Bread Battle

There has been a great battle going on in my household for the past while. The stake? Chef de Patisserie. More specifically, he or she who bakes the bread. Thanks to my mom's chocolate chip cookie recipe, I had been holding my own as queen of the oven without a peep from the mouths that I fed. And then one day I showed Josh my secret no-knead artisan bread recipe. From that day forward, it seems, my once-perfect loaves began to deteriorate in aesthetics while Josh could turn any dough, at any air temperature into a beautiful round loaf. I knew that the end was nigh when one day, as I clicked on the oven and removed the bowl of dough from the fridge, Josh leapt up from the couch: "what are you doing? Here, let me," with that knowing look that we should do what is best for everyone and let him make the bread. I accepted a demotion to dough-maker and later stepped down from the bread process completely. I didn't even argue when Josh decided that his bread-making process wouldn't be confined by oven timers, and started removing his loaves from the oven when he felt that they were done, on his own schedule. I conceded victory. 

Thursday night. I arrive home from work, and the oven is going full steam. The Chef de Patisserie has baked a cake for his co-worker's last day of work and now has bread in the oven for sandwiches tomorrow. As we head to bed, he pulls the loaf out of the oven just enough for me to see. It's golden brown, perfectly round. Yes, he wins. Now used to these occasional bouts of gloating, I smile, nod and go brush my teeth. 

At 4am I wake up. I can't fall back to sleep. There is a smell...it takes me a while to put my finger on it, and then, cake. The smell of cake is still wafting through the house. weird. Back to sleep. At 4:45am, I wake up, this time the smell is stronger, and I can't ignore it. It takes my brain a few minutes to process what may be happening right now. "Josh, did you take the bread out of the oven?". Silence. "ummm...maybe not?" comes a guilty voice from under a pillow. I jump out of bed and find that not only is the bread still in the oven, but the dial has been left at 450F. All night long. What was a masterpiece at 10:30pm is now a big lump of coal.

Back in bed, Josh took fault for this mishap. And then, at 5am - I'm not sure whether it was because he couldn't fall back to sleep, really wanted a sandwich for lunch or felt the need to earn back some pride - he got out of bed, turned the oven back on and baked another loaf. I'm not sure where we stand now, but I did gain some bargaining power that night. First order of business? Oven timer use has been reinstated.