I go nuts with sweet and sour.

The sourdough experiment continued, through Ash Wednesday and Valentine's Day. It felt a little hectic and chaotic (and nostalgic) to make cookies, pancakes, and bread, and eat candy, all in one week's time. The chaotic part came from me being the only cleaner-upper of the kitchen. I always cook as though I have at least two of those following behind.

On Monday I put another sourdough sponge to ferment. This time I used the one made with pineapple juice, that took so long to get going. I had added a little buttermilk after a week or so and that seemed to give it a boost. At this point I added some flour and water and instant mashed potato flakes.



The next day was Shrove Tuesday or Pancake Tuesday, and for the first time ever I intentionally made pancakes for the day. I have never been in a church other than the Orthodox Church that had a liturgical calendar, and we don't have Ash Wednesday. But Mr. Glad is Anglican now and I did it for the sake of that church's tradition, even though there isn't any need to use up all the eggs and butter in this era when Anglicans normally go on eating as they did before. All the while, the sponge sat nearby and got more sour and yeasty with those wild and local yeasts.

Wednesday morning I went to my first Ash Wednesday service with my husband. I didn't take the ashes on my forehead, because I am not starting Lent yet, and when that time comes it will last just long enough.

In the evening I put together shortbread dough so that on Valentine's Day I could cut out heart sweets for my honey. I used the Hearst Castle Shortbread recipe from 101 Cookbooks. Have you seen Hearst Castle? I went there and other places with my 8th Grade class on our Spring outing and don't remember a thing.

All day I had thought about whether any minute I should finish up the bread dough and put it into pans to rise...I planned to make this batch without adding any commercial yeast, the way I used to do at the beginning of my sourdough career. In those days it was the usual thing for the dough to proof in the pans for several hours before it had risen enough to put into the oven. A couple of times I'd let it go all night.

As it happened, it just didn't happen until the evening, that I could manage to get to it, and add the rest of the ingredients, i.e. some olive oil and mostly white flour. I forgot to add any sweetening, and I wrote down to put in 1 tablespoon of salt. But did I do it?

I shaped loaves and put them into three medium loaf pans on the counter. It was late by then, so I didn't linger in the kitchen, but even in those few minutes before heading upstairs I saw that the dough was rising. Uh-oh. I was so tired, the clever idea of letting them rise in the refrigerator or in the cold garage never occurred to me. I went upstairs to crash.

Next morning....as soon as I woke up I ran down in my nightgown to find this:

So there was nothing for it but to do this:

And get those loaves into the oven as fast as possible. The little loaf was made of the trimmed-off pieces of dough.

We were expecting our out-of-town friend Crafty for lunch, but I had plenty of time to make the cookies I'd planned, or so I thought. But the slabs of buttery dough were too firm to roll out right away, so while they softened up on the counter I searched upstairs and down and all over for the pink and red baking decorations I had recently bought. Nope. Not to be found.

Finally I cut out hearts, and sprinkled on the remainder of a bottle of pink crystals left from some long-ago Valentine project. The cookies took much longer to bake than the recipe said, perhaps because my cookies were larger and my cookie sheet was insulated. All through lunch with our good friend I jumped up and down from the table to check the cookies and slide a few more on to the racks.

Meanwhile, the bread baked 50 minutes, cooled a little, and was soon tasted. The tops were rough and ugly where I had peeled off the plastic wrap, but the crust was just the right crunchiness and the crumb was lovely -- chewy and moist. My first thought, though, was that I hadn't added enough salt to the dough. After eating several slices I've concluded that I completely forgot to put in any salt at all. No wonder the dough rose so fast!





Crafty and Mr. Glad said they didn't notice anything wrong with the sandwiches I made with the bread -- they thought it was good. I'm eager to try doing pretty much the same method on a day when I have my wits about me. What to do with the Super Bland Sourdough? It's perfect with Super Tangy and Salty Marmite spread on it.





Crafty brought some Crockpot Peanut Clusters that she and her daughters had made. They call for dry-roasted peanuts and the saltiness with the chocolate was addictive. The shortbread was heavenly. We ate plenty of both, no doubt out of salt-deprivation. The fact is, the flavor of sourdough does not come through without a little salt and maybe even a little sugar in the mix.

