I would like to share the story of a bread recipe which has been handed down for many generations in my family.We used to fondly call the bread the "fourth child" as my Grand Mère had to care for it all her life. The reason for this bizarre name for a loaf bread is that this particular bread needed just as much nurturing and looking after as did my Grand Mère's 3 biological children, sometimes even more so as this was a continuation of the Wagenfuhrer legacy. 

This very special gift, (the bread), which was given to my Grand Mère on her wedding day by her mother, proved to be one of her most treasured and loved gifts – a family heirloom so to speak, but, it also resulted in a life time of responsibility...

From that day on, unless she had someone she trusted enough to look after the bread, meant that she would not take any holidays, have no days off and spend no time away.

The method of looking after the bread was constantly on my Grand Mère's mind, The bread: dough of flour, yeast, salt, water; The food: beer, sugar, feed it once every day; The preparation: make a dough of the ingredients mentioned and add to the existing dough from the previous day, use only two third of the dough and keep a third for the next day and on for ever; Temperature: keep it in the kitchen most of the time. In very cold winter days wrap it in a cloth and put it at the bottom of the bed under the cover over night. Keep the dough at room temperature at all times.It was a mantra she would repeat to herself on a daily basis to keep the bread alive.

If the necessity for Grand Mère to be away for longer than a day arose, she would hand on the responsibility to someone she trusted explicitly, who could care for "dough" and knew what to do.She would even go as far as training this person to ensure that the correct method was followed, with absolutely no mistakes being made.

After a long list of ingredients and a "how to do" note to the selected "carer" and some long discussions about the do's and don'ts, some disputes and arguments erupted over the caring of the bread between my Grand Mère and the "carer". Looking back, I can recall two ladies arguing over a lump of flour water and yeast for hours - I'm not sure if these altercations were ever finalised but it filled my young days with a lot of laughter.

The older the dough, the better the taste. Once the bread was baking, the most aromatic sourness and smell of natural yeast was released into the air. The crust differed from any other bread I have tasted in my life, it was thick and cracked when breaking the bread into pieces. It was simply delicious!

Proudly, I was the selected family member to carry on with my Grand Mère's bread legacy as my aunt, the first born child, moved to Canada just after the war and did not want to take on the responsibility of the carer for the bread. I was also chosen for this task because of the family trade, which is cooking, and because I was very close to my Grand Mère and she trusted me. Sadly when she past away, I was overseas and she asked my uncle to care for the bread until I returned and could take over the responsibility. But, this was not to happen, tragically after my Grand Mère past away, my aunt followed and then my uncle past away a few months later of a broken heart as he could live with out his beloved wife.

When I eventually returned to Strasbourg in Alsace to fulfil my obligation of "gatekeeper" of the bread, I was deeply saddened to discover that the bread, after 62 years of "living" had also past on. However, I am thrilled to say that since arriving in South Africa I have began my own bread legacy.It is 2 years old and still relatively a new born so to speak, but soon it will be the delicious bread that my Grand Mére protected with all her heart.  

I have taken bread-making a stage further from just baking bread for my family to baking bread for all my guests at the restaurant.