Joy of Kneading

I love bread.  Don't you? 

Put aside--if you can--even if just for a moment, the high carb discussion and think about a loaf of crusty bread pulled from the oven just begging to be sliced then slathered in butter and jam.  The first slice falls away to the cutting board, a bit of steam rises from the pillowy interior (I can never wait until it cools), the enticing aroma draws family members from their various electronic gadgetry... mmm.  We gather around the cutting board clamoring for a slice, ipods and cell phones momentarily forgotten, and we laugh and talk.

As the baker, I get the heel.  An ethereal combination of crustiness and steamy tenderness, this first slice I claim as my own with the excuse that it must be "tested" to ensure its suitability for consumption by the common folk.  I can't believe they still buy into that malarkey after all these years.  Funny how the heel remains untouched in a store bought loaf of white bread though.

When I was much younger my wife's grandmother was known for her delicate crescent rolls, always anticipated at any family gathering.  Served piping hot at Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner, this was a special treat to be savored and fondly remembered because they wouldn't make an appearance again for months--an eternity in the eyes of the youngsters seated at the table with their cheeks packed with that buttery goodness.  The recipe was never fully revealed and went with her to the grave.

Scouring cookbook after cookbook, I came across a recipe for crescent rolls which included two of the ingredients I knew were included in the original:  mashed potatoes and potato water.  I was sure I was on the right track, but further reading unveiled a new technique that surprised me.  This dough rose overnight in the refrigerator!  Who had ever heard of that?

Now I have become the family crescent roll maker.  The young ones fawn over and flatter me at family gatherings in an attempt to wheedle an early sample out of the hoard I come bearing.  I let them know the rolls are numbered and must be accounted for at dinner time.  Then I set the sack down on the counter and leave the kitchen full well knowing the rolls will be pilfered by young and old alike.  I have taken to baking about three times the amount needed to allow for pre and post dinner snacking.

But it is with a touch of regret I never fully learned the old recipe.  Or maybe it was her technique, I just don't know.  Her rolls always seemed more tender, more evenly browned, more uniform in shape.  They were the essence of baking:  simple ingredients and technique combined with care to form a heavenly treat.  They were perfect.