This sure beats my bao

Prehistoric men were hunter-gatherers. In this day and age, the household heroics for sustenance have taken a decidedly different slant. They are forged by upright (versus hunched with knuckles dragging on the ground), tamed and domestic(ated) males such as Ste, who at the drop of a chef's hat, will whip up a mouthwatering apple pie in the peak of summer, Christmas cookies for the yuletide ... and who in the last month has taken to the dirty affair of baking bread.

I am not a huge fan of bread, but -apart from Tiger Balm- there's probably nothing more comforting and settling than the wafting aroma of a fresh loaf in the oven. Eau de Pain. As with most things in life however, the road to confection perfection is often lumpy. Ste's first attempt at Swiss Sunday Bread (zuepfe) in December was not quite the rousing success he had hoped for. The yeast that was procured from the bakery up Camden Passage malfunctioned and left the enormous mass of dough as unappealingly flat as it was before it was baked. Deflated and very brown.

That evening, we shamelessly presented our unconventional offering at Julie and Ramesh's Christmas pot luck party (where we later surprised Michelle with a chocolate cake that was howling under the weight of 30 blazing candles). I regularly offend friends and acquaintances alike with my unique culinary experiments, so thought nothing of it. A Muslim friend chuckled to us later - he had almost panicked because the bread looked like a suckling pig. We apologised profusely, because it did.

With his admirable never-say-die attitude -and armed with Swiss yeast purchased from Migros at Zurich Airport- in the weeks since Christmas, Ste has since perfected the recipe and the braiding.

Viva la Schweizer hefe!