Chronicle of bread and tradition

Chronicle of bread and tradition

It wasn’t just that it was the best bread in the world, it was my grandmother’s bread. And it wasn’t just the bread, it was all the mystery around it that intrigued me as a child. She told me stories from growing wheat to discovering fermentation, about how the first breads were worked, molded and baked. A lesson on the fabulous and age-old triad: wheat flour, water and salt.
My grandmother’s dense loaves reflected somewhat of her personality, so full of secrets and tricks that only she seemed to know. The universe opened up inside her kitchen when I watched her enjoy the bread. With precise movements, my grandmother kneaded the elastic doughs, added fat in some breads, in other unusual spices.
His wisdom seemed to be deposited, with such care, in every bread he made. Modeling them, she told me: “Cecília, bread is a tradition. You must be very committed when it comes to preparing it. ”. I, still very young, did not understand the historical weight of bread, but I grew up early on, understanding that it was a serious thing.
With ideal humidity, some afternoons became more special than others. My grandmother celebrated them religiously by going to the kitchen when the weather was in her favor. She, in her small wood oven, worked incessantly so that the temperature and humidity were ideal for her bread, and explained to me the importance of these two elements when baking good bread.
She, a perfectionist, said that her care was in respect for yeasts. He teased me that every time I put the dough to rest, the yeasts would work for it, which in turn would rest. “Bread is life, my granddaughter!”. It was also, notoriously, one of the reasons that made my grandmother so alive.
Her great-granddaughter was born. I tried to teach my daughter, with great responsibility, everything my grandmother had taught me. My daughter, disgusted by the elasticity of the dough, intrigued to learn that the yeasts were living organisms and with pain in her arms from kneading the dough, very spontaneously, asked me: “Mother, isn’t it easier to buy?”.
At that moment I felt frustrated in every way, but mainly as a mother, failing to arouse in my daughter all the curiosity that my grandmother, with such wisdom, aroused me. Everything about her and the way she made her bread was fascinating for the child I was. The time is different! But, as if it were today, the aroma of my grandmother’s bread haunts my longing nostrils.
chronicle pao ickfdphoto: Kids activities blog

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