Ossa Sepia

For the impatient, the long story is put short in a picture, so lo and behold, the Ugly Breadling itself, fresh from the oven, but still not quite that young ¹. Do admire the crater-like overall aspect and after you marvel, read ahead for the story is just about to begin…

The Ugly Breadling

I can certainly blame the idea of breadmaking on my whole background and ancestry. My people have supposedly made and ate bread through several centuries already, quite with the same fervour with which Turks make halva and Italians pasta. I quite suspect there was a bit more fervour in the eating than in the making, not to mention that it was more likely that only half of the people did the making while the rest did the eating, but that is neither here nor there, but already burnt in the ovens of the past.

Compared with such complicated and illustrious ancestry, the Ugly Breadling is certainly nothing but a puny, modern-day imitation of the fabulous breads of the past. Nevertheless, its scorched and ugly crust delivers the most satisfying crunch as well as access to a long-forgotten taste. A taste perhaps more uneven, stronger, more flavoursome, slightly sour in the beginning, but getting better as the bread cools down, getting even better as the bread ages a bit, a few hours, a few days, a few…. A taste not unlike that of real life, the life that is not pretty, nor easily pierced to its essence, nor easily achieved and nevertheless much stronger for all that, by far preferable to anything else, by far the only one to get better, to get more meaningful with age.

A taste which renders all the others quite unbearable really, quite offensive.

1. Despite its dubious aspect, the Ugly Breadling took quite some time to materialize on that tabletop. And by “quite some time” I mean close to 24 hours. Throw in a lot of steam and a really hot oven, plus strange kneading (the technical term is Stretch-and-fold) in the night, covered pots in the fridge and a hasty transfer to a hot and heavy stone. Still, in all this lengthy process, there is surprisingly little work: it takes more patience, diligence and either intimate knowledge of the ingredients and of the dough or a very careful following of the rules.[↩]

Pentru cei grabiti, povestea lunga spusa scurt e gata-n poza, aburinda, proaspat iesita din cuptor desi nu tocmai tanara, la cele aproape 24 de ore trecute de cand abia se-ngemanau a nastere de paine ceva apa, faina, sare si maia salbatica de ziceai ca sta sa muste si mai multe nu ¹. Dar admirati intai aspectul de crater bosumflat, coaja buburoasa si destul de intunecata pe la poale, precum si cresterea asa mai cu economie, mai nesigura, mai ca de painea cea dintai de-a fost sa fie si sa se afle… Iar dupa ce v-ati mirat indestul, cititi inainte ca din poveste inca mai este.

Painica cea urata

Pornirile brutaresti de au rezultat in asa pui de paine vai de el le pot pune fara greutate in carca mosilor si stramosilor, ca doar recunoastem si noi (ori cel putin Pastorel) ca faceam paine cu asa har, abnegatie si fervoare de-a dreptul, cum doar turcii mai au pentru facutul de halvita iar italienii pentru facutul de paste. Ce-i drept eu suspectez ca abnegatia era mai de partea facutului in vreme ce fervoarea de partea mancatului, dar pana la urma asa detalii nu-si au rostul, mai ales ca-s demult arse prin cuptoarele timpului si-ale vremilor trecute, de n-a ramas din ele decat cuvantul paine si uneori amintirea.

Prin comparatie cu asa ilustra mostenire, painica cea urata din imagine e cu siguranta aproape nimic, doar o palida, mititica si timida paine-ce-ar-fi-putut-sa-fie, greu comparabila cu faloasele paini din trecut. Si totusi, coaja aceea cam bruneta si crapata asa a crater e mai crocanta decat crocantul cel mai inchipuit si mai gustoasa decat gustul insusi. Plus ca odata ce-ai muscat din ea, musti simultan, de vrei ori nu, si din miezul usor lucios si cu textura ferma. Si simti atunci un anume gust poate un pic inegal, cu siguranta mai puternic si mai hotarat, poate putin acrisor initial, dar devenind din ce in ce mai bun pe masura ce painea se raceste, si inca si mai bun apoi pe masura ce painea imbatraneste intai cateva ore, apoi cateva zile, apoi…

E gustul painii asteia asa un pic ca viata insasi, viata aceea care nu-i tocmai frumoasa ori draguta si nici musai simpatica, nici cu miezul la indemana, nici usor de dus. Si totusi cu atat mai puternica tocmai de aceea, preferabila de departe oricarei alte optiuni si singura care castiga intr-adevar prin trecerea timpului. Singura care capata sens si gust cu anii care trec.

Un gust care odata simtit nu lasa prea multe alternative suportabile.

1. In pofida aspectului departe de ideal, tot i-a trebuit ceva timp serios painii asteia sa ajunga asa parlita si cocotata-n varf de gratar pe un dulap – cam 24 de ore presarate cu diverse impaturiri de aluat in noaptea tarzie, incins de plita, de cuptor, de piatra, aburi multi, verificari, aranjari, crestari si toate cele. Totusi, desi e timpul lung el asa pus cap la cap, in fapt necesita tare putina munca propriu-zisa, mai mult ici si colo cate un murdarit de mana. Necesita in schimb destul de multa rabdare, o anumita tihna ori flexibilitate de orar sa poti intrerupe tot cand trebuie sa mai framanti o tura si fie o cunoastere la milimetru a celor brutaresti, ori o urmarire tot cam la milimetru a indicatiilor date de altii mai priceputi pe tema.[↩]