YOB: #4. Make Pretzels (Point/Counterpoint)

By Lara

One of the many things that I love about Beth is how she makes me aspire to excellence. Literally. She forces me. Sometimes she uses a sharp stick. Sometimes she tells me over the phone about the funny article that she has written about our pretzel making adventure.

Even if this article isn't as funny as hers, (and it won't be, I'm sure) I will at least be able to defend myself.

I made pretzels for the first time as a child. My grandmother had given my parents a recipe for soft pretzels, and my father thought it would be a good activity to introduce at the church Halloween party. Dad told me that I could be his helper. Being an only child in the home of a minister, I had already learned that being "helper" meant doing a lot of the work so other people could enjoy themselves. Making pretzels, however, was the exception.

I got to help make the dough AND I got to fish other people's pretzels out of the boiling vat of soda water that raw pretzels have to endure before baking. I enjoyed myself and got to eat fresh baked pretzels. The making of the pretzels became a Halloween tradition in my church as well as a fond childhood memory.

We must have come up with the Year of the Birthday list in the fall. I always get hungry for freshly baked pretzels around October. Beth had never made pretzels before, so my suggestion made the cut.

Fast forward to February. I will corroborate Beth's claim that it was cold. We got out my trusty recipe book, and started mixing the dough. It may possibly be the most photographed amateur dough in the history of ever. I know that we did something fun while we waited for the dough to rise, but I can't remember what it was. It must have kept us busy for two hours.

When we got back to the dough, it hadn't risen quite as high as it should have. I preheated the oven and prepared the soda bath hoping that the heat in the kitchen would animate the stunted yeast. No dice.

A combination of impatience and hunger caused us to go ahead with the rolling of the dough. I showed Beth how to form the dough into a pretzel shape, and started the raw pretzel in its trial by ordeal. If my high school history serves me well, the pretzel proved that it had been involved in witchcraft by floating to the top. I scooped it out, placed it on the baking tray, sprinkled salt on it, and started on another pretzel.

Beth was unhappy with the shape of her pretzel. I thought it looked good for a novice pretzel twister, but she continued to struggle. After the first tray was filled, she dubbed her contributions "pretzel turds."

I guess the moral of this story is that it doesn't matter if your hand-crafted food looks like excrement as long as it tastes good. The point is, we accomplished another fun thing together and made another memory... and maybe next time we should stick to making pretzel BITES.

Comments

[Beth]

I can't believe you don't remember what we did either!! That's not like you! And for the record, I'd be all over the pretzel bites, I have a feeling I'd be able to pull that off reasonably well. Not sure what I could make them look like!