Kneading dough is therapeutic for me. Turn a pile of flour, some yeast, and some water into something gloriously soft and together and baby-butt firm with just a few minutes of work with your hands?
Count me in. Would that every thing in life could be transformed so easily.
This particular episode came about as a result of a competition. Specifically a competition with my brother, though I don't think he even realized it was one. (Kind of like sailing a boat - when you see another sailboat out there, it automatically becomes a race.)
He mentioned that he was making Greek night for dinner one happy Monday evening. No big deal, right? Only this was Greek night for him and 40 of his friends. Yes, FORTY.
I've been asked to cook for this crew in years past, when schedules aligned, a task I enjoy. This year, though, I was overlapping with them only for a couple of nights. So they divvied up the cooking chores among themselves, happily enough as they're all used to the routine and the numbers.
But Greek night? That means pita bread. And for me, that means homemade pita.
Forty of them.
You don't have to make 5 batches of dough to get the satisfaction of kneading it into submission.
But it's really a fun thing to try.
There is no wrong way to do this. Gather your ingredients, start mixing, then turn the pile onto a surface sprinkled with flour and start massaging. Keep going. It changes texture and consistency amazingly fast. I do set a timer for this (10 minutes) because I like the bread softer and with more rise. Try it. Play-doh has nothing on this stuff.