There is a small jar of strawberry jam in my refrigerator. This glistening red goodness is perfect and homemade, only it was not made in my home, but in the cozy kitchen of a kindred spirit. We refer to it lovingly as “Sexton- Jam.” Sexton is their last name, you see. We only use it when we have a worthy baked good to top it with. We would not dare put it on something as trivial as PB & J. Bearing in mind that the summer is coming to a close and the strawberry crop has come and gone, this is the last bit of this special jam we will savor this year. And so, we have carefully and conservatively chosen when and on what we would enjoy this lovely jam. Yesterday, I found the jam’s true complement: warm, fresh from the oven Brioche. Brioche is one of those concoctions which I had always wondered about, but never tried to make or even tasted. Brioche. It’s just fun to say, no? Once, I even purchased a pink silicone brioche mold from the Williams-Sonoma semi-annual sale. Not because I love brioche, but because I love pink. The fact that it was a brioche mold was secondary. To date, I have absolutely no idea where this pink pan is. Good thing it was $3.99.
But, I digress.
Friday afternoon I came home all too ready for the weekend to begin, and as I walked through the door the overpowering scent of a bakery found me. Warm, yeasty air filled my nose as I found my husband in the kitchen looking very proud of himself. And rightfully so. Dear husband stood there next to an enormous bowl of rising dough, sheepishly telling me that “he needed a challenge.” Now, need I remind you that this was only week 2 of “stay-at-home-daddy-dom” and already, he needed a challenge? Wow. It took me a good 6 weeks before I started to count on getting a shower before noon, let alone ventured the undertaking of baked goods. And not just any baked goods, but those that involve yeast. Me = Impressed.
Upon waking up in our
chateau in the south of France small seminary apartment the next morning, I realized why perfect strawberry jam was created: to top a lightly toasted slice of Brioche alongside a steaming hot cup of strong coffee. I then realized that once my sweet love finds a job and I find myself at home with our daughter, I shall find myself standing in very large shoes. The shoes which do things like bake French brioche “just because” and play Tiger Woods Golf with a friend have all the clothes perfectly laundered and folded by the time I walk through the door at 5 o’clock in the afternoon. I love those shoes and the feet which reside in them. He has made this current situation so much easier on me. I love him and his brioche making self.
Those of you who are aware that we are both trying to eliminate the few extra pounds which have taken up residence in the S house, never fear: we gave the other loaf away to the maker of the perfect jam.