Still Life With Sourdough

Day 318: What one comestible would you be unwilling to forgo? I think I would give up coffee before I gave up homemade bread, and that's saying a lot. In the last fifty-plus years, I have probably purchased less than two dozen loaves of the commercial substance I refer to as "whipped air," and that only when I needed to make croutons for stuffing or possibly emergency sandwiches. The stuff sold in grocery stores is barely edible. True bread has substance and weight. It "sticks to your ribs," as my mother used to say. Since discovering how to make a high-hydration sourdough in a Dutch oven, it has been my go-to, with occasional detours for cinnamon swirl, bagels, a millet loaf I call "birdseed bread" or oatmeal-whole wheat. I feel white is too boring to bother with, although sometimes I'll make a sweeter egg bread. If I'm ever confined to a home or hospital where meals are prepared, I hope someone among my friends will smuggle in homemade bread.

Aroma Therapy

Day 59: The holidays are a stressful time, and right now, I'm grouchy as an old bear. Things are just not going smoothly. They're not going particularly badly, but multiple small annoyances are piling up in drifts, and the feeling of impending avalanche hangs over my head like the Sword of Damocles. I haven't been able to get out into the woods for what feels like weeks, so I decided it was time for some indoor aroma therapy. Go ahead, try to top the fragrance of freshly baked bread, I dare ya! You can keep your evergreen boughs, your scented candles, even the smell of cookies straight out of the oven. Nothing beats the fragrance of bread. Bread, of course, is not holiday-specific, at least not around here. It happens once a fortnight at the very least, generally every ten days, but somehow I had gotten ahead of myself and wound up with a freezer full of sourdough. I just thawed the last batch yesterday, so it was time to make more bread. This no-knead Dutch-oven loaf has become my favourite. Will it chase the grumps away? Maybe I should eat a slice while it's still warm, you know, like for good measure?

Cinnamon Swirl Bread

Day 38: As the phrase says, "...and now for something a little different." I've been cutting it pretty close to the wire insofar as making bread right before I run out lately, due to the fact that I'm so intensely involved in quilting that everything else has to take a back seat. I never seem to remember to start the sourdough sponge the night before, not until I get up in the morning and chide myself with, "Damn. I forgot to put the sourdough down again." I decided I'd revert to another of my old stand-bys, one which makes two loaves. It's called Cinnamon Swirl bread, and the recipe appears in the classic Better Homes and Gardens cookbook...you know the one. It has a red gingham/buffalo check cover, and no kitchen should be without a copy. I made my first loaves of plain white bread from the instructions in its pages, lo, some fifty years ago. I'm still using the same cookbook, despite its pages being stained and torn and sometimes falling out of the ring binder, despite the fact that I have a newer edition (hardbound and difficult to keep open to the proper page). So, sandwiched between two power outages, the cinnamon swirl bread came to fruition, stock for the next two weeks.

Bread Day

Day 146: In polite terms, I might be called a "utilitarian" cook, i.e., I only cook because I have to eat, and dining out isn't an option. If it takes more than one pan and five minutes, I can't be bothered. Still, every rule has its exceptions, and the one deviation from norm in my world is that I like to bake, and particularly, I like to make bread.

I was in my late teens when I made my first loaves. They weren't exactly bricks, but I definitely didn't have the science down pat. I'd watched my foster sister's grandmother making bread, tried to remember the rules she'd laid down, like not forcing the dough to take more flour than it wanted, testing the rise with a pressed-down thumb, working the dough until it felt satiny under the fingers. Persistence pays off. In a few years as a young housewife, I was making bread on a weekly basis.

The tradition continues to this day. With the exception of the months I had one arm in a sling following a shoulder rebuild, I have made bread approximately every ten days for almost half a century. Bread Day is as much a part of my household routine as...well, I'd say "dusting and vacuuming," but I don't do those tasks nearly as regularly. I love the aroma of the rising dough (sourdough in this case), and of course nothing in the world beats the scent of bread fresh from the oven. Yes, it requires a certain degree of commitment and scheduling to set aside five hours for the process, but oh, the end result is worth it!

