Baking for dummies

Some people have a way in the kitchen, a familiarity with ingredients and appliances and tools that lets them look into a pantry, look at the clock, and figure out that they can take a little of this, a little of that, and a pinch of that and make something that will go in the oven for half an hour and then, when it cools, will be transferred from pan to mouth to gut, thus keeping the human body fueled and humming along without major incident. I am twenty-eight years old, putting my arm cozily around twenty-nine, and this concept amazes me. I have no deep caveman connection to the laws of physics that govern the ways ingredients play together with heat and movement and time. It might as well be alchemy to me (I suspect a lot of good cooks, with the exception of Alton Brown, might admit that it is alchemy most days). I have tried to learn — halfheartedly, I’ll admit — and I’ve gotten a few culinary tricks down pat with lots of practice (and lots of trips back to look at the recipe to make sure I’m doing it right), but by and large the world of food preparation remains this big amazing mystery to me.

All of this is a big self-indulgent runup to this: Last night I tried to make very simple beer bread whose recipe I found on one of my favorite local recipe-rich blogs. Flour + whole wheat flour + baking powder + brown sugar + beer. Not a whole lot of ways to muck that up, but in my meticulous attention to detail measuring the flour and baking powder, I completely forgot the brown sugar. And then I got so worried when I had added all the beer and the dough seemed too dry to “pour” into the pan, like the recipe requested. So I added more beer. For semantics! Rookie mistake! The end result was a loaf that looked pretty yummy but tasted bland and dry despite its internal doughiness that just didn’t want to cook. Booo!

I’ve tossed the refuse outside for the birds and will attempt round two some time this week. Hey, sit back. You’re on the edge of your seat! I bet that’s uncomfortable.