“Baking is a love made visible” Unknown
I can still see her in the kitchen molding the dough with her gentle touch. I loved watching her. Grandma’s curly, gray hair was always brushed and combed. She wore a nice cotton dress and handmade apron. Sometimes the flour found its way to her face, and we laughed. The dough was so soft, and she always knew just the right amount of flour to scoop up in her hands and toss over the counter and the dough. She had authority over the dough when required and would lean into the kneading, pulling, and wrapping the dough around itself over and over until it was ready to rise. Then it was carefully turned in the butter and covered in a warm spot in the kitchen or near the stove.
She followed the same routine. The gingham apron slid over her head, and she tied it up in the back. The big green ceramic bowl was placed on the counter along with the flour, yeast, salt, and those metal measuring cups. The measuring cups had dents in them, just like measuring spoons that were held together with a round metal hook. Once everything was carefully measured in the bowl, the mixing began.
Her hands had grown wrinkled and disfigured from arthritis over the years, nonetheless, she remained steadfast in her pursuit of the task. What would she bake today? It was a wonderful, delicious thought. It might take hours for the process of mixing, the dough to rise, some kneading, rise again and bake before we would finally taste deliciousness! It was always worth the wait. The house would be filled with the most glorious baking scents imaginable. When she baked cinnamon rolls, the scent of cinnamon made its way through each room. Sometimes it was orange rolls, or pies. What kind of pie can you dream of ? Apple was my favorite; the pie crust was so tender and the apples with cinnamon and a touch of nutmeg melted in my mouth with every bit. Of course, she usually had fresh, if not homemade vanilla ice cream to top each piece off. My mouth is watering. We learned to make homemade ice cream when we were young children. It was a task that wore out our arms out, but the wait was worth it. There were also other pies such as peach, cherry, rhubarb, lemon, pumpkin, pecan, and the list goes on. Her sister lived behind her and would often drop by with a favorite fruit to share and that was the pie flavor of the week.
When she worked on campus as a cook she loved baking for the college students. They called her “Grandma Cookie” because she always had chocolate chip cookies at her home on Greek Row. They would stop by for a cookie or two, but truly, they wanted a hug or a chat with a friendly lady who just loved kids. She reminded them of their own Grandma who they missed while away at school. She would tell them a story or two, share cookies and they would be out the door to class. One of the other treats she baked was the cinnamon twists with a drizzle of frosting. UMMM!
Most important in the baking process was the rolling pin. Grandma had several. They were all wooden and always a short reach away in the drawer or the crock on the counter. As the dough was stretched for bread or rolls the rolling pin was a necessary tool to complete the process of flattening and stretching the dough evenly. First a sprinkle of flour on the counter surface so the dough did not stick and then a bit on the rolling pin too.
Each rolling pin had a story. There was a thin rolling pin with tapered edges that was so smooth and light to hold and roll. She used this for the more delicate tasks where the dough required a lighter touch. The big heavy round one was clearly hand carved with stubby fat ends and best for rolling out a thick dough that needed a heavy hand. I wondered who made it? Perhaps Great grandpa. Was it hand carved and passed down in the family? Was it a newer one and sanded and polished by a machine? Each one has contributed to the joy of the meal. Oh, yes that might be stretching it------yes, the rolling pin does that too!! Ha, Ha!! See what I mean………… the rolling pin is an integral part of the process that brings the rolls or the bread or the cookies to the plate. I bet you did not think about the rolling pin in that way. One might compare it to the pan that cooks the pot roast or the knives that cut the vegetables, or the coals to start the grill. The rolling pin is a necessary component for success.
When I reach for one of the rolling pins the memories are fresh and full. I think of Grandma and her special touch with the dough and the rolling pin. I loved watching and learning. On Sunday afternoons after church, we had family dinners at one of the relatives’ homes. We would all gather, and the ladies would start cooking. I was younger but I got to help with some of the cooking and baking. Usually, I set the table which I learned how to do properly in 4-H. (another story) My favorite part was when Grandma or my Aunt or Mom would hand me a ball of dough and give me instructions. Sometimes we would roll it out and just put butter and cinnamon and sugar on it and bake it. We would all wait for it to pop out of the oven and devour it. We made pies and rolls and the house smelled like what I imagine Heaven will be when I get there, and they are all baking together.
The rolling pins got used so much and yet hardly noticed. Now my rolling pin is calling as it is Sunday and there is baking to do. Sometimes I ask my children, “What shall we bake today”? Today, it will be rustic bread and later I will rip off a bit of the loaf and take a swish of the dipping oil for flavor as I sip my glass of wine and toast Grandma and those hardy rolling pins. Cheers to Grandma and rolling pins!
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