MY ACCOUNT

January 6

Hi mum,
 

I know it’s been years since we’ve talked. Decades, actually. I guess I just haven’t really known what to say. So I’m writing, instead.

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I’m sorry for what happened. I know it wasn’t your fault, of course, or mine either, but even so, I didn’t know what to do but… hide. Clearly, I’ve done a great job of that. I hardly recognize myself now that I really look.

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I still physically look like you, of course. Dark hair, blue eyes, tanned from years on the road, and weathered skin - from the salt, I’m sure.

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My daughter, Nora, looks just the same as us, maybe minus the perma-tan and weathered skin. Yes, I have a daughter. You have a granddaughter. Picture a carbon copy of me about 20 years ago. She looks exactly like I did at that age. She’s 17 and already getting ready to move away from home. Far away. Sound familiar? I think she inherited your tenacity and flavor for adventure. (Though she’s not going to be starting out on her journey with a bun in the oven, I hope!)

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It makes me wonder, though… if normalcy and adventure work in turns? You led a fairly “normal” life until you found out about me, and then took off on an epic escapade, pulling me along with you. Sometimes even I can’t believe it, my growing up in a travelling food truck. It sounds so bizarre, even though I’ve lived it.

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You were always tireless, always looking for the next place, the next stop, the next menu item, the next magic ingredient… which always turned out to be a new variety of salt. And then we reached Camden, and life suddenly changed. I was on my own for the first time ever… and I hid. I’d had enough of “adventure”.

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I look at Nora now, who had a relatively “normal” upbringing, and is now seeking out her own grand adventure… all the way to the shores of Hawaii. Maybe it’s the necessary coexistence of normalcy and adventure that gives the other meaning. But… whatever it is that urges us to seek the ordinary and the exceptional, I’m proud of her for pursuing it, despite my own aversion for adventure.

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It was actually her idea that I reach out to you. That I explain why I disappeared, why I hid. That I owe you that. But to be honest, I’m struggling with that. I’m still… mad. I know I said it wasn’t your fault, but there were a lot of things you could have done differently. Should have done differently.

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And yet, I get it. You weren’t ready to be a mother, and I probably wasn’t either when my turn came. But we chose to handle it very differently. You opted to set sail for the unknown, and I opted for an anchor. Maybe that’s why Nora suggested I reach out, because she’s been my anchor and now she’s going aweigh. Sorry. Terrible pun, but I had to.

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I guess bad puns are something I inherited from you. Speaking of which, I made the Max-a-Milton bread today for the first time in… I can’t even remember when the last time was. I remember you used to make it for me when I was a kid, with a cup of sweet tea. It felt so much more special than any other bread we made. But sheesh, what a way to name it!

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I know this probably sounds like rambling now, so I’ll write more another time. For now I just want to say: I’m here. I’m sorry I let go, I’m sorry I disappeared, and I’m sorry that I probably feel like a stranger to you now. I’m sure you’re disappointed in how I handled things. Of course you’d be. We were all we had. But… I’m here.

Love,

Beatrix

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P.S. I made a few tweaks to the Max-a-Milton bread. I’ll include my version of the recipe here.

P.P.S. A sprinkle of fleur de sel on top of the butter spread takes the flavor to a whole new level.

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Max-a-Milton Bread
 

3 cups flour

1/2 cup sugar

1 tsp fennel seeds

1 tsp instant yeast

1/2 cup warm water (between 120-130 F)

3 oz salted butter, melted

2 large eggs, room temp

 

1. Mix together dry ingredients (flour, sugar, fennel seeds, instant yeast) in a large bowl.

2. Add half of the warm water to dry ingredients, mix well.

3. Add melted butter and eggs. Mix well.

4. Knead dough, and add remaining water as needed. Continue to knead dough until smooth. 

5. Cover bowl with saran wrap or cloth for 10 minutes.

6. After 10 minutes, gently knead dough and transfer to a greased bread loaf pan, then cover again loosely, and place pan in a warm place for 2-3 hours or until dough has doubled in size.

7. (Optional) Spread egg wash over top of dough after doubled in size.

8. Bake in preheated oven at 325 F, for 30-35 minutes, until golden brown.

9. Let cool in pan for 10 minutes before transferring loaf to wire rack. Cool for another 10 minutes then slice and store in air-tight container or bag.

 

Tips:

Eat with fresh, salted butter, and sprinkle a little fleur de sel or maldon salt on top for an extra flavor crunch!

 

The sliced bread can be baked again to make a delicious crunchy toast.

Just spread slices out on a baking sheet and bake in preheated oven at 225 F for 1 hour, then flip and bake for another hour.

Allow to cool completely, then store in airtight container.