COVID Confidential: Part Two

Photo by James Besser on Unsplash

Since our marriage managed to survive last weekend’s culinary adventure, Anne and I renewed our vows and decided to have another go at it. Since we went Italian last time, we also determined to sustain our ethnically themed foray into gustatory goodies by baking Irish Honey Oat Bread. Ya gotta love that.

The ingredients for these luscious loaves included Irish Style Wheat Flour, Irish oatmeal, one Irishman (optional), all-purpose flour, local honey (organic, of course, collected from bees raised in climate-controlled hives), a touch of maple syrup, yeast (yep, Anne thought to buy some just before the crazed-induced shortage), sea salt, brown sugar, and a pinch of love (though Anne always puts considerably more than that into everything she does).

Plan A

Would someone please call Security?!

The first steps in the process, of course, are to make the dough and to knead it gently but thoroughly, using quantities of flour sufficient to keep it from sticking to the cutting board or to the mitts of the ham-handed Mick who should have been kept the hell out of the kitchen.

If the Mick should somehow get into the kitchen, let alone get his hands into the dough, don’t tell him he’s doing it wrong. You’ll only incite his stubbornness, ensuring you’ll never get him out of the kitchen. Instead, tell him he’s doing such a great job that he ought to reward himself by driving to the liquor store farthest from home and buying himself a six pack of Guinness.

Plan B

“All right, Lunkhead, now let me show you how an expert does it.” (Moe to Curly)

After the miserable failure of Plan A — and after the Mick has set happily off on his Big Beer-Seeking Expedition — get someone who knows what she’s doing into the kitchen. Have her knead the dough properly, before the Mick gets back. Have her let the dough rest for a few minutes in a bowl lightly coated with olive oil to let it begin rising before cutting it. Then slice it into halves, put each of the halves in its own baking tin, and let the yeast do its magic.

After the dough has risen sufficiently, have the woman who knows what she’s doing place the baking tins full of dough into the oven at 350 degrees to bake for about 45 minutes.

Serving Suggestions

Regardless of whether the Mick is able to find his way home from the liquor store (and regardless of which way you were hoping), remove the adequately baked bread and let it cool for a few minutes. Then remove it from the baking tins and set the loaves on cooling racks to enable them to cool thoroughly. Once the temperature of the bread has neared room temperature, it can be sliced in preparation for consumption.

This is worth coming home for, with or without the Guinness.

If you’re the Mick — and if you’ve managed to find your way back from the liquor store — you’ll likely take a slice or two (or three), pop them in the toaster oven, burn your fingers while removing them, and slather them with Irish creamery butter.

If you’re the woman who knows what she’s doing, you’ll cut two delicate slices, add a light layer of mayonnaise to each, add a slice of ham, a slice of provolone cheese, and a leaf or two of lettuce to make a sandwich. If you happen to be of Italian extraction as this woman who knows what she’s doing surely is, you’ll refer to it as a nice-a nice-a sang-a-weech. In so doing, you’ll make the Mick fall in love with you all over again.

We’re not sure what’s on the menu for next weekend. But we promise a full report when the adventure concludes.