The bread maker stopped working. Making bread has become a habit here now. Three or four times a week the machine would be loaded with flour, water, salt and yeast. By using the machine I am not fully cheating; it’s only used to knead the dough and heat it a little as it does its first rise.  I shape it by hand, let it rise again, and then use the regular oven to cook it (turned up to ‘can’t go any further’ on the temperature scale). The oven has been customised with a baking stone. To use a baking stone sounds a bit fancy, but it is actually a thick paving stone I cut down to size with an angle grinder and placed on the bottom shelf of the oven.  It is a permanent feature now as it is too heavy to move.

Of course, the bread machine  was a luxury item. It decided to stop kneading just before the third batch of dough needed for a family pizza night. The little people’s cousins were due to pour into the cottage that evening with laughter and noise. So much noise.

The loss has not been missed.  Kneading by hand has made me go back to a bread book for advice on the correct kneading techniques. I prefer the french kneading method. And inevitably, a few interesting bread ideas were only a few pages away.  An added bonus has been the enthusiasm of the little lady helping me make the dough. Anything that gets the little people involved in growing or making food seems wonderful. Although, the last time she helped me, involved keeping her eyes on the TV and occasionally punching the dough. Then with eyes still unwavering from the TV, the little lady added that the bread would be alright as she was helping

Then there is the silver lining of the aesthetics. The sight of the earthenware bowl sitting on the mantelpiece over the wood stove.  The living room seems to be the warmest place to encourage the yeast. And the smell of the dough after a sponge has been fermenting overnight. A sponge is all the water and yeast mixed with only a third of the flour and none of the salt. Made the evening before, it bubbles away and adds flavour to the bread. Kneading this by hand releases all kinds of sweet and strange smells.

So the failure of the old bread maker has forced me back to joys of proper bread making and brought it to the forefront of life here instead of whirring away in the corner of the kitchen. The mixer has been with us for so long that it was a little bit sad to decide to throw it out.  It sat forlorn for weeks until I made the move to unplug it and add it to the ‘take to the rubbish dump’ pile building in the garage. Just before I did, I futilely flicked the switch and hit start just in case. It sprang into life! What do I do now?