Recipe for Quitting

Quitters never win and winners never quit! So the saying goes. But despite the social stigma attached to quitters, I think there are times, when it’s just plain stupid not to quit.

I was in the store one day picking up groceries for the week. We had a pan of leftover lasagna at home in the refrigerator. A loaf of French bread would be perfect with it.

On the way to the bakery section, I changed my mind. When was the last time I used my bread machine? Freshly baked, homemade bread would definitely be better than store bought.

For me, the hardest part of making bread at home, has always been remembering to start it by 3:30 so that it will be ready at 6:30. Apparently I haven’t made much progress on this problem. At home I got caught up cleaning, and was startled when I noticed that the clock said 4:00. I consoled myself, that there was still time to get the bread going. We could eat a little late, at 7:00.

I wrestled the bread machine out of the cabinet, then grabbed my favorite bread cookbook. Maybe I’d try a different recipe. I leafed past the French Sandwich bread recipe that I usually make. Faux French White Bread. That sounded good. I had even written, “Excellent!” in the margin.

I pulled the metal “basket” out of the bread machine and started rounding up the ingredients. One cup of sour cream. I tugged the lid off a pint container. Hmmm! There was only ¾ of a cup left. That was alright. I had some butter milk, so I’d just top off the sour cream. I spooned the glop into the basket. Then I added the water and olive oil.

The next ingredient was barley malt syrup. Who has that on hand? Maybe a beer brewer. It was at this point that I wish a big STOP sign would’ve popped out of the pantry. Time was against me, and this was the second ingredient I didn’t have, but I’m not a quitter.

The last time I made this recipe, I’d penned “substitute molasses” beside the barley malt syrup. The clock was ticking. I opened the pantry door and reached over various cans and bottles back toward where I thought the molasses should be. As my hand groped for the lid of the molasses jar, a bottle of ginger syrup on the front of the shelf crashed to the floor.

I watched the syrup start oozing out of the shattered bottle for a half a second, and then ran for the paper towels. The dogs started running too, right toward the sticky, broken bottle. I shooed them away, then started unfurling paper towels. Rushing to contain the slowly spreading mess, I scooped up as much as I could, making trip after trip to the garbage can.

Then I noticed my finger bleeding. I smeared some syrup on the cut. Wouldn’t it act kind of like super glue? Didn’t ginger have healing properties? I switched from paper towels to newspapers to avoid cutting myself again.

I didn’t have time for this nonsense. I had to get this bread going. It was 4:15! I put the dogs outside, so I could focus. As I walked back to the kitchen counter, I noticed my shoes sticking to the floor with every step. I looked down to discover ginger syrup coating the hem of my jeans as well as my shoes.

But, I am not a quitter! There was no turning back. 1-1/2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour. I had 1 cup. Alright, I’d just substitute some whole wheat flour for the difference. 1 cup of cake flour—yippee! I had it. ¼ cup of whole wheat flour. I had that too along with the salt and yeast. I wasn’t sure if the yeast was still good, but at this point I didn’t care.

It was 4:30. If the bread, with three out of nine ingredients substituted, even turned out, it would be ready at 7:30. I pushed the rapid-bake cycle without much hope.

As the bread machine churned, I took my shoes off and rolled my jeans up to Capri length so I wouldn’t track ginger syrup anywhere else. I bandaged my finger, cleaned up the rest of the glass shards, and then started pushing the mop. In the ranks of least favorite messes to clean up, this was right up there with broken eggs.

The bread machine was rocking, kneading the dough as my jeans swished in the washing machine, and my shoes soaked in the bathtub.

Later, that wonderful smell of baking bread filled the house. Against all odds, the loaf turned out. It even tasted pretty good. But even as I smeared butter on a steaming slice, I couldn’t help thinking that it wasn’t worth it.  

Tonight in the grocery store, another customer in the deli had some green bread in her cart for St. Patrick’s Day. Did I have any green food coloring at home? A STOP sign popped up in my head. I turned my cart around and headed for the bakery. The store-bought, pre-sliced, green tinted bread will be on our St. Patrick’s Day table tomorrow. How lucky is that?

Laura Keolanui Stark is giving the bread machine a rest for awhile. She can be reached at stark.laura.k@gmail.com.