le pain du terreur,

my unaffectionate name for the Villa Tronco dinner roll. That miniature loaf of bread that delights you upon its arrival to your dinner table has become nothing less than my arch nemesis. Once I called something my arch nemesis and the response I got was, "you have an arch nemesis?" I said yes, it is such and such, but today I want to amend that statement and say yes, it is the Villa Tronco dinner roll, the bread of terror. and what an understatement that is.

Every morning my shift begins with those 7 sheet trays of loathsome loaves. I make the mixture: 3 L of tepid water, 1 c active dry yeast, 1 c sugar, 1/4 c salt, 2 c olive oil, 7 "scoops" of flour (perhaps the perpetrator?). Let knead in giant mixer until all ingredients are well incorporated and dough is in that perfect spot between won't-stick-to-my-finger-when-I-poke-it and too incorporated/too dry. I am sure to watch intently and never walk away, for the instant that I walk away it will cross that invisible line and my batch is ruined. One day it is too wet, one day it is too dry, or too over-mixed and unworkable and my wrist is sore because of it (what a finicky concoction!). I then transfer the giant mass of evil to a well-oiled mixing bowl, cover with a dish towel and set above the oven for approximately 15 minutes while waiting for it to double in size.

No biggie, right? Until it comes time to portion into perfect 1 oz rounds of dough (no digital scale), bang out all my aggression via rolling pin, palm-roll into little wieners and then perfectly shape and roll out all creases and lines so that they don't rise improperly. Then I take a boning knife and score the little bastards to give them "elegance." This process should take me 45 minutes, but it currently takes me approximately 1 hour and 45 minutes.

Each day gets a little better and a little worse. Today, I mastered consistent rolls on the first 3 trays until I was told my portions were too big. When I corrected my portions the little devils rolled out misshapen, improperly risen, some looking like baking potatoes and others looking like a flashlight. Or something other than upscale Italian restaurant dinner rolls.

Possibly the worst part of it all is when I realized that dough is a living, breathing bacteria, aka, a Creature. For so long I thought I could just bang the the rolling pin on the stainless steel table with hatred, disgust, and bad intention and the dough would have no conscience to know that I was forming it with such disdain. Then I stopped to think about what makes bread rise, those tiny little beads which bubble in warm water, the active bacteria making bread to GROW. This bread is really alive and it really DOES hate me! It has a will, and it is setting its will against mine. What a little demon, le pain du terreur.