To Bond or to Bake? That is the Question.

OK, I admit it.  No matter how hard I try, I will never enjoy baking.  I can’t quite put my finger on it, since I love to cook and enjoy eating even more.  But there is something about the mess of flour, the stickiness of dough and the overflowing sink of dishes that turns me completely off.  My poor children suffer terribly, missing out on the great childhood memory of baking with Mom.  (I’m kidding.  They get plenty of experience popping out those little squares of pre-made cookie dough!)

So, why I accepted an Amish Starter Bread bag of batter from a friend three weeks ago, I’ll never know.  The message offered the mysterious batter, a concoction supposedly started by the Amish and exchanged by friends every ten days.  It came with simple directions, and my friend’s offer to share inspired me to get creative with the kids.

“A fun family project,” the note said.  ”They loved to mush the bag!” said my friend, explaining her experience with her two sons, when she graciously dropped off the Ziplock bag of yellow batter at my doorstep.

My daughter and I listened to her instructions intently.  ”It will smell funny,” she said.  ”Just remember to let the air out every few days.”  (My daughter would later agree, and state knowingly of the fermentation process going on in our family winery, “It smells like wine!”)

I kept the mystery batter in the kitchen, and for the first few days, we diligently followed the directions.

“Mush the bag.”

That was all that was required of me – I could handle it!  The kids helped each time, and in under 30 seconds, our baking duties were fulfilled.

After several days, the directions required the addition of milk, flour and one or two other ingredients.   I found this a wonderful excuse for a fun activity with Dad, and they completed the steps one Saturday afternoon when I was out grocery shopping.

Several more days of mushing the bag, and we were on our way to having delicious homemade bread.  I should have been excited!  I should have enjoyed the science experiment with my kids, just like all the other moms in this sort-of baking chain letter.  But, the truth is, I wasn’t.  And my kids had long stopped doing the mushing.

Day 10 came.  The big day to add all the main ingredients, split the batter into four portions and pass on to three friends before baking our own loaf of cinnamon bread.  I took a look at the ingredients, saw “Vanilla Instant Pudding” listed, and knew this bread would have to wait until Day 11.  No way did I have instant pudding on hand.

It took me at least five days to remember to buy vanilla instant pudding.  In the meantime, I got out a bowl, (non-metal, just as the Amish instructed!), four zip-lock bags for dividing and sharing the finished batter, and mentally prepared myself to bake the bread.  My kids barely remembered what the weird stuff on the counter was.  After all, a 2- and a 5-year-old have little ability to wait for something ten days away!  But there it sat, in the center of my kitchen, patiently waiting.

My husband brought home the instant pudding one night, at my request from his stop at the grocery store.  I stuck it in the bowl with the other things, but it continued to sit.  Who knows what is in the batter to begin with, and who knows what happens when you are now a week past Baking Day #10.   I decided it might still be okay to bake if I refrigerated it.

One afternoon after a brief visit to the ice box, I took it out and got ready to bake.  It was raining outside, and we had all afternoon.  What better activity than baking?  I called the kids to the kitchen.  ”Do you guys want to try to make this bread, or what?”  They responded with a resounding, “Yeah!”  I started to clear the dishes to make room for our project, but ended up playing Candyland with them instead.  We all forgot about the bread.

Last night, after God knows how many days since the magic Day #10, I stood at my kitchen sink, collecting dirty dishes and putting away food from dinner.  The clear glass bowl with the ziploc bag of batter and a cardboard box of instant pudding stared back at me.

It was then that it hit me.  I had no intention of ever baking the damn Amish bread.  I had the intention of doing something fun with my kids, but baking this bread was never going to happen.  Since they didn’t seem interested in it, and I certainly didn’t have the time or energy to drag out the flour, eggs, milk, sugar, seasonings and yes, the instant pudding, the bread was doomed.  I decided, whatever secret ingredients the Amish had started had certainly lost their luster by now, and anything I created would likely be an embarrassment to the residents of Lancaster County Pennsylvania.  I did the unthinkable. I threw out the batter.

You know something?  It felt good.  I gave myself a break, and was honest with myself.  I hate to bake.  My kids could take it or leave it.  Instead of baking bread together and sharing it with friends, we played Candyland that afternoon.  Later in the day, the rain stopped and we took a bike ride.  Throughout the three weeks since I first received my batter, I made countless excuses of why we couldn’t bake the bread, but many of them included other fun activities done as a family.

After ten days, we should have had fresh Amish cinnamon bread.  Instead, after 22 or so days, we had a disgusting ziplock bag of old mystery batter.  I failed in the baking-and-bonding-with-kids department.  But I’m okay with it, because I’m much better at bike rides and board games, and I’m sure my kids realize that fact!

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