Making Bread in a Low Carb World
by Beverly A. Kipp

Push, pull, turn. Push, pull, turn. Over and over again. Push, pull, turn. Flour smeared on table, apron, chin.

Push, pull, turn. Standing at the thick pine table that my father made for a different kitchen in a different house in a different century.

Push, pull, turn. Sinking my hands into the pliant ball, working the flour into it and the air out of it.

Push, pull, turn. The rhythm working on me as well. Tensions falling away as my wrists and shoulders lean into the soft, amber mass on the worn canvas cloth. Push, pull, turn.

Big, beautiful ceramic bowls, glistening with oil, waiting to receive the dough.

Boy, they were the good old days. The days when a rainy Saturday meant baking four, eight, even twelve loaves of bread. When every celebration started with the baking and the cooking came later. The days when if you walked into a party with hot, fresh bread people stopped what they were doing and inhaled and said, in wonderment — " You made bread?!" Half question, half delight.

"You made bread!" — an exclamation of pure joy. Not anymore!

The new reign of low carb/no carb is here. Veggies are in, my freezer is full of venison, once scorned and even chocolate is in (as long as it is dark) but bread is definitely out.

I started making bread late. I was what is politely referred to now as "peri-menopausal." A nice way to say moody. I was determined NOT to have a mid-life crisis in response to it, so, I turned to tactile endeavors instead. I jokingly called it my metamorphosis. I decided to learn to make bread, to garden and to knit. "Idle hands are the devil's workshop," I was told, and I was feeling terribly devilish. Keeping my hands busy seemed a good idea.

My late husband Dennis was an avid gardener and he turned a small patch over to me to get me started. While I enjoy it, my daughter Jackie is really the green thumb in this house and now she has taken over the major gardens. I dream about nice gardens, I talk about gardening, I even plan to plant nice gardens. I just don't actually garden very often. I am content to pull weeds under someone's watchful eye and to putter about, hoping things will magically grow.

Knitting lasted about a month. I still have the yarn and the needles and the beginnings of a badly knit scarf to remind me never to try it again.

But breadmaking is my change of life baby. I love to make bread.

When I wake up early to the sound of rain drumming on the tin roof, I pad downstairs to look out at the earth soaking up the heavy drops knowing that I have no obligation to rake, or weed, or mow that day. So, I set the kettle on to boil and I lug out the plastic pail holding 25 pounds of King Arthur Flour. I gather the staples: yeast, oatmeal, powdered milk, salt, molasses, honey and oil. I haul out the extras: corn meal, bran, flax seeds, leftover water from last week's vegetables or potatoes if they are in the fridge and soon the great big, old-fashioned kitchen table is laden with all the makings of a fine batch of bread.

When the teapot sings its readiness, I pour my tea and two cups of boiling water into each magnificent bowl. Part of the reason I love to make bread is because I love bowls. I have shiny, new ones and chipped, cracked old ones . I have a rich, buttery yellow bowl from my dear departed neighbor Miss Willets. She brought it to town with her from the family farm fifty years ago or more. And I have bowls just arrived from my mother's catalogue shopping. Bowls in rich earth tones. I even have a plastic bowl. Each bowl has its own appeal, each one satisfying a different one of my moods.

Sift, stir, measure. Dip, pour, mix. It takes real muscle power to stir a hefty double batch of bread dough — and a sturdy spoon. I like olive wood the best, the look and feel of it, though I have broken many. And then, knead knead knead. Push, pull, turn.

After a while it is time for the first rise. I place the dough in the waiting bowls and cover them with damp towels safely out of any drafts. Then I am free to have breakfast.

I sit down with my second cup of tea and make room for my plate filled with nuked bacon, one poached egg and no bread. I chuckle as I push the aqua-covered South Beach Diet back from the edge of the table.

My, how different things are. While our Betty Crocker and Good Housekeeping cookbooks collect dust on our shelves, brightly covered diet books grace our tables promising one solution after another for our obsession with being fit and trim. The local grocery shelves are crammed with low carb alternatives. "Only 3 Grams," "Only 9 Grams," the packaging shouts out at us. CarbSmart whole grain bread. CarbContol English Muffins. LowCarb breakfast bars. You have to bob and search to find a loaf of Wonder Bread.

