Like other young couples wildly in lust, when my not-yet husband and I got together we made love anywhere and everywhere. I guess the worst of it was the time we couldn’t wait to get home from our bike ride along the Donau near Vienna and we both ended up filled with mosquito bites. Or perhaps it was that time on the tram. Oh well, that’s not the point. My point is that we baked bread. Hand grinder, pounding the dough and all that. It was Vienna 1979 and I’m not sure we ever managed to make a loaf without getting all over each other.
Here we are 28 years of marriage later, and again baking bread. This time with an electric grinder and a bread machine. Life is a lot easier. But that’s not my point either. What I want to say is it isn’t any different. Sometimes I’ll put the machine on dough setting and then bake it in the oven so it doesn’t have that wierd boxey shape from the machine. Hey, that’s even when my husband isn’t around. It’s aesthetics. Really.
But when he is around, all those years melt away. (Horrah! Not — repeat not — complaining.) Just a bit puzzled. Does anyone know what it is about the smell of bread dough that’s so effin sexy? You’d think it would conger up cozy family images, mom, dad, kids around a warm fire in December. Nope. Lust. Sex. Gobs of fun. I may not figure it out, but I’ll enjoy trying. And the bread tastes good too. If anyone has thoughts, I’m all ears… so to speak.