I am the proud owner of a new grain mill. Isn’t it pretty if you mentally erase that big ol’ piece of plywood that we’ve screwed it onto? Oh, and the C-clamps. Mentally erase those, too.
Seriously, I wasn’t about to screw that bad boy to my tabletop, so the unattractive plywood is there to stay.
Now, we bought this because we are sensitive celiacs. That means that even the tiniest amount of gluten (say the amount of gluten present in the grain alcohol that floats the flavor in a cup of Earl Gray tea) makes me horribly ill. I’m really fun at a dinner party. Anyway, I can now make gluten-free rice flour, which translates into fresh baked, home made gluten-free bread. Or pancakes. Or french toast. Or garlic toast… Hurrah!
So I started milling some rice. It took an awful lot of muscle,and admittedly took a LOT more time than when my husband puts his muscles into it, but I managed to grind a few cups of flour, and I was quite impressed with myself. Until there was a knock on the door from my mildly annoyed Down Stairs Neighbor (we live in an apartment) who came up to find out why there was a horrible grinding noise reverberating in her apartment below. Sigh! We have a six-year-old boy who is an early riser so we have enough to apologize for to these people.
Anyway, I may now be That Neighbor, but I’m also That Neighbor who can eat bread again. And while the Down Stairs People might have thought they hit the jackpot with a quiet writer who clatters away on her computer all day…. well, maybe I can invite them up for a sandwich?