I didn't think of taking the cookies' photograph until I had put most of them into the freezer to have handy when Mr. Glad wants just one cookie, so I took out the container again so you can see them all piled up in it.

Am I not the maddest sourdough scientist you ever heard of? I should be embarrassed to tell this story, but instead it makes me laugh. I am strangely unflappable -- I even considered starting another sponge today, but I got a grip on myself and even cleaned the kitchen before writing my tale.

Accustomed to Tepidity

In the West, Lent begins this week with Ash Wednesday. In the Orthodox Church, we don't begin until March 17 this year! Pascha is May 5th, more than a month after Western Easter. It seems to me this would make it convenient for you who celebrate The Resurrection of Christ the last day of March to visit an Orthodox church near you on May 5th to experience the Feast of Feasts in its glory, in a way you won't find elsewhere. But I'll remind you when we get closer to that date.

For now, I want to re-post from almost three years ago a long quote that seems appropriate for Lent, or for any day or hour when needed. 

 From Father Moses of the Holy Mount of Athos:

An offspring of [the sin of] pride is censure, which is unfortunately also a habit of many Christians, who tend to concern themselves more with others than themselves. This is a phenomenon of our time and of a society that pushes people into a continuous observation of others, and not of the self. 

Modern man’s myriad occupations and activities do not want him to ever remain alone to study, to contemplate, to pray, to attain self-awareness, self critique, self-control and to be reminded of death. The so-called Mass Media are incessantly preoccupied with scandal-seeking, persistently and at length, with human passions, with sins, with others’ misdemeanors. These kinds of things provoke, impress, and, even if they do not scandalize, they nevertheless burden the soul and the mind with filth and ugliness and they actually reassure us, by making us believe that “we are better” than those advertised.

Thus, a person becomes accustomed to the mediocrity, the tepidity and the transience of superficial day-to-day life, never comparing himself to saints and heroes. This is how censure prevails in our time – by giving man the impression that he is justly imposing a kind of cleansing, by mud-slinging at others, albeit contaminating himself by generating malice, hatred, hostility, resentfulness, envy and frigidity. Saint Maximos the Confessor in fact states that the one who constantly scrutinizes others’ sins, or judges his brothers based on suspicion only, has not even begun to repent, nor has he begun any research into discovering his own sins.

Thanks to the rector of our parish for posting this passage in the church bulletin.

Homebodiness was the reason...

Pineapple Juice Starter Start

...Homebodiness was the reason I spent so much time stirring and sniffing my sourdough over the last weeks, instead of making dolls. I keep telling everyone that I want to make dolls, but I end up doing a little of this and a little of that.

In this case I was researching sourdough and baking. I could have made several dolls during the time it took me to do all this baking-related stuff, including a huge Pizza Project as it became known in my mind. We had invited friend Tim the Sailor for lunch, and I said brightly and optimistically to my husband, "I could make pizza!"

But that's a side story. It's the fact of me being a Homebody that got me into the baking, because I lack a dollmaker's needle at the least, to begin on my dolls, which I have been reading up about, by the way. Reading about projects is also easy to do at home. But I can't seem to kick myself out the door to drive five minutes to the craft store for the needle.

Two Starters in Three Containers

And for old time's sake I did want to make some sourdough bread. For a few years at least -- maybe even a dozen? -- my kitchen would churn out several loaves a month of the most sour bread you can imagine. The children liked it that way, as dense as pumpernickel but light colored and tasting almost vinegary if you were not in the right mood. I was always trying to get the crumb of a sourdough French such as our San Francisco Bay Area is famous for, but then I would lose the intense flavor.

Later we lost all the biggest bread-eaters, and then I let the starter die. It had never been my own baby -- the starter always had its beginning in someone else's kitchen. In about 1975 I had been given my first batch by a church friend, and I used it for a few years until it was neglected (notice the passive and guilt-free voice) into oblivion. My neighbor Linda gave me my next sourdough, and I began using that in earnest.

We'd eat sourdough pancakes for breakfast, sourdough biscuits for dinner, and slices of the tangy bread in the car on extended trips into town. One time a couple of slices were forgotten in the glove compartment for several weeks and when discovered they were not even dried out or moldy.