Experimenting On A Monkey

Day 74: What does it take for a recipe to be considered "original?" Certainly it requires more than changing the order in which ingredients are assembled, but when you substitute one item for another, the line starts to blur. When you go all out as I did this morning when I failed to find exactly what I wanted for an upcoming event, borrowing a measure of flour from one source, taking a dollop of sweetening from another, altering proportions, adjusting times and including a few secrets from my personal larder, it is tempting to say that the newly-created recipe merits the distinction of being called "original."

I've been hunting for a good Monkey Bread Pull-Apart loaf for years. I was not satisfied with the raised versions I found in professional cookbooks, and I steered widely away from the quick-and-dirty internet versions which all seemed to be based in biscuit dough. I wanted a raised, lightly sweet single loaf which could be equally good with or without fruit and/or nuts. As a long-time breadmaker, I finally realized the solution was at my fingertips: build my own. I settled into the serious lab work this morning, and if I do say so myself, the resultant Monkey came through the experiment with flying colours.

The Gift Of Bread

Day 66: For as long as I've been baking bread (and that's almost half a century), I have given loaves as gifts for numerous occasions, but during the Christmas season, my oven goes into overdrive and for about a week, I make bread daily and deliver it to nearby friends. As part of the tradition, each loaf is wrapped in a cotton towel as part of the gift. The style of towel varies from year to year, sometimes terry, sometimes birdseye, but generally, I choose a plain white fabric. This year's "pain du jour" is sourdough with a slashed crust liberally painted with butter. Is there a person alive who does not appreciate fresh bread?

Priorities

Day 365: As 365 Caws is poised to enter its eighth year of daily publication tomorrow, I am struggling to keep my priorities straight. It is difficult when the leader of the country is set upon destroying each and every value and institution I hold dear. As I see human rights being taken away, humanitarianism being tossed aside, science and intelligence being disdained, nature being destroyed in the name of predatory greed, I wonder if Man is worth saving, or if it would be a mercy if nuclear holocaust wiped us all from the face of the globe. Dark thoughts plague my mind when I am idle, so I strive to stay busy to keep myself afloat. My dreams are troubled and disturbing. Lack of rest makes it harder to cope. My most effective route of escape is into Nature, but I am presently caged by bad weather. I need light. I need lichens. I need to hike until my bones and muscles are so weary that the weight of my body dropping to the mattress at the end of day takes my mind with it into the oblivion of exhausted sleep.

Priorities: make bread, clean the kitty box, pay bills. Taking one day at a time is liking climbing a world-class mountain: put one foot in front of the other, breathe, bring the back foot forward, breathe. Kick in a step, test it. Bed down and wait out the storm. Stay out of crevasses. Keep going. Be sure your belay is secure. Belay? Dammit, I don't even have a rope!

It occurs to me that at my age, I will not live long enough to see undone the damage one man has done to the United States of America both internally and in the eyes of the world. That is not a thought which encourages one to get out of bed in the morning nor to put on the face of the cheerful scientist who brings you these daily posts. Yet Year 8 opens tomorrow, and if I can just get over that next roll, maybe I'll be able to see the summit.

Baking Day

Day 64: Is there a more homey fragrance than that of baked goods hot from the oven? The aromas of buttery spritz cookies and nutty "birdseed bread" fill my house on this cold December day. I got a little ahead of myself with this project. I don't usually start baking until St. Nicholas' Day, but the chill in the weather wanted something to cut through its bite, if only psychologically.

To my way of thinking, baking is a spiritually uplifting occupation. It is impossible to be downhearted when creating cookies, or dismal when handling bread dough. The golden warmth of crust and crumb brighten the kitchen and the soul. When the garden lacks gaily colored flowers, let the sideboard bloom with plates of spritz dipped in crystal sugar, festive and bright, and don't let Jack Frost put a damper on your cheer!