Le Briochette

The expiration date on the yeast in my cabinet read 'Use by Oct. 02.' Despite its age, the yeast exhaled into the warm milk bath as if relieved for having been released from its captivity on the shelf for the past eight years of the Bush Administration. I wondered whether or not it would have the strength to bubble through the flour cap I was about to place on top of it, though. I suppose I felt a little like the yeast and Obama: There's no going back now. I dumped the flour, set the timer on the oven and placed a plate over the bowl, just so I wouldn't be tempted to poke at it like an expectant mother. Then I waited and hoped.

Speaking of mothers- I'm not one, except maybe to the gardens I design and build for a living. I'm a tough-love kind of garden mother, tending to the soil first, choosing appropriate plantings and then stepping away to let the glory of nature do it's thing. Of course I come around to check on the kids and make sure they aren't getting out of control or in trouble, but I don't fuss when they aren't coloring inside the lines. So why, then, am I hovering over this lump of dough gestating in a bowl?

Because this is my first creation outside the fold of the studio, and it's stressful as hell not having the shepherd around. I'm tempted to peek inside the bowl, so I mop the floor first. What's happening now? I fret, standing on a chair, cleaning the top of the fridge. I obsess: Will my baby brioche rise past the confines of it's ignoble conception in my kitchen to assume its rightful fluffiness and golden crusted crown?

The yeast proofed, so I pulsed the egg, salt and a little sugar and then dumped the slurry in the cuisinart. I added a third of the butter and the dough looked more runny than I remembered it in class. (Could it be because I don't have a set of measuring cups and MacGyvered my way to 8 oz. of flour?) Well, it wasn't quite right but it wasn't too far off. I remembered how Robert 'fixed' dough by sprinkling flour and I did the same. That was better, so I continued to add the rest of the butter. The motor on my JCPenney machine began to bog down as the dough developed a stranglehold on the blade. Uh-oh. I switched it off to check, but no matter- the dough was perfectly creamy.

The dough rose and the little bun went in the oven. I watched her continue to rise inside and the top turned golden pretty quickly. I was afraid it would burn before the bottom was done, so the heat was turned down. I'll have to make temperature adjustments to the recipe to account for my oven, for sure. After the brioche came out I should've let it cool more so the crust would separate from the pan. Unfortunately the sides were slightly shredded by my impatience. Good news is the texture was good and so was the flavor.

Tomorrow I'll buy measuring cups and more yeast so I can make two loaves at once. Maybe I'll walk a slice over to Robert and see what he thinks of my little love child.