Everything That Rises Must Converge

I'm an adequate cook but a hesitant baker, especially when the recipe calls for yeast.  To me, yeast is like golf--something few of us understand and most of us shouldn't attempt.  Blame my visceral memories of Miller & Paine's orange rolls, then, for my decision today to make the Pioneer Woman's orange marmalade rolls.

After I got over the intimidation factor, the experience transformed me. Yes, I had to read the directions several times.  I fretted, hemmed and hawed until the clock was working against me.  And I was downright persnickety when it came to determining what "lukewarm" really means.  Eventually, I had to trust my instincts, though,  and toss the little buggers in.

The experience filled me with encouragement, pride, patience and about a pound of butter.

How on earth can a package of yeast change a life, you ask.

How can it not?  

Yeast, it turns out,  is all that and a bag of potato chips.  A puny, single-celled fungus that buds, reproduces and converts.  Think mail-order minister on steroids.

And I love that yeast is such a picky fellow.  Like a fussy rock star, yeast won't perform unless everything is just right.  Skip the bowlful of yellow M&Ms, though,  and replace them with a lukewarm bath and just a hint of sugar.

Tick it off and go hungry.  Treat it right, though, and yeast will be the fabulous fungus among us. The bravado in our bread, the oy! in our soy sauce, the winner in our Guinness.

For once, my house smells like a good, traditional, competent woman lives here.  For once, I made something I wanted to share.  Something that is both tangy and sweet.  Something that, unlike revenge, is best served warm.