So, what will I do with all this bread? I wonder as I punch it down and knead it once again before I put it in the pans that I purchase at rummage and yard sales like other people collect chachkas and hand tools.

In my head I tick off the list of people who used to rejoice when I would arrive at Christmas or birthdays and hand them a loaf of Oatmeal Bread or Ethereal Air Bread or Anadama Bread. Or maybe one of each. As the house fills with the smell of the baking loaves , the smell my grown children love to come home to, I begin to worry.

Is it fair at the end of this day to deliver these golden brown loaves to people who are working so hard to be healthy. Friends who like me, remember the food pyramid. The great familiar triangle, divided into food groups with bread/starch/complex carbohydrates holding it up, that fell completely out of fashion when the late Dr. Atkins reached his publishing manhood. These friends exercise, count calories and fat grams and whatever else they think will help them stay strong and productive and active while they grow old. Like me, they are depriving themselves knowing that two cups really is more than one serving of rice and that if a bagel weighs more than their left foot, one is probably enough at a sitting. Do they really want me to show up and sabotage their efforts?

The timer rings and I am startled from my reverie.

I open the oven and turn one loaf at a time out onto the cooling racks. I take a deep breath and unsuccessfully try to resist the temptation to cut the heel off of just one. I put the slightest touch of butter on the textured grainy crust and begin to eat and all of my worries melt away as the bread melts in my mouth and I remember the words of one very dear friend, a fellow bread maker the last time I sent bread her way: "The gift of bread is a gift from heart to heart through many hands."

Yes, a loaf of homemade bread is not now and never will be out. It has nothing to do with any of the facts or the nonsense that sells us stuff on our TV screens or at our checkout counters or in any of the hottest selling diet books. Homemade bread, made on a rainy day, kneaded lovingly is not just carbohydrates. It is friendship and caring and sharing. It is the very essence of "the good old days." I love to make bread because making it nourishes my soul and in sharing it I am hoping to nourish the bodies and souls of my friends.

I put each loaf in a clementine crate lined with a tea towel and load them in the car for delivery and I think to myself, okay, what words of wisdom do I pass on with this bread in this no carb/low carb world? And this is what I came up with: Enjoy this loaf, but if you want to stay trim, eat it with peanut butter for your muscles, eat it with cheese for your bones or, eat it with a friend for your soul, but never ever eat bread alone.

Bevy's Signature Oatmeal Bread

Oatmeal:

3 cups water
3/4 teaspoon salt
11/2 cups regular oatmeal Do not use quick or minute oatmeal; the rougher cut the better (steel cut or whole grain mixes are the best, and porridge is even better). Bring mixture to a boil and then cook on low, stirring often until it is thick. Let cool until under 100 degrees.

Dough:

1 cup warm water
11/2 tsp sugar
4 tsp active dry yeast
2 cups of cooled but not cold oatmeal or porridge
1/2 cup brown sugar
3/4 cup oil (canola or vegetable)
1/2 cup molasses or honey (optional)
6-8 cups flour
11/2 tsp salt

Dissolve 11/2 teaspoons sugar in warm water. Dissolve yeast in water and let work. Add oatmeal, brown sugar, oil, honey, and mix well. Stir salt into flour and add one cup at a time until dough is stiff and forms a ball pulling away from the sides of the bowl. Turn out onto cloth and knead until smooth. Place dough in well-oiled bowl and cover with a damp cloth to rise about 1 to 2 hours. Punch down and knead again.

Cut dough ball into 6 equal pieces. Roll each piece into a ball and place two in each bread pan. Let rise until about 1 inch above pan (about 1 hour). Put in preheated oven at 325° and bake for 30-40 minutes until internal temperature is 190°. Crust should be golden brown.

Turn out onto cooling rack and let cool before cutting (if you can). Enjoy!

Note: Do not put bread in a sealed plastic bag. Store in a waxed paper bag or cover with tea towel. Freezes well for 1-2 months if frozen in heavy freezer bag with all air taken out.