Our daughters have expanded their circles. Hope is in Grenoble, France for the third year and is adding Arabic to her linguistic resume. While living in the Alps she joined a skiing class, and ascended the mountain for the purpose of going down quickly. She took a weekend trip to Poland, to celebrate the birthday of one of the throngs of international friends she has made. Aurelle lived in Madrid for two years, and now studies in Turin, Italy. You know, to keep things interesting. Last year she took classes in salsa dancing from teachers who know their steps, and this fall she took a class on making pizza. From Italians.

 

It took five hours, partly because the kitchen only fit four bodies and there were thirty signed up. No one seemed to mind the hours chatting which padded time spent with flour on your hands. It is all about the dough. Or so said the instructor.

 

"è tutto sull'impasto"

 

Aurelle made hers with the minimum of ingredients.... yeast, flour, salt and water.... but even something as straightforward as that can go awry. The teacher offered four bowls of dough for them to feel, and to assess which was suitable for pizza. I was not there but I am guessing that the differences were subtle. The goal was softness, and Aurelle was able to emulate that one. But even if you have kneaded it to perfection, it must rest for two days. So they could not proceed with the yeasty balls they had so recently wrestled with, but instead used dough that had been napping since Thursday. The round balls destined for future mouths was then oh so carefully aroused from its warm nest to the prepared pan, all without waking it abruptly. Then there was the placement in the oven. Who would have guessed there could be opinions about that? But yes, the fluctuations in heat could make or break your dinner, and when you gingerly reached into the brick oven with a wooden paddle to turn the crust, you must return it precisely to the same part of the oven. Or... something bad would happen.

 

I asked about the intricacies of the sauce. There was no discussion of that in five hours. 

 

Aurelle mentioned that the finished pizza was deliziosa. In large part no doubt to the care lavished on the dough, but maybe a bit because she had been working in a hot kitchen for five hours and anticipation does activate your salivary glands. 

 

Feeding others, and ourselves, is a long standing tradition. Moreover it does not seem to be going out of fashion anytime soon. These modest stories are one version of daily bread, offered from my keyboard to yours. It does not take five hours to knead them into a palatable form, but it sometimes takes half that. I aspire to softness, and warmth, and of course nourishment. There are occasions when I let them set awhile, to ripen, to come into fullness. 

 

Many of you will be devoting your energy to filling a table with delectable dishes tomorrow. My prayer is that it will bring you closer together, as you share that human vulnerability called hunger.