Baking endeavors. Day One...

Yesterday I successfully made and baked (not to be confused with my usual "singed"...) cute little dinner rolls. AND THEY WERE SO GOOD! I think our apartment still smells all sweet and homey :) I had a minor crisis when I discovered my mistake while in the baking aisle in Walmart... I very carefully picked out what I believed to be instant rise yeast. Ahem. But somehow between the time the little packets were put in the refrigerator a week ago, and when I took them out yesterday, they morphed into rapid rise yeast packets. (which apparently are not the same thing) I recovered from my minor crises, did a little research, and "proofed" (oh yeah) this troublesome yeast in a little bit of water at precisely 110 degrees (And let me tell you, that was NOT easy. But three microwave rides later and after a few additions of cold water drops to even out the temp, the proper degree of heat was achieved and all was well. Or so I thought...)

Things proceeded quite satisfactorily for a while. Then, about halfway through the cracking of "three large eggs" the idea of a baking blog entry descended upon me, so I ran, with flour fluffing every which way and my "Jamaica" apron fluttering, to grab my trusty camera and attempt to document this monumental occasion.

Egg cracking= successful.

Measuring of the salt, sugar, flour, etc=successful.

Now for the mixing.

*please observe a moment of silence*

Quite tragically, my dream of owning an avocado green KitchenAid before age 25 has not come true, hence the predicament I found myself in yesterday evening... I sat on the floor with a large, blue, mixing bowl squeezed between my knees and both hands clutching a sizable, wooden spoon and stirring for dear life. I was trying my best to simulate the coveted KitchenAid mixer. Then, at the very moment a pocket of un-mixed flour decided to liberate itself and poof out of the bowl and into my face, my husband walked through the door...

After much sheepish explaining and pleadings for assistance I resumed my "mixing" (every now and then angrily adding small fistfuls of flour to try to get the blasted dough to behave correctly) while my dear, helpful husband was changing. (Thankfully this part of my baking endeavor was NOT photographically captured... It is, however, etched in my brain for all eternity...)

With a little assistance, I successfully turned out the dough while Rome took on the job of chief photographic "documenter".

I forgot about the whole "rising period" dough has to go through, so my hope of having rolls WITH the chicken was dashed. Oh well. Dessert?

*2 hours later*

I felt like Lucy and Ethel in "Pioneer Women" when they tried to make bread and were frightened by the enlarged bowl of dough they returned to after leaving it to sit in a warm place...

Let me just say my fears of having dough that would NOT rise were allayed and I proceeded roll out (successful) and then section the dough into three "equal" portions. Fail.

EVER ONWARD!!

After the sectioning and the buttering (apparently no kitchen is complete without a "food brush" for such tasks) and the rolling up of the cute little rolls, I triumphantly deposited two sheets of rolls into the waiting arms of the oven.

Fast forward 20 minutes (and two Connect Four games) later and our little apartment is smelling as wonderful as can be! I always feel such a surge of pride when I bake something and actually hear the timer go off (or remember to set it in the first place...) This was very wonderful success.

I wish I could share these delicious rolls with everyone who reads this! Alas... I don't think they'd mail well...