Bread baking day with Gramma

My Gramma is a special lady and I am more than blessed to still have her in my life.  She's 80 years young, feisty and full of spunk.  I've never known anyone who posessed the kind of joy she exudes.  It's something that oozes out of her and you can literally feel her joy when you're near her. 

A few weeks ago, Gramma spent the day at my house teaching me how to bake homemade bread  It's something she still does regularly and she wants to pass on the bread-baking tradition to her grandchildren so that when she is gone someday, we can bake bread and remember her when we take a fresh batch out of the oven.

Now, Gramma does not believe in bread machines.  She doesn't believe in electric stand mixers for that matter.  Every part of the process is completely done by hand and she wouldn't have it any other way.  She says it's the only way to make sure the love gets in, and the love is what makes it taste so delicious in the first place.  That, and her "seasoned" bread pans.  She saw how shiny and unused mine looked and proceeded to laugh at me.  Aparently, I have a lot of bread-baking to do in order to have my pans make the varsity team.

To bake Gramma's famous bread, she starts with 5 cups of very hot water and two packages of quick rising yeast  After that is stirred together, she puts sugar into the center of her hand until it looks just right and pours that in, and follows the same technique with salt.  She said our hands were about the same size, so my sugar and salt ratios should match hers.  I don't know what to tell the rest of you whose hands are of varying sizes.  But, she blew my "baking has to be exact measurements" thing out of the water, because she didn't measure a single ingredient after the water.

She adds "about" a cup of shortening to the water mixture and gets in there with her hands to break up some of the shortening.  And then the laborious task of adding flour begins.  She does not measure her flour, but keeps adding it until the dough feels just right.  I think she may have used close to five pounds of flour, but I'm not completely certain.  Gramma says that depending on humidity or temperature you may need more or less flour, which is why it's important to keep going until it feels right rather than concern yourself with recipes and measurements.  She let me feel the dough when she thought enough flour had been added.  The dough feels smooth and just slightly sticky.

 See?  Joy.  She is the jolliest woman I know.

When baking bread, Gramma goes by feel and texture and smell, relying on her instincts to let her know what the dough is needing.  With years of experience, her motions are fluid and familiar.  Baking bread is second nature to her and I delighted in watching her work, her aged hands and arms kneading and working the dough.   After this long process of adding flour and working the dough, she puts the bowl in an unwarmed oven covered with a towel and lets it rise for about an hour.

"Seasoned" bread pans folks.

After that hour, she puts a small amount of shortening on her hands and kneads the dough.  Then back into the oven it goes for another round of rising.  That is repeated again. 

 Dough perfection.

The third time, the dough is separated into loaves and put into her seasoned pans in an unwarmed oven to let those rise another 45 minutes - more or less depending on how quickly they rise.

And finally, after all the flour and the rising and waiting and kneading, you get to turn on the oven to 350 degrees, and cook for about 25 minutes or until golden brown. 

My house smelled like bread heaven.  Gluten divinity.  Something very godly and holy as five loaves of homemade bread baking in the oven would smell like.  Tommy eagerly waited, as did I, for the bread to finally finish.

To Gramma's surprise, my shiny new loaf pan that has been used maybe three times ever to make something silly like pumpkin bread, produced the largest, most beautiful loaf of the bunch.  She had never seen such a thing and she had to admit that perhaps my pans weren't so bad after all.  She did say though that if it was such a perfect loaf now, imagine what it would be like in ten years  She has quite a life expectancy of my bread pans.

Then the best part came.  The slicing, and buttering and the eating of the warm fresh-out-of-the-oven bread.  It tasted just like my childhood winter breaks that were spent at her house.  When it was gray and weary outside, but cozy and warm inside.  It tasted like all of the memories I have of my Great-Grandma, how she always wore matching sweatpants and sweatshirts, and would scold us for sneaking too many cookies out of her cookie jar.  And it tasted just like the love she had put into it, and I am convinced it had been made any other way, it wouldn't have turned out the same.

I don't know how many more Saturdays I'll get to have with my Gramma that get to look like this.  Each time I get a moment, a whole day like this one, or any sweet minute of time to make memories and enjoy her, I tuck them away safely into my heart.  I am grateful for her presence, grateful that I have her, and grateful for the here and the now and the new memories we're creating at 80 and 34. 

The best thing ever really is a slice of homeade bread fresh out of the oven.  The only thing to top it, is sharing that sliced bread with your Gramma.

