On Worry

I have buried my husband dozens of times, retrieved my dismembered children from fire, kidnappers, wild horses, dragged them out of lakes and pools and dens of iniquity, and pulled them -- brainless and toothless -- off of baseball diamonds all around the county.

I have been eaten by lions, fallen from cliffs, gone both blind and deaf, lost all my hair, been relegated to the poorhouse, and exploded in car wrecks ad nauseam.

According to Eudora Welty, one of my personal heroines, this confirms me as an optimist. Firmly rooted in worst case scenarios, in my finer moments, I am seeking, always, higher ground.

In fact, I have developed a solution to passive worry. A strategy that not only justifies a measure of good solid pacing and hand-wringing, but gives nagging and dire warning some dignity and purpose. I call it the Positive Power of Paranoia.

PPP enters the picture with a flurry of activity, with the mien of rescuer, appearing pivotal, just after doom and suffering have dulled the surrounding bright halo and the individual stands alone, prickling with awareness, waiting, tense, watching the clock, recording all symbolic trivia.

Luck and fate and blessings have been invoked. The heartbeat is accelerated. The deadline has passed. Holding dinner has become high drama. The clock turns to glue.

At this point, action, however oblique, is required. This is PPP.

At bedside, the fervent nurse refreshes the water-glass. The passenger, with carnage impending from the right lane, calls out "Crash! Crash! Crash!" to the driver and dives into a safety ball in the footwell.

The young mother takes her firstborn to the dentist because he appears to be getting too many teeth.

The cook, in a pickle, turns to the mending, or better yet, searches out the yeast for a soothing, reconciling batch of Daily Bread.

Try this some time for pure pleasure or when you are fretting and need solace, and with a few minutes effort, patience, and outgoing energy, two profound and aromatic loaves of luminous, healing bread are yours to give.

Bread recipes are pretty much all the same simple formula with broad variations. I like to use a french bread method and convert it occasionally to a sweet high protein sandwich loaf.

My own method is to dissolve the yeast, then make the sponge, then make the dough, give it as much rising time as I have, choose a crust, and try to bring it out of the oven about thirty minutes before serving. So I start three hours ahead and weave it into the rest of my day.

Dissolve in a large measuring cup: ASk Richard to read this and see if just Fr. Bread recipe should be in here.

2 T. yeast

in:

l 1/2 C. warm water.

Add and stir:

1 T. honey or sugar

Place the cup in a large bowl of warm water and cover with a plate. Allow this mixture to sit 15 minutes. It will grow and become very bubbly.

Now, for French Bread, add just the following and beat together:

1 cup warm water

1/2 T. salt

2-21/2 C. whole wheat or white flour and beat.

This will be slightly soupy -- you want it to be about as thick as oatmeal, then watch for the texture to become stringy.

When you have reached this stage, the natural gluten is developing and you need to beat it for about ten more minutes. A stand-up mixer is a great time saver here.

Scrape down the sides of the bowl, cover it, allowing the sponge to sit in a warm place and raise for about 20 minutes, or until doubled in volume. Apply judgment regarding the size of the bowl because it will definitely double.

If you want to make a Sandwich Loaf, go back to the initial yeast mixture, and add to it, instead of the water:

1 C. warmed milk or buttermilk

1 large dollop of honey

1 small dollop of molasses if you have it

1 egg if you want to

1/4 C. oil or melted butter

1/2 C. of any or all of the following:

wheat germ

corn meal

bran

Add and beat until you get the gluten going and then proceed as above:

2 C. whole wheat or white flour

When you are satisfied with your sponge, add enough flour to make a workable dough -- this will be about 3-4 C.

Stir in the additional flour until the dough begins to come away from the sides of the bowl. Add a dough hook or knead by hand on a floured surface until you have an elastic, smooth ball of dough.

This is the universal rhythm, push away and roll back toward you, watching the edges, leaning on it, working your palms into it, humming, relaxing.

Now, if you have time, you can allow it to raise again.

To form loaves, for French, grease a cookie sheet and sprinkle it with corn meal. Divide it in half. Roll the dough out into a rectangle, roll the rectangle into a rope, flatten it, roll it again, pressing firmly until you have a thick cylinder about 16" long. Place it on the cookie sheet, brush with lightly salted water, slash the top length-wise, about 1/4" deep, with a sharp knife, and allow to rise until doubled, about 25 minutes.

For Sandwich loaves, divide the dough and roll it as above, forming a shorter, rounder cylinder that will fit into your greased bread pans. Roll them in sesame seeds if you like, and tuck them in, brushing the crust with melted butter for a soft crust.

Bake French bread at 425 for 10 minutes and then reduce the temperature to 350 for an additional 20 minutes.

Bake sandwich loaves at 350 even heat for 40 minutes.

Both should sound hollow when tapped on the surface when they are fully baked. Cool on racks.

Now, hopefully, with the enveloping fragrance, the poetic bloom and crown and the ancient practice, the bright glow will return and your kneads will be answered.