A Pinch of Slowness
Taking the time to enjoy the process is a great recipe for bread—and life
The old kitchen table rattles a bit as she kneads and folds, turns and presses, flips and flops the soft mound of dough in a dusting of flour. Molly pats the pale dough into a loaf shape and smiles, looking very pleased with herself. She brushes the flour from her hands and moves on to get the bread pans ready. She knows how to grease and flour them just so, tapping the flour from end to end to form a coating, and lets the excess fall back onto the table.
It doesn’t seem so long ago that this same girl was three years old, tugging on my shirt and asking, “Mommy, I help?” I knew it would take me twice as long, but still, I tied aprons on my kids when they were tall enough to stand on a chair and peer into the big mixing bowl on the kitchen counter. I measured, and they poured.
They dipped their little fingers into the batter when they thought I wasn’t looking and talked my ear off, making me lose my place in the recipe. They held the big spoon
in two tiny hands and stirred about five whole turns before surrendering it back to my stronger arms to finish the job. It took longer, but there were many sweet conversations had at the kitchen counter while delicious treats were in the works.
Now I’ll admit, in case you think this is a tall tale of domestic bliss, that I lost my patience more than once with those sweet little cherubs and sent them on their way. My cookies burned around the edges while I was wiping sticky fingers, and the muffins weren’t always light and fluffy. I have no regrets though! Every time we stood together at the counter I shared my love for them and gave them the gift of time and slowness.
Now they are doing the measuring, following the recipes, and cracking the eggs. They choose from their favourites: chocolate chip cookies, gingersnaps, brownies, and double chocolate cranberry cookies, just to name a few. The one pictured working away at the kitchen table, Molly, has a fondness for baking bread and eating it, too! She uses a well-loved, handwritten recipe for Lillian Bread. It’s a simple recipe, just big enough to produce two delicious loaves. She loves the whole process, from measuring and mixing straight through to the golden loaves being lifted from the oven.
My husband and I secretly discussed getting Molly a breadmaker for her next birthday. She could just dump the ingredients in, press a few buttons, and walk away! We thought we were geniuses for a whole five minutes. That’s how long it took us to realize what we would be taking away from her. She loves the feeling of the flour in her hands and the smooth stretch of the bread dough when she’s kneading it. One of her favourite parts is punching the dough down after it has risen, all puffy, in a giant bowl resting over the warm air vent. She knows that she needs about a half a day to get through the process, and she willingly sets aside the time. We decided to let her take that time, and enjoy the end result when she cuts us a slice of fresh, warm bread. Pass the butter, please!
There is something to be said for slowness in a world that demands satisfaction at the click of a button or the swipe of a finger. One tap of a credit card gets you through the checkout faster, there’s an app to avoid waiting at the coffee shop, and texting avoids lengthy conversations. Maybe we are missing some of life’s most important moments and experiences when we skip all of the waiting, creating and anticipating. It might be time to revise the recipe of your life, take your cue from Molly, and throw in just a pinch of slowness. n