Linda Studley

Can't Put the Pen Down…

Archive for the tag “Bread”

Big Bang Bread

There were only supposed to be twelve spiral arms
of cinnamon and raisins.
Then my doughy universe began
to expand, in a big bang boom it bloomed over
the top of the pan and the distance between
raisins increased exponentially,
like far-flung stars hurtling apart until
the heat overwhelmed the live, growing yeast
of creation and baked them into place.
And that is why, instead of a dozen
cinnamon rolls, we have an enormous,
if sparsely populated,
loaf of raisin bread.
Big Bang Bread.
It’s not a theory anymore.


Bread as Life

There is a point in the bread-making process
when the ragged tags and the sticky strings
of dough coalesce.
A point when the dusty, broken surface heals
and become soft and pliable,
a complete entity imbued with life.

Perhaps I am close to that point
because I often feel ragged;
constrained by strings that have just enough
stretch to make me think I’m going forward.
A little more pummelling and
the dusty cracks in my soul will heal.
I will become serene and know
how to bend instead of break.
A complete entity imbued with life.


Daisy, Daisy, Smiling Baker Lady

Coconut buns with orange rind
Breads of every shape and size
Sponge cake, raspberry and ganache
Face it, this girl’s got panache. 

Oh it’s Daisy, Daisy,
she fills her facebook bak’ry
With pictures of culinary feats
You can almost smell the tempting treats
(yeah, smell them feats!)

Braided bread with apricot,
Tiramisu, crossed buns that are hot,
Multi grain bread and home made jam.
I eat whole wheat therefore I am

 Oh, Daisy, Daisy,
she fills her facebook bak’ry
Baking’s never been such fun
She’s got the most amazing buns
(yeah, check those buns!)

Cinnamon swirl bread and focaccia
Her ‘mise en place’ is always in placcia
I hope one day she’ll be opening
a bakery where I can stop and sing about…

Daisy, Daisy. The smiling baker lady…



Dedicated to my friend Daisy, whose full colour pictures of her amazing baking leap out at me everytime I open my facebook page. Sigh, but Seattle is such a long way to go for a hot crossed bun 😦   If you can’t open a bakery, Daisy, at least open a mail order service!

The Five Stages of Food Grief

Eggs can’t be bad for me
I’m sure I read an article
that told me that they wouldn’t hurt
my ventricles and hearticles.

Drat it! Everything I like
has cholesterol and salt.
I should smack the manufacturer.
It’s all his gol dern fault.

I could eat a steak today
then for the next two weeks
drink water, and browse melba toast,
and  salads laced with leeks.

Oh, I give up. If it tastes good
I should probably spit it out.
I won’t live any longer but
it’ll feel that way, no doubt.

What is this? Guacamole?
Whole grain bread, home made jam?
Food’s better when it’s fresh
and doesn’t come out of a can.


Farmers’ Market

With basket empty,
Farmers’ Market bound am I
to fill the basket.

Whole grain bread, honey,
eggs, tomatoes, yellow beans,
Into the basket.

Unpack the basket
taste the sunshine, soil, and rain
of the Peace Country.



Making Bread in the Library

I – The Reanimation
Sleepy little granules of yeast
in a warm sweet bath.
Shelly’s mad scientist fanning
the spark of life.

II – The Integration
A little fat, a little salt
become one with a big bowlful of flour.
Lean Lawrence crosses
the Arabian sands.

III – The Inundation
Water, water with the yeast in it,
Flooding the dusty, floury world.
No ark here
all are drowned.

IV – The Agitation
Stir it stiffly.
Knead it rhythmically.
Willie’s witches stir
a bubbling cauldron.

V – The Trepidation
Will it rise?
Will it come again?
Watch for the Whale
Thar she blows.

VI – The Retardation
Knock it down
Start over.
Like Tom Joad
Just trying to get along.

VII – The Formation
Shape and mold
into a pleasing form.
Kim shapes the world
and the world shapes him.

VIII – The Rejuvenation
Tenacious leavening
bubbles expand within.
Once more into the breach,
Willie once again, and why not?

IX – The Transformation
Into the oven,
Hot air wafts to meet you
Like the faint hot breeze
before Atlanta burned.

X – The Coronation
King of the dinner table
crowned with a light brush of butter.
Pull the sword from the stone
and cut a slice of life.



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