Fat Tuesday: Bun in the Oven

No, there are no announcements along those lines. Simply a seasonal nod to the oft over looked staff of life.

I love bread. It is a simple love. Fresh loaves, warm rolls, day old slices, I love them all. A little butter or olive oil and I am set. Unfortunately, the appreciation of fine bread has diminished from our lives due to the over abundance of cheap – adequate bread from the grocery store. Who wants to go to the trouble of making bread when I can stop by and get a loaf for $2, some rolls for $3, and even artisan breads for $5. After all, it’s just bread.

Indeed, it is just bread. You won’t receive any accolades like grilling the perfect steak, or hear raves of tantalizing taste as when mixing a zesty guacamole. Flour, water, sugar, salt, egg, yeast, and butter.

But bread, in some form or another, has been the historical cornerstone of every society. Just think of its historical significance. As the Israelites wandered through the dessert God provided manna from which they made a sustaining bread. Christ broke bread with his disciples at the last supper. When the French peasants were starving for lack of bread, Marie Antoinette famously quipped, “Let them eat cake.” And Lenin, in rallying the peasants for revolution promised “Peace, Land, and Bread.”

While bread may never be the feature of a meal, its role (no pun intended) at the table cannot be overstated. Below is my great-grandmother’s recipe for dinner rolls. Enjoy.

Old Fashion Dinner Rolls

1 potato peeled and cubed

1 1/2 cups of water

2 packages active dry yeast

3/4 cup of whole milk

1/2 cup butter

2 teaspoons salt

1/4 cup sugar

2 egg

6 to 7 cups flour

Cook potato in water for 20 minutes or until tender. Drain and reserve the water. Mash potato. Measure 1 cup of potato water and let cool to lukewarm. Stir in yeast until completely dissolved. Heat milk and butter until very warm (120-130 degrees), butter does not need to completely melt. Add milk mixture to yeast mixture and stir in salt, sugar, eggs, mashed potato, and 3 cups of flour. Beat 2 minutes at medium speed and stir in enought remaining flour to make a soft dough. Turn dough out to a lightly floured board and knead for 8 to 10 minutes or until smooth and elastic. Place in a greased bowl, turning to grease all the dough and cover and let rise in a warm place until doubled in size (about 45-60 minutes). Punch dough down and divide into thirds and then divide each piece into 12 balls. Place 12 balls in a greased 9 inch cake pan. Cover and let rise for 30-45 minutes or until doubled. Bake at 375 degrees for 20-30 minutes. Makes 3 dozen.

I shall avenge thee!!! Bearded threats.

Since getting married I have learned to understand my wife’s motto, “my stuff is our stuff and her stuff is her stuff.” That’s fine, I’ve never had anything that I was particularly attached to anyways, until after we were married. While continually wearing a scruff throughout our dating and early marriage, it was not until a few years into our marriage that I grew a beard. I came to love my beard. I am Moses and my beard is my staff.

Now for guys out there on a budget, you know how difficult it can be to find a barber that can actually provide a decent haircut for under $20. Recent months had provided me good luck with a local barber establishment known for their accommodation to men’s interests. No, not bikini clad stylists. Just sports on TV all the time.

On a recent excursion for my monthly haircut, I arrived at the barber’s on a Wednesday morning. There was only one stylist present, and I was her only customer. A few minutes after the stylist began cutting my hair it was apparent that this gal was not a seasoned professional. In fact, my deductive reasoning would lead me to believe that her working on a Wednesday morning means she was probably a member of the B-squad. No matter, I’ve fixed more than a few sub-par haircuts in my life, so I just settled in for the remainder of the flight.

As the stylist approached the completion of the haircut she continued with the various trimmings of the neck and so on. She then asked if I would like my sideburns trimmed. Despite doing my own beard upkeep, I usually anticipate needing to do a beard trim after haircuts, so I conceded that she could trim up my sideburns. Many other stylists had previously trimmed my sideburns so I thought nothing of it. The usual process is the stylist uses a clippers with a guard on it just to shorten the sideburns a little bit.

Now I previously mentioned that this was a sports themed barbershop. The particular attraction of this shop was televisions placed in between the stations. Stupid NFL keeps re-showing all those crazy hits from the previous Sunday. So my attention was not focused on the minor issue of trimming my sideburns, but rather James Harrsion shortening some poor fella’s life by three years.

