When you’re holed up in a cabin for two weeks with no shops, no roads and (almost) no power, there's not too many things to keep you busy. After a week of walking, reading and jigsaw puzzling, the time came for thinking outside the box... and getting busy in the kitchen.
Baking bread at my grandparents' bach has been a tradition since I was a little girl, a time consuming treat that one only has the patience for on holiday. It requires hot water bottles as rising agents, and old fashioned gas contraptions as ovens. An Edmonds Cook Book and Dad’s falling apart notes for instructions. Ancient mixing bowls and scorched cake tins. Flour caked hands and a whole lotta time.
But the reward, oh the reward. Sweet smelling bread, hot from the oven with only butter to alter its perfect taste. Served on adorably vintage plates with a sea side view... ain't nothing boring about that!