All great French chefs denote their art with a distinctive marking.  

A Breadmaking Thing

A Breadmaking Thing

Fulfilling a long-felt desire as well as dealing with post-election, pre-holiday, post-daylight savings time, pre-snow, post-autumn, pre-inauguration, post-boating, pre-ice fishing blues, Mom and I decide to bake bread together.

When I told Kay about this, she said, "I can just see Mom putting her hands up now and shaking them." And when I told Mom about what Kay said, Mom shook her head and exclaimed, "She remembers that?"

The pictures, I trust, speak for themselves. But in case they don't I have added captions which are beyond reproach for their accuracy, while capturing the experience.

Except for this interchange:

Mom (from the kitchen): John, did I ever make bread in Cambridge?

Dad (from the living room): What?

Mom (in sotto voce to me): Sometimes he doesn't hear so well.

Mom (again): Did I ever make bread in Cambridge?

Dad: I don't think so!

Mom: What?


After we were done, Mom asked Dad if the bread tasted like Grandma Newcomb's. Dad said that an ingredient was missing--bacon grease.

Kay's fantasy comes true. 

Mom cheats by placing her bowl over the oven heat, causing it to rise more quickly. She maintained (numerous times) that mine was going slower because I put too much flour in it.  

Mom displays her acumen at roll making. 

Before (Are you able to discern which one of us did the left side of the pan?) 

After 

Mom's final product. 

Great French chefs often put a distinctive marking on their works of art. 

The remnants after lunch.