Hello Humans of the internet! Happy Friday! I hope that you’ve had a great first full week of August. This week has been a continued job search for me. So far nothing, but I have faith that something will work out. My go to stress relief task is baking bread. Sometimes in the middle of the night when I can’t sleep. There are some recipes that I have used over and over and almost know by heart now. But sometimes I like to try new recipes as most bakers do. However, dyslexia swoops in again making life difficult.
Anyone who bakes or owns a cookbook knows that there are a lot of numbers and letter and lines all smooshed together. For example, 1/2tbs butter or 1/3cup sugar or 2oz milk. I know what these mean. I know the difference between tbs and tsp. But combining these similar-ish letters with dyslexia and a side of stress (stress makes it even more difficult to read) leads to a lot of mistakes.
As I said, I stress bake. And stress makes dyslexia worse. I don’t know why I do this to myself. So, this has always lead to some really amusing? baking mistakes. Usually, things like too much salt. Too little flour. Too long in the oven. Too low temperature. One mistake that really stands out to me was the yeast fiasco of 2016.
This happened last summer, I would have written about it then, but I was still really bad at keeping up with the blog then. So, I’m writing about it now. The recipe called for one packet of yeast. I had bought a jar of yeast because I thought that it would be more environmental then individual packets. So, I read how much was in a packet and measured out that much into the bowl. Except I mixed it up. And there was a lot more yeast then there should have been. It was also a really humid day which makes bread rise more quickly…
I was totally unaware that I had done anything wrong and started making the bread. I do remember thinking that the dough was really fluffy. I covered the bowl and left it to rise for 45 minutes. I’m not a very patient person, so I came back to check about ten minutes later. The dough was spilling out of the bowl. I didn’t know what to do, so I just stared at it for a while. I swear that I was watching it rise. So, I took some of it out and tried bake it. The dough that I didn’t take out kept rising. And rising. It was truly terrifying.
It gave me a new appreciation for how the disciples must have felt when Jesus fed the 5,000 with 5 loaves and 2 fish. I imagine it would have been something like this. The bread in the oven was also rising and rising. And I didn’t even taste good. I mean it tasted disgusting actually. So, I had tons of dough and bread everywhere that didn’t even taste good. I threw it into the compost bucket which it rose out of. Like it would not quit.
Later that day, my mom discovered a piece of dough that I had dropped which was now a huge piece of dough. It would not quit. At least my parents thought it was funny. My mom actually insisted that I write about this even though it was over a year ago.
I think that I’ll try baking something tomorrow. Any suggestions?