Gramma's Sweet Rice

Growing up, I would spend long winter-break days at my Gramma's house.  And like any days spent with a Grandparent, I can only assume, the treats and goodies were the very best part of the stay. Gramma would cook up warm fixin's like chicken and dumplings from scratch or hot spaghetti topped with fresh cheddar cheese.  Sometimes it was just a simple salami sandwich on white bread with a steaming bowl of soup.  I can still remember the lazy-susan on her dining room table where she would place that day's lunch and we could spin it around and help ourselves.

One thing was sure to be found on that table during the coldest of days though.  The treat of treats.

Sweet rice.  

From what I know, it's a lot like rice pudding.  But I like to think it's an exclusive recipe that my Great-Gramma invented and no one else knows about it's secret custard-like goodness.  I have to be the only one in the universe with such knowledge and culinary secrets to such a thing as sweet rice.

And I'm not sure why I didn't think of this ten years ago, but I decided it was about time I learned how to make this amazing dish.  And as a treat for my humble handful of readers, it's about to not be a secret, because I'm going to share how to make it.

First - you need an amazing lady with you.  Sweet rice is meant to be shared.

Hence - my jolly Gramma.  Oh, do I love her.

Ingredients to have on hand:

1 Cup rice
2 Cups of water
1 Cup of sugar
1 Stick of butter
1 1/2 to 2 cups of milk
Cinnamon and sugar to top

"Now, don't be in a hurry when you make this.  It's slow and it takes some time." Gramma says.

I suppose the sweetest things do take time.  And I can always use the reminder to not be in a hurry.

The rice and water need to cook on medium heat.  Once the rice has absorbed about half of the water you add the butter and then the milk.

I asked Gramma if she had ever used cream or half and half instead of milk.  Her eyes got wide and mischievous and she says, "Oh no.  Don't use cream.  That's just going overboard - use milk."

She pauses.

"Unless you're really wanting something rich - then of course, use cream!" She laughs.


So apparently, cream or half and half can be substituted for plain ol' milk.  But only for a special occasion or if you're feeling especially mischievous.

The milk and butter will start cooking up in the pot.  "Cockeye the lid," she says.  "So you can keep on eye on what it's doing." 

Once it starts boiling up (again, still on medium heat), you'll want to turn the heat to low, and cover the pot with the whole lid on this time.  I don't remember for how long as it felt like an eternity waiting for this stuff to be ready for consumption.

Once the rice is tender and you have a creamy, soupy looking consistency in your pot, it's ready to pour into a bowl.  She recommends pouring into a glass bowl that comes with a lid - like Corningware.  Top with a generous coating of sugar, then cinnamon and cover with the lid.  It needs to sit for a good 20 - 30 minutes for the flavor to lock in and the custard to set some. (Note:  less milk makes a for a thicker, more custard like consistency.  More milk makes for a soupier consistency, which is my personal preference as I used two full cups of milk for my recipe).

Gramma recommends serving it in a coffee mug.  As long as I can remember, we've eaten sweet rice out of coffee mugs and I finally asked her why.

"Well, it's got a handle on it so you can take it with you wherever you need to go." 

Makes perfect sense.  Because one might need to travel with a mug of sweet rice. 

"You don't need a fancy bowl," she says.  I mean, of course. Who needs fancy bowls anyway?

Seriously.  It tastes better in a mug though.  Especially on a cold, blistery winter's day.  Trust me.

Friday afternoon, as I stood over a bubbling pot in my kitchen, Gramma sat close by guiding my moves and giving me her careful instructions and family secrets to her legendary sweet rice.  It was one of those times where you know you're making memories - the kind you will look back on in ten or twenty years and remember what a good day that was.  How precious that your very own Grandmother was stirring with your wooden spoon and giving you tips about how you should "never wash your rice."  Those are the times I don't want to forget.  It's why I took pictures of every moment.  It's why I wrote down what she said.  Why I soaked in her presence, her laughter, and noticed her gentleness and ease in the kitchen. 

What a blessed woman I am to have her.  For her legacy and traditions and memories to live on through me and my family. Maybe someday it will be me in the kitchen with my granddaughter teaching them how to make sweet rice. 

I'll be the one telling her to cockeye the lid.  And maybe we'll even use cream.

Gramma's Sweet Rice

1 cup rice
2 cups water
1/2 cup butter
1 1/2 - 2 cups milk
1 cup sugar
Cinnoman and sugar topping

Cook rice and water on medium heat until rice has absorbed about half of the water.  Add milk and sugar and let cook up, partially covered.  Once bubbling, turn to low heat, cover completely with lid.  Once rice is completely tender, pour into bowl.  Rice may be soupy.  Coat rice with cinnamon and sugar mixture.  Cover with lid and let stand for about 20 minutes.

Serve in a mug and eat with you Grandmother.  That's when it tastes the very best.