lazy weekend. Bread cannot be rushed and in the early
stages of its development should not be jostled. The very term “resting,” which yeast breads
normally require, quiets the mind, soothes the soul and calms the spirit. On a dark, rainy Sunday morning there are few
places I’d rather be than in the warm kitchen, gently kneading bread
dough. The entire scene makes me
happy: the big ceramic mixing bowl, the
sturdy wooden spoon, a clean linen cloth, big jars of flour, the magic of
watching yeast bubble into life. And then, of course, there is the fragrance.
When bread machines first hit the market over a decade ago,
I had to have one. In a pinch it works
just fine. Baking With Juila – based on the Julia Child TV series - has a
particularly good Buttermilk Bread Machine Bread recipe. Being book crazed, I am often on the trail of
books about bread. And because there is
a randomness to life itself, one thing will invariably lead to another, and
then to something else – down a road you didn’t know you wanted to travel to
find something you didn’t know you desired.
So, back to Baking
With Julia. If you know anything
about Julia Child, you have probably heard of Judith Jones. She was the editor at Albert A. Knopf who
championed the publication of Mastering
The Art of French Cooking. She is
also credited with saving The Diary of
Anne Frank from oblivion when she worked at Doubleday. My own personal library contains cookbooks she
has brought to life, including those by Lidia Bastianich, Joan Nathan, Jacques
Pepin, James Beard, and Marcella Hazan. Obviously,
Judith Jones knows her stuff. I knew she was a fine editor and was not a bit
surprised to learn she was also a fine cook.
In the 1980s she and her husband, Evan Jones, wrote The Book of Bread now sadly out of print. It was put on my mental wish list.
Rummaging around in a used book store is always fun for a
book nerd, but it is especially so when the nerd goes equipped with a mental
wish list. We have a wonderful, dusty,
crammed to the rafters, tight-aisled, rambling, creaky, saggy sofa-ed, dog-sleeping-inside-the-front-door-so-you-have-to-step-over-her,
used book store a short walk from my office.
The narrow entrance is reached by going down several brick stairs, which
were obviously laid long before a building code existed. When the door is opened there is the
ubiquitous tinkling bell which probably should seem clichéd - but does
not - and tiny “tea room” the size of an average walk-in closet. In other words, heaven.
And so I stood one afternoon in the alcove of that shop where
the cookbooks are stacked, unsure of the thing for which I was searching, but
certain I would know it when I found it.
And there it was. The Book of Bread by Judith and Evan
Jones. Without a doubt the trip was a
huge success; I made my way to the desk
at the front of the store. As I did I
passed an aisle that contained what appeared to be very old volumes. I made a small detour. I ran my hand along the spines and stopped at
The Two Vanrevels by Booth Tarkington. On the flyleaf was an inscription “To Emma
from Acca and Tommie – Merry Christmas 1902”
I was immediately smitten and my
imagination raced. How old was Emma in
1902? Was it a happy Christmas? Did she treasure this gift? Where did her journey take her? Where and when did her journey end? Did this book travel with her? Reluctantly, fighting self-indulgence with
great practicality, I put the book back on the shelf. It was not on my mental wish list. There was no room for impulsive acquisitions. It was proof of my will-power. I walked away and out of the shop.
Very soon it set in...Agony.
I thought about that book for days. At first regret whispered and then it shouted. Deep within I knew I had made a mistake.
I went back to the book store several days later, straight to that
aisle and to that shelf. It was gone. Gone! I
failed to follow my instincts and now it was gone. I mentally kicked myself in the fullest part
of my anatomy. I think I may have croaked out a
noise – a cross between groan and a loud shriek - which seemed to upset the dog. I turned to leave.
It was then that I saw it.
On the wrong shelf, yes.
Displaced, without doubt. But it was
really and truly there and I was meant to find it.
It was mine. After doing a bit of research I learned that my volume was
not simply a first edition, it was the first printing of the first
edition. A printing error on page 127 slipped
by the editor, apparently (something which Judith Jones would never have
allowed - see if you can find it) and was subsequently corrected in the “second” first edition. I won’t take credit for knowing I was purchasing
a fairly rare book, because I did not. I
bought it because I fell in love with it, with the sentiment attached to
it. I treasure it for that reason.
Do you see how random it is?
All of it? One can make plans and
draw graphs and fill out action lists to the heart’s delight. But in the end, the big and the small things
that comprise a life are largely forged by the unforeseen, the turns in the
road we did not envision, the traffic jam that causes one to miss a plane, the
change leaving 5 minutes later than planned can make in the course of the whole wide, all encompassing experience.
I bake bread…and so it goes.
