Fwop.

Hmmm.

Skurrrrch.

Kurch.

Fwop.

Hmmm.

Skurrrrch.

Kurch.

Fwop.

I grab another handful of flour and dust my hands. I pat the doughy lump, and a spattering of flour lifts. It has a dry, hollow, dusty sound. I put my hands under the doughy lump, and I bring it forward. Fwop. In a smooth motion, I transfer my energy from my fingertips to the heals of my hands, and I push through. It makes a soft, whispering sound. Hmmm. I put my hands under the dough, again, and I turn it, clockwise. It scratches, lightly on my floured table. Skurrrrch.

It feels cool and smooth to the touch. As I repeat this process over the course of ten minutes, my doughy lump transforms into a smooth dough ball. A friend said it feels like a firm breast at this stage. It’s slightly tacky, where the dough annoyingly sticks to my hands. But, it’s ready. It’s ready to be formed into a ball and transferred to my oiled bowl. It’s ready to rest for another 50 minutes before I punch it down. It’s almost ready to be bread eaten with jam.