Yeast Imperfections
Since entering the third trimester I’ve been able to function like a sane human 6 days out of 7. The 7th seems to be the day that the Pregnancy Truck arrives and runs me over repeatedly. You know, tired. Am I a drama queen? Potentially.
This Sunday was no exception, after the mega week I told you about. A little weepy, missing my Dad, wishing Hubs were home to pat my forehead and make cups of tea.
So, I baked. In times of stress I’ve always baked. A nice loaf of bread always cheers me up (or is it just the complex carbs?) so I made a loaf of crusty white.
It proofed like a dream, but I may have left the second rise a little long, for when it came out of the oven it looked like this.
Never mind- that’s an extra sneaky crunchy bit I slathered in butter. That cheered me up a tad. Then I had to smile. In a deep and meaningful wow she’s reading too much into a loaf of bread kind of way I thought the bread epitomised my mood.
From one side, Yeasted Perfection. Crusty and golden, beautifully shaped. The side we’d like to show everybody.
The other side, still crusty and golden, but struggling to hold it all together. Still perfect, still beautiful as everything is, but certainly not Blue Ribbon standard. How we sometimes feel beneath the smooth and perfect surface.
The bread is beautifully light and tasty - best toasted and covered in butter and vegemite. I am still tired but finding more opportunities to rest and reflect, a piece of toast in my hand.
