So, Chef Clay and I attempted to make bread last night.

We used the “basic” recipe from “Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day,” which is a great book. I think.

The recipe was super simple–water, yeast, salt, and flour, no kneading involved. But as we mixed it up, I became dubious. It looked…crumbly.

My grandma’s bread dough never looks like that.

And the recipe clearly stated that the bread should be WET. Still, since I am hardly an expert in the art and science of bread making, I decided to give it a shot. We let it the dough rise, shaped it into a boule (round loaf), let it rise again, then popped it in the oven.

It came out hard as a rock. I mean, you could have stuck the thing in a catapult and used it in medieval warfare. But I sawed through the crust, and my kids ate it anyway.

They have better teeth than me.

Next time, I’ll add more water.

The recipe had made enough for four loaves, but me being me, I forgot about the rest of the dough and left it-erm-rising–on the fireplace overnight. (Which is the obvious place to put a big bowl of bread dough, right?)

Carter was overjoyed to find his new play-dough this morning.

“What is THAT?” Jamison asked, wrinking up his nose as he was pulling his shoes on for school.

“Dead bread dough,” I replied. I retreived the bowl from the fireplace and showed it to him

“Do you think you could bring it back to life?”

Um, I don’t think so, kiddo. But we’ll try again–K?