But if regular breads are time consuming, then brioche dough is a lesson in painful time-management. It takes hours (and hours) to just make the dough. Then the dough has to chill for an hour. Then (if you want the best brioche possible) it has to chill for at least 6 hours. I'm not joking - this is straight from the Bread Bible (and I'm quite confident the author is more of an expert on brioche than anything I've stumbled upon online).
Granted, most of the time spent on the brioche dough is time spent waiting for it to rise or double in volume or chill in the fridge. And all that waiting puts me in mind of everything else I could be doing.
So far, I've cleaned the bathroom, straightened up the apartment, vacuumed, Dysoned the linoleum floors, and stared longingly at the covered bowl of dough innocently sitting by the refrigerator door (the warmest spot in the apartment).
Now I've been thinking about the novel waiting patiently on my laptop (and phone) for met to continue discovering the characters I'm writing. Yet while I can almost pick out bits of conversation between characters and see the story unfolding and wrapping around on itself, I can't seem to slide into the head of a character. I blame this on the brioche. Secretly, my characters don't want to share my attention with the innocent bowl of dough doubling in size on my kitchen floor. My characters don't want me thinking about gooey, sticky, delicious buns. Quite frankly, I don't blame them.
Right now, my heart is with the brioche. As much as I love my characters and want to help them find themselves, I just love sticky buns more. As much as I'm fascinated by the journey through time and space that my characters have embarked upon, I'm currently more fascinated by the delicate yeasty yet buttery scent of silently rising brioche dough.
Which leads me to this blog in an attempt to distract myself from the dough and ever so gently nudge my attention back towards my waiting characters. Yet across the room, quite visible by the refrigerator door, I spy an innocent bowl of dough beckoning.
Thus I continue, waiting for brioche.