I was having "one of those days" this week, when a stack of bowls slipped out of my hands, sending my Most Special Bowl crashing to the floor--with this result. Did you know you can cry over the demise of an inanimate object?
Bowl and I have had a long and very special relationship. Twenty-five years ago I spotted this lovely in an antique store and immediately had visions of perfect bread loaves I would knead to perfection in it. At $15, it was a bargain and thus began our memorable history together.
At the time, I was working at a "dude" ranch in Colorado as the back-up cook. My job was baking all the cookies, cakes, pies, desserts, and breads for our mouth-watering daily menus. Bowl was my constant companion, providing just the right size and temperature for high-altitude bread rising and lending me an primal sense of homestead-woman as I pushed and punched the springy dough. It's large size, the thick, cool crockery and heavy feel stood up well to the demands I put on it. When my Mom gave me some 45-year-old sourdough starter (yes, really!) and instructions on the finer points of working with sourdough (not the least of which is that you should never use a metal bowl or spoon), Bowl and I produced stellar dinner rolls and flapjacks. M-m-m, makes my mouth water just to remember...
Then came marriage, and a chief item in my hope-chest was Bowl. I pressed on in the discoveries of whole-grain baking, gluten-free bread dough, and large batches of cookies for years of various children's events. And of late, having learned about the nutritional benefits of soaking grains, Bowl has produced weekly batches of granola and homemade grape-nuts, sitting ornamentally on my kitchen counter and greeting me first thing in the morning with the promise of yummy healthiness.
I am bereft. However, knowing that my treasures don't lie in earthly things, I must content myself with this little epitaph, and--of course--be on the hunt for Bowl Two.