Sourdough Sponge

I gave a jar of my starter to my neighbor Sarah, and when mine was forgotten for a time and died she gave me some back. But when I moved over the mountains to my present town my starter changed its personality and never was much fun again. I hadn't really missed it until last month, when Jody's fiddling with sourdough inspired me. I put together the recipes for two different versions on the same day, just to have a better chance of ending up with at least one active starter after a few days.

The Ancient and Convoluted Instructions

The one I was most confident in is called Manuel's Rye Sour, a recipe I had seen decades ago in my Laurel's Kitchen Bread Book. I happened to have more of that pumpernickel rye flour around so it was a natural to use it. The second recipe I found online uses some pineapple juice along with the flour and water. That one is only now after about 10 days starting to have a good sour smell, so I'm glad I didn't have to twiddle my thumbs waiting for it.

Sourdough Sponge after several hours

Manuel's starter was usable after about five days. I used it as I had my old starters: to get the strong flavor I'd add six or eight cups of flour and some water to a cup or two of the starter and let that sponge sit on the kitchen counter for 24 -72 hours until the whole big bowl was busy growing the desired yeasts.

It didn't take long for Manuel's Sour to get to working. The sponge rose with the activity of the sour bugs, and then fell again, but it kept developing flavor for another day until I could get to it. This whole description is beyond anyone's ability and probably desire to duplicate, so I won't give you a recipe, but I will say that to this sponge I added a small amount of yeast, sugar, salt and oil, and enough flour to make a smooth dough.

Many years ago after a couple of friends asked me about my method of making sourdough bread, I wrote a long description of the process that is so complicated and variable, "sometimes this" and "sometimes that," I can hardly plough through it today. But I referred to it when baking this time. 

After kneading my dough I didn't let it rise in the bowl again. I just formed the loaves, which weighed just over a pound each, and set them to rise. In the distant past the proofing would often take all day, whether or not I added commercial yeast to assist the wild. This time, Mr. Glad and I took a 40-minute walk around the neighborhood, and when we got back they were ready to put in the oven.

My pizza stone was still around from the pizza lunch, so I baked some rounds on it, and the remainder of dough in a loaf pan. I used parchment paper to slide them on to the stone. They took an hour at 375°F to bake. I was pleased enough with the bread....It wasn't as sour as I might have liked, and the addition of rye flour made it less chewy than my ideal -- I had intended to add some gluten flour for chewiness but forgot.

So now I've begun my series of experiments, as I'll think of these cooking adventures. I managed to give away the prettiest round loaf today, and if I can find enough gluten-tolerant people around to give bread to I'll be happy. Tomorrow, tomorrow -- "I love you, Tomorrow!" -- it's off to the craft store for a needle. Then next time my Homebody Self can sit stitching at my doll while the bread bakes and the house fills with its good and toasty smells.

Blessed Feast of Christ the Light

The Presentation of Christ in the Temple

Mine eyes have seen Thy Salvation!

Fennel and Curd

Monday when I was on the cooking roll it was partly to use up some produce I'd bought when I shopped unwisely. It's always unwise to make purchases when sleep-deprived, and I've had lots of experience with making tired and muddle-headed decisions.

Fennel: In this case I'd been shopping at Trader Joe's and I was trying to make it the only stop, even though I needed some vegetables and don't usually buy much produce at that store. The fennel bulbs seemed to be a good price, so I picked up a package of two medium-sized bulbs (20 oz.) for $1.99.

The wisdom I lacked was from being too tired to know that I was too tired to cook. I didn't have a plan for using fennel, so I got along for a couple more days by raiding the freezer. But I didn't want the vegetables to go bad so eventually I read recipes online and opted to make a simple soup.

I started by chopping and sauteeing the vegetable. Already I can't remember if I used olive oil or butter, but some people liked to use a combination. I was looking for a caramelized or roasted effect, and I didn't want to heat up the oven for such a small amount, so I used a cast-iron skillet. I sprinkled on salt and pepper and cooked the fennel slowly. Some of the pieces were too large to actually caramelize, but there was enough sweet roasty flavor coming from the licorice-flavored bulbs to make for a great taste in the resulting soup.

