Ninja Meditation Bread Baking

Cooking Lessons From The Great Beyond

I was meditating last week when the voice of my great grandmother popped in with a picture of the old country. Standing near shores of turquoise crystal sea, her earthy feet planted firmly on centuries old stone.

Usually when she shows up she simply smiles, a bit shyly, and shrugs matter of factly, as this is her way. All of life to her is this way, very simple and laid out as plain bare facts, nothing really hard to grasp about it, nor is she doing anything special, just doing things the right way. The way they should be done.

Holding her own perfect loaf of bread in her arms like something she is proud to of yet something that is as basic as well…. a loaf of bread, she says bluntly and with strong love in her heart “you’re doing it wrong”.

She points to my own loaf that has suddenly appeared in my arms, scratchy against my body but heavy as rock, as they have been since I’ve started baking a few years ago. If I really wanted to kill someone with it I could. It’s that dense.

“What am I doing wrong?” I ask, sensing she’s probably right. She sort of shakes her head, wrinkles her nose then says “read that book!” Referring to my big book of gourmet baking recipes that I’ve had for over 15 years but have barely scratched the surface of. I HAVE however spent lots of time gazing longingly at all the pictures, and therefore it’s cover is completely ripped off with the love of 6 curious children.

“Something’s wrong with my starter” I confess and she thoughtfully looks up for a minute then says “put some of that in it!” I look to where she’s directing my attention and I notice my fermenting apple juice on the counter. I’m not even sure what it would be called, I’m such a novice in the world of fermentation.

“That?” I say doubtfully.

“ Si!” She nods vigorously and encouragingly. I really had to sit with that one wondering if I’m making all this up. Well maybe I am! But even if I am that’s ok because I’m really enjoying this inner adventure I’m experiencing in my quiet time. Maybe I’m writing a book in my mind. Maybe it’s really a visit from my great grandmother. Maybe I’m going to destroy my starter if I do what she suggests.

Impulsively I stand up and do it. Just a splash. I can sense her waving frantically to stop! Stop! Basta!

I stop. “Ok…..bene” she gives a final nod of approval. OK.

Apparently it’s a done deal and that’s all there is to be said about it. “OK….” I echo skeptically and set my lovely white ceramic jar to rest and either bounce back or die alone on the counter, a victim of my meditative experiments.

As I turn to go back to my spot on the couch she shows up in my mind again pointing to my cook books. “Read that book!” She presses.

“Ok ok!” I think as I pull down the well loved but rarely acted upon bakers book.

I skip to the page on making traditional sourdough. This page made my mind reel years ago and I only ever got as far as making notes in smeared black pen on the side of the page in an attempt to wrap my mind around it taking three days to bake a single loaf of bread. I never got past making those notes. But this day 15 years later and with several years experience of making delicious, heavy, brick loaves, I was able to break it down a little better and begin to understand what this lengthy education was trying to get across to me.

And then it hit me like a loving smack upside the head from a great grandmother. “Oh my god- I’ve been completely skipping an entire step- I haven’t been making the sponge! I don’t even know what a sponge IS!”

Stunned and amazed I read and re-read the three page spread on how to make old world style bread. And for the next few days I could think about null’altro ,nothing else. I even dragged the massive book with its falling off cover into bed to finalize writing my own cliff notes into my sunshine yellow moleskin cooking journal, where I’ve slowly been adding my more complicated recipes that I don’t make as often as the ones I know by heart. Things from other cultures that don’t use the same basic ingredients to form the flavor foundation that Italian cooking uses which is what I’m used to. Most of the things I cook I could make in my sleep but some things require a little more thought. This is one of those things. For now anyway.

When I finally felt like I’d gotten the basic idea down I took a stab at It.

I made the sponge. I fermented it all day. I mixed and kneeded the dough and put it upside down- ugly side up- onto a floured towel in a bowl. I let it sit over night. The next day I did all the little particulars the recipe called for, the final touch being to slash a little design on the top, which I did with much wonder and satisfaction. I couldn’t believe I had even made it this far! How had I never known I was doing it all wrong?

Lo and behold when that loaf came out of the oven it was an absolute beauty. The whole family gasped and cheered and Ian couldn’t in particular, who had nicely complained about my breads density, couldn’t believe how glorious and fluffy it was. He cheered the loudest I think because he was so excited that he’d get to eat it!

As I exclaimed and wondered over the best loaf of bread I’ve ever made in my life, my great grandmother popped in and nodded her head decisively as if to say “yep. That’s better”

And the starter I impulsively splashed with fermented apple juice kombucha brew ?

Miraculously revived and deliciously full of good smelling bubbles.

“Ok. That’s better” she nods rather proud of herself, for helping her woefully untrained, Americanized great grand daughter.

who knew a little meditation could make me a baking ninja?