LightlyThe smoke detector in the alcove by the kitchen and I have an understanding. It is, by nature, quite sensitive and particular about the ambient environment. It is also, by nature, prone to becoming quite upset should the little world in which it lives be tampered with bits of carbon, ash, or whatever else is in the stuff that sometimes gets sent up from overhot things in the kitchen. I honor it for that. The understanding is this, among other things: do not try to be clever about the oven. It is known that some foods want for a hot oven, but if I crank the thing up over 425, I do so fully warned that I put at peril the peace of this place. But sometimes I do it anyway, because it is necessary, and because it is utterly worth it.
I'm learning how to make naan.
There are two sides to this. It is useful to be meticulous; baking takes well to care. I have the measuring spoons out, now, cleaned and shining in a broken handled mug, eager to be of assistance. I should really break out the notebook and the scale; weighing is more accurate than the measured cups, and precision matters with bread. Instead, I have a recipe scribbled literal on the back of an envelope, slowly filling in a gloss of ticks and notes.
At the same time, it is useful to pay careful attention to those things that measure poorly, at least with my meager tools. Watching the mass become shaggy under the spoon until the bowl is cleaned of flour. Feeling the flour take up the water and build strength between my hands and the board. The soft pop of the dough after rising, made thin by the careful work of the dowel. It will take time to learn these well, but there are benefits to that.
"This is Touch," she says; I can hear her say the words that way. Small spaces on our fingers bridge, slide, softly press. There are a few things we know about dancing; she is gentle when she tells me this is dangerous.
There is a light rain falling cold outside, and may soon fall colder; all the trees could be glint under tomorrow's sun. Inside, the walls do their work to keep snug; aromas of good wheat still linger. The kitchen is warm yet from the rock in the oven, slowly seeping heat, and there is bread on the table.
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