Adventures in Home Economics

“So who’s the rookie?” I heard from inside the bathroom. Apparently that was my queue to introduce myself. So I walked outside to meet part of the team of ladies who’ve been working hard all week to prepare the camp for the arrival of the kids. “I’m Diana,” I said. The kids come tomorrow.
As I’m the only one on our team who’s never been to Romania before, I find myself often in the spotlight. People want to know my reaction to the camp, to the bunk beds, to the mice running across the floors in the cabins (or dancing “mouse-capades” on Jen’s bed). I find that I have been preceded by a reputation (thanks to Jill), though I’m not sure what exactly she’s told everyone. Perhaps the words she used were “high-spirited” or “providing energy to the team”, though we generally use the phrase “lack of filter” to describe my mouth...
However, since it’s now eleven o’clock at night on Sunday (or one in the afternoon back home), my head is a bit foggy. More than a bit. I feel like my brain’s been marinated in cement. I’d love to provide you with some humor or even grand descriptions of the countryside, but nothing’s coming. So in leu of some well-crafted sentences describing the brick buildings or the way the camp is nestled into a lush ravine like a drop of water cradled inside of a fist, I will tell you how I baked my bread.
As I’m on a gluten-free diet, I brought two bags of cinnamon raisin bread mix, planning to make one loaf today, and the other next week. “Jill, I need eggs and oil, and measuring cups.” Eggs and oil, she told me, are easy, but the measuring cups... well, we’re all metric, here in Europe. So we found a half-cup measure, and I figured I could guess with the rest. Piece of cake. Or bread. Whatever. So I mixed and blended, and softened my yeast. Then I asked for a breadpan. Do you know, that when you cook for a whole camp, you don’t bake bread? You buy it. Not a loaf pan in sight. A pie plate? A small casserole? Well... How about a large casserole? If any of you know about GF baking, you know that you don’t just Shape A Loaf. You pour a puddle. Lets see, puddle in a large casserole? I don’t know about you, but I’m envisioning a real big cracker with crunchy raisins in it.
Enter Improvisation Number Two: I’ll make both loaves at the same time, and bake it for a shorter time to accomodate for the shallow pan. So I ran to the cabin and brought back the second bag of mix. I stirred, I blended, and voila. Two mixes, one pan, one improvised Gigantic loaf. 45 minutes later, it’s done raising, and I’m ready to preheat the oven. So I look at the nobs. Hmm. No numbers. Hmm. How does this thing work? “Jill, how do I turn the oven on?” They all just looked at me and laughed. “Rookie,” they said. Dear me, I’d almost forgotten that one must be initiated to everything in life. Fortunately no one’s tried to send me looking for the watermelon de-seeder or the steam bucket so we can clean the floors. Yet.
Oh, right, we have to light the oven, then prop the nob with a specially crafted stick wedged between a table and the oven, and if we want to turn the nob, we turn the stick, and well, we’re just guessing at how hot this thing is, and we’re just guessing at how long we’re going to bake it. Good ol‘ Bob from the Redmill says 60-65 minutes. I figure on 45-50.
About the time I’m going to check on the bread, Jill says, well, lets all pray. So everyone’s praying, and I’m praying, and I’m praying to not be distracted by my bread, and I’m praying for the girls, and the second someone says amen, I’m off like a shot, out one door, and in another, and I’m grabbing towels, and reaching in the oven, and smelling that burnt raisin smell, and well... let’s just say my bread is a bit rustic.
Ah, well, I don’t have to worry about putting it in the toaster (or about anyone else coveting my bread-lump-cracker-thing, for that matter). It’s all about looking on the other side of things. Like instead of thinking about how one of the stray-ish camp dogs looks pretty dirty and dreadlocked, you see that she’s nursing three orphaned kittens and that one of the other dogs is kind of like their dad, so they curl up on his back and sleep. You see that everyone here becomes a make-shift family. So even if you’re the rookie, you feel like you fit just right.