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I would now like to share the story of the “fourth child” that my Grand Mère had to care for all her life - “The Bread”. Different to the other three, children who grew up to adulthood, the “fourth” was completely dependent on my Grand Mere’s care even once all children had moved on. The bread recipe is work in progress, certain ingredients are added at specific times and the bread itself is looked after while it “grows”.
The question is - was making and raising the bread a form of family heritage or a life time responsibility? From the first day of “creation” of the bread, there was no going away and later, no holidays without having someone to take care of the bread.
It was kept in the kitchen most of the time, and on very cold winter days, my Grand Mere would wrap it in a cloth and put it at the bottom of a bed, under the cover at night in order to keep the dough at room temperature.
If my Grand Mere planned a trip or a holiday she would pass on the responsibility to a fully trained person who was of course trained by herself or someone who had cared for a “dough” before and who knew what to do. Now, most carers always knew a better way to care for the bread, they “knew” what had to be done, and most thought that their caring ideas were better than Grand Mere’s. It is in the same context of thinking your child is better than the neighbours’.
All caregivers were given a long list of ingredients and “how to” notes to be followed to the letter! This created many disputes and arguments. Looking back now, it is funny remembering two old ladies arguing over a lump of flour, water and yeast!
The older the dough - the better the taste, my Gran always said. When baked, the aromas released were of a beautiful sourness and of natural yeast. Also the crust was different from any other bread I have tasted; it was so thick that it cracked when breaking the bread into pieces.
I was fortunate enough to be chosen to carry my Gran’s bread legacy. My Gran had a daughter who moved to Canada just after the war and as she did not really show interest in her family nor to the legacy, the responsibility fell onto my shoulders and I could not be prouder as the love of the family trade which is cooking has also become my passion and I was close to my Grandmother. When she passed away, she asked my Uncle to care for her “fourth child” (the bread), until I returned from my travelling, but, tragically my uncle too passed away a few months later.
Having lost my family members within a few months of each other was heart rendering for me, and when I returned to Strasbourg in Alsace, I was bitterly disappointed when I realised that after being kept “alive” for 62 years, the bread has also passed on – our legacy had died along with my Grand Mere in so many ways.
I am now in South Africa and have decided to start my own “family jewel” (bread). It is now three years old and is seen as a new born, but soon it will be known as the best bread. I have taken my legacy a step further by baking my family bread for not only my family, but also for our guests at roots.
In honour to my “Grand Mere” I have written a poem for the love of life and bread...
The fires of heaven
are stoked with wood
in an oven below the ground
where bread is rising,
certain as the sun and rain,
bread, my life, born early this morning
t my “Grand Mere” kitchen kept me alive for so long...
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