Kneaded Attention
After tirelessly manipulating the dough in every manner possible, the young apprentice buckled under the pressure. He had stretched, pulled, folded and turned the damned doughy beast for the past hour or so.
Yet, the dough didn’t relent. Despite his best efforts, it was neither shaggy nor was it smooth.
It remained stubborn; a gloopy mess of mixture that clung to the glass bowl with every fibre of its being. Scepticism ran through the young apprentice’s head. Was the water too hot? Had the hydration of the flour been too high? Was the yeast inside the mass even alive and kicking?
He had followed the outlined instructions precisely - at least he believed he had done so. His tools had been compromised during the relentless onslaught: the dough scraper remained caked in dried bits of dough, even the fine hairs on his knuckles were glued by the strands of the doughy mess that didn’t wash off under the running hot water.
Weariness seized the young apprentice.
His forearms ached. His shoulders strained. His back stiffened.
Was this the fatal end to the beginning of his career?
No, he refused to yield to this untameable monstrosity.
Peeling the compromised scraper off the workbench behind him, he swooped underneath the claggy creature to sever its glutinous ties from the glass bowl. He could feel it screeching at him, as every elastic strand of this beast secured itself onto its dwelling. The glass bowl hovered above the countertop as the young apprentice ploughed his other hand into the damned doughy beast – the creature dangled in mid-air – but not before it latched itself even tighter around the young apprentice’s slender hands.
He yelled and cursed, thrashing with all his might, cleaving the damned doughy beast from his clutches with the scraper.
The monstrous dough clung to him for dear life.
The dough seemed desperate for a symbiotic relationship with anything in sight. He was in for a brawl.
With every scrape off his hands, somehow the dough latched itself onto another part of his fingers, hopping between the scraper, the bowl and himself. He twisted the gloopy mixture between his hands, wringing and pummelling the damned doughy beast into submission. The glass bowl now dangled precariously over the countertop ledge.
Exhaustion grew into fatigue.
When he finally detached some of himself from the damned doughy beast, it decided to yield under the strain…
*Smack*
*Crash*
…and surrendered itself from the bowl.
His eyes widened in disbelief. He glanced down at his feet.
The shattered fragments of the glass bowl were strewn across the bakery kitchen floor.
A river streamed down his face.
What a mess I made, he thought to himself. He had let himself down.
How could he look his mother in the eye when he returned to their dishevelled shack, knowing that he’d been immediately fired on his first day. He needed this job. They needed this job.
I let mama down, was the recurring thought circulating in his head.
The young apprentice stood there firmly rooted to the spot.
The damned doughy beast remained his loyal companion - clenched to the ends of his fingers.
He was just about to throw the wet sloppy mess out of the bakery window - fully aware that he’d be hurled along with it – when the head baker suddenly walked in.
In the doorway she stood surveying the scene; a towering behemoth of a woman with broad trunks for forearms and plump hands. The young apprentice dared not look her in the eye. To her, he must’ve appeared like a weasel - long and wispy with no talent to compensate for his apparent weaknesses. He nervously awaited to be rebuked by her.
An idle moment lingered between them for a lifetime.
However, the head baker never unleashed her scathing rebuke. Nor did she express a scowl of disapproval towards him.
When he mustered what little courage he had left, he turned his head in her direction.
The head baker’s bulky frame blotted out the doorway behind her. In her hands she carried a broomstick and dustpan. Their eyes met across the bakery kitchen and he saw a quiet tenderness in hers: a look of recognition, a look of compassion.
Her footsteps echoed reverberantly across the tiled kitchen flooring. Within seconds, she had reached his side and began sweeping up the mess. After she put it aside, she pulled out a heap of flour and re-dusted the countertop he was working on. Then she came to claim his arms - ushering him towards the countertop and together they disentangled the damned doughy beast with ease.
The dough mixture plopped onto the counter.
Quietly, the head baker kneaded with conviction. She massaged the dough with a gentle firmness, the rhythmic nature of the task reverberating on the counter with each stretch, pull and fold. The young apprentice stood at her side like a demoralised pupil.
As she worked, she spoke softly for only him to hear:
‘It’ll get easier. I promise. Before you know it, this’ll be something you’ll laugh at when you look at how far you've come.’ A fond smile etched across her thin lips as she worked on the dough.
Despite her reassurance, a disheartened weariness weighed on him.
‘But I broke–’
‘–Nonsense dear, we’ve all broken things here. I still break things… and I’m supposed to know what I’m doing!’
She shook her head: a curt dismissal to him to leave the mistakes in the past.
The young apprentice said nothing for a while. He stared vacantly at the wall, preoccupied in his thoughts.
Stealing a quick glance, she piped in:
‘Don’t be ashamed dear. It takes time and practice. You’ll get there. I’ll make sure you do.’
‘But… Aren’t you mad at me?’
‘Why would I be? The tears on your face show me that you care enough to be here. That’s all that matters to me.’
Within minutes of their conversation, the damned doughy beast had been tamed. The young apprentice looked down at the countertop and witnessed a smooth ball of aerated dough, shaped lovingly by the head baker’s plump hands.
Awestruck by her discreet kindness, he remained speechless. How did she make it look so effortless?, he wondered to himself.
As if reading his thoughts, she spoke aloud, commanding the room with her tender voice:
‘Practice and patience.’
The head baker placed a hand on his shoulder. The young apprentice let a thin smile draw across his face. Nodding in approval, she then asked him to help her finish with the rest of the process.
Together, they neatly placed the smooth ball of dough with the others in a proofing tray and nestled the lid on top to cover them. When it was eventually settled and prepared, the smooth ball of dough rose blissfully to tremendous heights, happy to finally belong somewhere.
A tale for anyone who has ever dealt with the process of making bread dough. It can be a truly unpleasant mess of a time…
Day 2 - This piece was posted as part of the 31 Days of Content Challenge that I undertook in March 2022.