A few moments later the barber informed me that she had completed my haircut. I turned in my chair to face the mirror and my brain failed to register what it was viewing. My mind started to churn to decipher what was going on. My best guess is that at whatever twenty-minute seminar on haircutting this gal had attended, the instructor taught them to trim sideburns by cutting in with the clippers and shaving down, creating a nice straight edge. Unfortunately, the physics of this process don’t exactly translate into a successful trim when the client has a beard.

So there I sat, a decent haircut on top, my nice bushy beard on the bottom, and a one inch gap on either side separating my hair from my beard. Hmmm. After an awkward 30 seconds of silence the barber sheepishly chimed in, “should I shave the rest of the sides or do you want to walk out that way.” Well, at least she understood that me walking out of the shop looking like that would have warranted some odd looks, multiple discreet cellphone photos, and a few calls to the police. “Yeah,” I said, “Why don’t you go ahead a shave the beard off.”

With instructions to leave the mustache and goatee, the barber proceeded to shave off my beard. She then moved to the side where I could again see what I would have to classify as a party prank. She left my mustache, goatee, AND THE ENTIRE BEARD ON MY NECK! Another 30 seconds of awkward silence. “Should I go ahead and shave the neck too, or…” “Yeah, why don’t you go ahead and shave the neck.”

Left with an adequate haircut, a shaggy goatee and mustache, and the memory of a savagely assaulted beard, I promptly stood up, paid the barber, gave her a two dollar tip (standard for haircuts of less than $20) and thanked her for her work. Looking back, I have determined I must have been in clinical shock, something along the lines of what other victims of violence experience.

I drove home in silence.

At home I was met by my wife sitting next to our sleeping daughter. She cocked her head slightly, noticing something was amiss, but unable to immediately identify what it was. I looked at her with mournful eyes and mouthed the words “Worst. Haircut. Ever.” She finally noticed what was amiss, and smiled sheepishly as I headed for the shower.

AFTERWORD:

Seeing as I had an interview the next day (the whole reason for getting the haircut) I trimmed the remnants of my beard into a nice mustache and goatee combo. The following day, after the interview, we headed over to the in-laws house for dinner. Upon opening the door I was met with a mirror image of my father-in-law wearing a nicely trimmed mustache and goatee combo. This wasn’t going to work. After arriving back home that night I immediately shaved my face clean to start over.

“And hear the sounds of Bert… I mean silence.”

Good day my committed readership of three, or one, or zero. Sorry for the lapse in writing. I had to take some time out to work on writing that I actually get paid for. That was followed by a wonderful stretch of vacation and holidays. But now I am back for the Christmas season, and hopefully posting more regularly.

I once heard on average men speak 15,000 words in a day and women speak 30,000. If you know me, that number seems a little high. 15,000 words, in a week perhaps. In any given room, in any given situation, there is a 99% chance that I am the quietest person in the room. No, I don’t have the weakest voice, I just say the least.

This is always the way it has been. I don’t know why. I’ve never had much of a problem with this. Yes, being questioned from kindergarten on as to “why don’t you talk more” does get old, but it beats the alternative of actually talking. I also frequently get the “are you alright,” “are you upset about something,” and my favorite, “are we boring you?”

After reading my blog one of Gert’s friends commented to her, “who knew your husband was so articulate. If we would have known that maybe we would have let him get a word in when we went out.” Great! I thought. And then I thought some more. Who knew I was so articulate? What had everyone thought of me up until that point? “Hi my name is Gert, I’m a snappy, smart, and stylish public relations consultant. This is my dim, slow, half-witted husband Bert. I took him on as a charity case. After spending five-minutes with him I just took pity on him. Why he can hardly take care of himself.”

While the last portion of that statement may have some validity, I’d like to think the rest of it is not representative of me. I had always been an adherent to the old saying “better to keep your mouth closed and let them think you a fool than to open your mouth and remove all doubt.” Well, I guess that one back-fired on me. I’d been keeping my mouth shut and everyone HAD been thinking I was a fool, or slow, or perhaps had been dropped on my head as a child.

In addition, I am not a slight man. So I fear that due to my not insubstantial size, everyone was going directly to images of Lenny in Of Mice and Men. “Tell them about the rabbits Gert, tell them about the rabbits.”

While I cannot say that I never have lapses in common sense, I’d like to think that my intelligence hovers a decent bit above Lurch. So if you’ve only had the pleasure of “socializing” with me when I provide dull one-word answers, please don’t hold it against Gert. There was a time I was charming and witty, and perhaps I still can be. But proving so would require actually talking, so I will for now opt for the alternative of keeping my mouth and letting them think me a fool.