It was a conversation doomed from the beginning.
Picture the scene. I’m in the lounge, marvelling at my dominance over the remote control, drinking my third pint of water to wash away the million calories of cake, consumed to celebrate Christmas.
Then my husband spoke, in tentative tones.
“Babe, I am thinking of getting another bread maker…”
Remote control relinquished, I met him with my steeliest of gazes, voice firm and uncompromising. I cleared my throat for the performance of my life.
“Babe, do you remember how the last one ended up. Every bottom burned, all that effort you went to, amounting to charred loaves…”
My voice trailed off as he continued. He was not to be dissuaded, and I suspect he had been practising his pitch.
“That one had its day. Bread makers have come a long way since then and it would be nice to have home-made bread to go with those lovely soups you make.”
Why he threw in the hand grenade of home-made soups, I don’t know. I have only resorted to such culinary sprees twice in twelve months. But given that a few days previously I had presented him with a large bill for the Christmas presents I’d bought for myself, on his behalf, I demurred. However, I had this unsettling feeling we would soon be hurtling towards burnt bottom territory.
Three days later, the new machine arrived. Dinkier than the previous incumbent, so in my eyes, a lightweight offering, lacking gravitas if one can bestow such a description on what is in my eyes, a toaster with fringe benefits.
Hubby was cooing over it, studying the accompanying recipe book with such fervour, it put my ‘quick glance, get the general gist, then chuck it in the metal container and switch on,’ approach to absolute shame. As an aside, this is why when my laptop refuses to behave, I always defer to him in preference to my approach, namely shouting at it for several seconds then hurling it out of the study window in disgust. They do say marriages are based on yin and yang, opposites attract and all that jazz. If that is so, then we are the perfect couple.
And so, he began baking.
For the first offering from the new bread maker, I was initially happy with the loaf that emerged. It had been worth it for the fresh bread-making smells wafting from the kitchen. The wafts filled the entire house, eclipsing my Neom Perfect Bliss three-wick candle (a bargain from QVC, buy two and get one free).
Hubby did what he always does on these ceremonial occasions, proffering a perfectly cut slice, slathered in butter and raspberry conserve, looking anxiously at my face as lips met loaf…
It was nearly there but not quite. Looking like Nigella on a (very) bad day, I delivered my verdict.
“Tastes suspiciously like Madeira cake… not too sure on its inclusion in the standard white bread loaf, category, babe.”
Honesty is sometimes the best policy, and I figured that if I were to be a permanent taster until charred bottoms bit, I must not dress up my feedback.
He returned to the bread maker, a gleam in his eye, agreeing with my verdict, applying himself with the same diligence of weighing and analysing. As a side note, this entailed me making a late-night trip to the supermarket after he thought the reference to strong white flour included Tesco’s own brand plain flour. Disaster averted, we waited for the second loaf.
To spare you the mind-numbing detail, I have summed up the five loaves that followed in hot pursuit of one another. One hot mess after the other.
Loaf two
At the end of two hours, the sticky combo that started life in the bread maker… was the exact same sticky combo that greeted us when we lifted the lid. Much concern, then relief that our dough master had overlooked the mixing paddle. For a man so meticulous, this surprised me, but at least we knew why it was a hot and sticky mess.
Loaf three
Baffled faces all around, including mine. A baked brick emerged, half the size of the loaf we were expecting. Cutting into it revealed raw dough. Great concern, more studying of the recipe, deducing there had been an oversight and applying even greater concentration to…
Loaf four
The same as loaf three. We rinsed and repeated, me saying to hubby that given his detailed approach, the recipe was at fault. More trips to the supermarket, fretting over hubby’s mental health and my rapidly evaporating patience, now at an all-time low with the blasted bread maker. Comments I can repeat in civilised circles included referencing it as a shill, a useless piece of kit, those reviews were fake, what a waste of good ingredients. Hubby kept telling me he had, (of course), researched bread makers extensively online. Me, I would have gone for the snazziest brand, shopped the best price and Bob’s your uncle.
Loaf five
Patience had now snapped, confidence crushed, our marriage heading for the rocks, or rather bricks. We were at crisis point, the wall of bread bricks was building at speed. ‘No more, please,’ I protested. Even the hens were looking in disgust at the few bits offered them.
I laid down the law, remote control quivering in my hand.
If the next loaf resembled a small baked brick, the bread maker would be heading to small appliances’ recycling heaven, or on the end of my boot, heading in the direction of hubby’s shed. Shed, I said, not head.
And then…
Loaf six
Happy days! A perfect loaf in size, stature, and taste. Hubby had switched recipes and he was right; the previous recipe was a dud. We savoured, we cooed and we ate it all up.
Now you would think that many loaves have since followed suit. I am pleased to report, however, that since the day when the bread maker birthed the perfect loaf, we have not had a sniff or indeed a whiff of fresh home-baked bread.
Hubby’s enthusiasm has dissipated, sinking as fast as said bricks in the bin.
And I, for one, am not complaining.
About Dee Blick
Commissioning Editor, Dee, is something of a writer.
In fact, she has written five books of note, with her sixth now safe and sound at her publishers, scheduled for release in November. Her most recent book, The Boutique, is a collection of nine gritty and moving short stories, with each character connected through their appreciation of a fashion shop. She has just finished writing her fifth marketing book – You’re the Best! How to build an authentic and magnetic personal brand. When Dee is not writing books, you’ll find her writing articles like this one or heading to a local café to satisfy her desire for sourdough toast with marmite, accompanied by Pear and Apple juice.
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