|Check out my focaccia :-D
And Aiden's Village People tash!
So last weekend I found myself in the warm and welcoming kitchen at Munro's Guest House with owners Andy and Joan. Due to some boiler malfunction, the class was limited to the two local students - myself and the lovely Aidan.
I'd never met Aidan before, so wasn't sure whether he was working on a 70s Porn King vibe or taking part in Movember. Mercifully, it was the latter. He was a really lovely guy and we soon fell into easy conversation.
We were soon apronned up and ready foraction, with Andy explaining the science of bread-making and telling us some ripping yarns about his time as a location caterer with the BBC. Turns out Aiden is already an experienced bread-maker. Just me that is the virgin then. Hey ho. I decide to do whatever Aiden does. Other than the moustache growing. Although, I bet you I could give him a good run for his money if there was no such thing as electrolysis.
We pummel and stretch our dough, we let it rise, we move on to our next loaf......we stop for a very tasty bowl of soup and some chat at lunch time. I admire Andy's chickens. No, that's not a euphemism. I really DO admire his chickens that are pecking around outside.
We return to our bowls. I am really enjoying myself. Or loaves are moulded and slashed with a craft knife. As a left-hander, I am well-used to right-handers getting a bit 'fainty' when they see me wield a knife. God Bless Andy. I thought he was going to pass out as I slashed and jabbed my way through my bloomer.
By the end of the day, I have made a white bloomer, a focaccia, soda-bread .... and we make a not entirely successful foray into potato scones. I still eat my tater scone.
I am thrilled to bits with my 3 beautiful creations as is Aiden with his. We could not be prouder of our efforts, as you can tell from the photo.
I drive home, the car infused with the scent of fresh bread. I hurtle myself into the kitchen with my paper bags.
'I'VE MADE BREAD' I shout to anyone who is listening.
Sonshine pads into the kitchen and inspects the bag contents as I strip off my hat and jacket.
'Can I make you a slice of toast? A piece 'n' jam?* A big chunk of soda bread and butter?'
He shakes his head 'nah, yer alright.'
Tartarus is ensconced in front of the telly.
'I'm back,' I announce, poking my head around the door.
'Want a bit of toast on bread THAT I HAVE MADE WITH MY OWN TWO HANDS?'
'Nah, you're ok.' His eyes do not leave the screen.
'Where's Lovely Dad?' Lovely Dad is Tartarus's best friend and he and his daughter came over to visit us the previous day. They have clearly gone home.
'Away back up the road.'
I am crestfallen. 'THEY might have wanted to taste my bread.' I am aware that I am sounding like a sulky teenager. I am also aware that I am again harbouring stabby throughts about Tartarus.
'Nah, Lovely Dad is currently carb free. He's not eating bread at all.'
'Right. So no one wants to eat my bread then?'
They are now both sitting watching the TV.
There is silence.
I quietly wrap everything in cling film and put it in the freezer. I am disappointed. I am angry at myself for feeling disappointed. But mainly I want to stab Tartarus.
I wonder whether there are workshops in Undetectable Poisoning.
To find out more about Bute Bread School, please visit their site
* 'piece 'n' jam' is Glaswegian for jam sandwich. I aim to inform :-D
*whispers* I would also be very grateful if you could completely ignore the purple Fanny Pad packet that has slipped out of my back pocket and is sitting waving at you from my chair in the photo. I didn't even NEED the accursed thing, but when you are a woman Of A Certain Age, you must be prepared for Deluge at any time.