As I write this, the banana protein bread is in the oven
cooking. We’re at close to 28 minutes over the 17 to 20 minutes it was supposed
to take. And it’s still not done. Yes, you could say I’m nervous.
Not because I have some kind of baking ego. This is the
first thing I’ve ever baked, not counting frozen pizza. So I could care less
how the world views my skills.
Cravings A-Go-Go
The reason I’ve even motivated myself to begin the baking is
because of something that started last Wednesday morning… I was in a conference
room at work with two others waiting for my other coworkers and boss to arrive
for yet another meeting in the year-long redesign of the website of
the state agency where I work. On the table in front of me was a stack of
papers containing research of sites I liked. Resting on one of the chairs
against the wall behind me was a plastic bag containing my usual food for the
day: egg whites, grape tomatoes, deli turkey.
Then other coworkers started to arrive, carrying brown paper
bags and plastic bags. That’s when I remembered that people were going to bring
breakfast foods to the meeting, which was supposed to last all morning. I knew
I would not get to eat any of it.
Then they started going through the bags, fixing their paper
plates with donuts and breakfast burritos; their cups with orange juice. It was
all I could do not to flip the conference table over and run out of the room
screaming.
I’ve never been a vampire, nor do I believe in them. But in
every vampire movie you get a good idea that the blood thirst is an
all-consuming, life threatening pursuit. It was that sort of single-minded
attention with which I watched my bastard co-workers put this food into their
mouths. There was a clear plastic cup full of Krispy Creme donut holes that I
stared at like it was an open flame. Finally I split off another personality to
deal with the physical and psychological drama I was experiencing.
I hadn’t had cravings like this in weeks. I thought for sure
I had conquered the cravings monster.
Later that day I sent Mariah and Sheryl, of Revelation Fitness, an email with the
subject line “Cravings!” to explain what I went through that morning and what I
had been going through over the previous few days. Let’s just say it’s been stressful, both at work and
personally. Normally in these situations, I head over to the convenience store
across the street, grab a package of Keebler chocolate chip cookies or a pint
of Blue Bell ice cream, and call it a night. That’s no longer an option.
Mariah talked me down off the ledge as she explained how my
body was sort of rebelling at the loss of fat in my body and in my diet. She
gave me tweaks to my diet I can make to lessen the cravings. Sheryl and Nicole,
another member of the Revex team, sent me a bunch of healthy sweets recipes.
And the one that I thought might be the easiest was the banana protein bread.
How hard can it be? You mix the stuff then add heat. Piece of cake.
Baking for Idiots
I Googled “basics of baking” and came across some pretty
interesting little tidbits of information. You need to mix the wet ingredients
and the dry ingredients separately before mixing the two together. When you do
mix them together, you should be careful not to overmix, whatever the hell that
means.
Meanwhile, it looked like the wet ingredients tend to be
mixed with a handheld mixer. What the heck is that? Oh, it’s the thing my mom
used to use. I can’t remember what it was for, but my sister and I got to lick
off whatever was left over when she was done using it while making a cake.
I texted a friend and asked her if, when she bakes, she
mixes the ingredients by hand. “LOL No” was her response. So I called my mom.
“Don’t you have one?” she asked. “Have we met?” I responded.
I haven’t thought about that piece of equipment in years and
I sure as heck didn’t really know what my mom was doing with it. The handheld
mixer to me is a lot like the equipment you see in the background of the
workshops in American Choppers. There are all sorts of big, manly machines that
I can only assume are used for making motorcycles. The handheld mixer is some
kind of machinery, with exposed moving parts, I might add, that was somehow
used to cook with. Turns out it’s used to mix the stuff that goes into stuff
you bake. Who knew?
I put out a feeler to my Facebook friends asking for mixer
recommendations. Most said a cheap one works just as fine as an expensive one.
Another said KitchenAid was the way to go, as their products will last forever.
One told of a cheap Black and Decker model that lasted her 19 years.
After my usual exhaustive search of Internet consumer
reviews, I decided to go with a $20.99 Sunbeam from Bed Bath & Beyond. Then
I went to HEB, and picked up most of the ingredients. Except for the oat flour.
They had all sorts of different kinds of other flour. The Internet told me that
oat flour was a pretty common form of flour. Someone please tell the folks over
at HEB. I headed to Whole Foods, even more determined to conquer the baking
monster I found in might sites. Alas, I found the oat flour I needed. It would
appear that you can make flour out of just about anything you darn well please.
They sell bags of tapioca flour. Truth.
It's Go Time
Anywho, I put off the actual baking until today, waiting for
a block of a few hours when I knew I had nothing else going on.
I meticulously measured out the ingredients, proud as a pip
that I knew how to use measuring spoons and measuring cups. My frozen pizza
making experience taught me how to pre-head an oven, so that was no problem. I
mixed the dry stuff with a spoon. Then I poured all the wet ingredients into a
mixing bowl. That stuff really does look gross before it’s been mixed. Just
sayin’.
I took out the handheld mixer from it’s packaging, jammed in
the mixer spool thingies, and tested out the motor. Every one of the 5 speeds
was smooth. So I set it to high and mixed the ingredients for a minute, per the
Internet directions I was following.
I mixed wet and dry together slowly with a spoon, and
suddenly it started to look like something my mom had made. I poured the
mixture into the loaf baking pan I picked up, placed it in the oven and
set my 17 minute timer. At the 17 minute mark I opened the oven and it dawned
on my that I had no clue how to check whether the thing was done. I mean, it
looked fine to me.
So I called my mom who said I should stick a toothpick or a
knife in it. If it comes out clean, then it’s ready. I pressed the knife down
and it looked and felt like I was poking pudding. OK. Definitely not done. Or
anywhere near done.
Victory is Mine
Finally, about 30 minutes after the thing was supposed to be
done, it passed the knife test. I pulled it out of the oven and put it on the
range. I called my mom.
“What do I do now?” I asked her.
She laughed. “You cut it and you eat it,” she said.
Fair enough. I divided it into 8 equal pieces then
calculated the nutritional information. Then I had a piece. It looked like
banana bread and holy crap, it tasted like banana bread, too.
I’d be lying if I
said I didn’t break into a victory dance right there in my kitchen, fist
pumping like Tiger on the 18th green at Augusta.