After all the fennel was at least tender, and some was very brown and some was even black, I blended it with water (I meant to use some chicken broth but forgot), then tasted and tested as I added small amounts of cream, sugar and lemon juice, more salt and pepper. I chopped up some of the unused ferny green top to sprinkle on top before serving....and Mr. Glad declared it fantastic. I didn't take a picture of it, but it was brown and full of browner flecks. We ate the whole panful.

Curd: The big bag of lemons I bought even earlier would have lasted weeks more in the cold garage, but lemon curd was easy to put together, and it makes a prettier picture than brown soup, too.


Lemon Curd

1/2 cup butter
grated peel of 1 large lemon
1/2 cup lemon juice
1 1/2 cups sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt if using unsalted butter
3 whole eggs
3 egg yolks

Beat the eggs and yolks together slightly. Melt the butter in the top of a double boiler and stir in all of the other ingredients. 

Cook over boiling water, beating constantly with a wire whisk, until thick and smooth, about 20 minutes. Store the refrigerator up to 6 weeks.

Lemon curd makes a nice gift if you put it in a little canning jar with a flowered lid. Too bad for my friends, I just happened to have a pint jar that conveniently held my whole batch. But if you come by for tea really soon we can makes some toast together and slather it on.

Cozy and Baking

I got on a roll today in the kitchen, and made a huge happy mess. I really don't mind cleaning up a kitchen - I especially like it when someone is cooking and I can just do the dishwashing for them. If I could be two people, I could cook up a storm as one GJ, and the other of me would gladly wash and dry and wipe counters. Doing all the jobs is complicated. I won't get to bed early tonight!


And I won't have time to tell you about everything I cooked. Just the bread, for which I give credit to Jody. I read her blog post about sourdough baking, and it stirred again in me the urge to bake some chewy loaf and fill the house with that amazing aroma.



I glanced at the clock and saw that I had just enough time to start and complete a bread project before bedtime, so I jumped up and opened the freezer, scooped some yeast into a bowl and started pulling out of my memory the beginnings of a batch that would make two loaves.

 

Eventually I ended up with a potato-rye sponge, and after it rose a few minutes I added enough wheat flour and other goodies to make a stretchy dough that rose further in front of the wood stove. I was using Giusto's Pumpernickel Rye flour.

A couple of years ago Soldier son gave me a pizza stone and I remembered just in time to get it out of the cupboard and use it to give the loaves an even chewier crust. They turned out so big, I think three round loaves might have been even nicer.

Because of the kitchen mess I ran out of time to post the photos of everything I made, and I'm not even getting all the cleanup done. But I did take time to slice off the heel of one loaf and try it out. Success!

Tomorrow I'll have to revisit the world of sourdough, too.

Bodega and Stories of Horror

Portuguese Beach - Sonoma County

This week we tripped over to the coast with Mr. and Mrs. C. A walk along the shore north of the town of Bodega Bay was first on the leisurely agenda. Schoolhouse Beach was closed, so we drove a little farther north to Portuguese Beach. It's steep where the waves break on the sand, and signs warn you not to turn your back to the surf or to go on the down side of the slope, where an undertow can get you in its grip.

The View Landward

We strolled the length of the beach and back, admiring the view landward and seaward, and then sat on a log. Mr. and Mrs. C didn't have their frisky Yellow Lab with them, but we've seen how she loves to romp in the water at Lake Tahoe or at nearby Salmon Creek Lagoon.

As we were climbing back up the cliff to the car, we met a couple coming down with four dogs, no matter that pets are not allowed on that beach. A tall great dane, two medium dogs with long hair, a tiny dog, and their owner carrying colorful beach ball.

Drowning at Portuguese Beach in 2011

We stopped at the top for a while and watched the Dane canter around joyfully. The mid-sized dogs pushed the beach ball into the waves and along the ocean's edge -- all right at that steep part that is so dangerous. Mrs. C. commented about how many people go into the ocean to rescue their dogs; the people often drown, but if they only had known that dogs almost always manage to get back on their own....

When I was researching for this post I discovered a news story and photo depicting a case of that very thing: a dog owner having drowned when she went after her dog and got caught in the surf. That time the dog did drown also, and it was at just this time of year. These accidents, though not always involving dogs, happen so often on the Northern California coast that the multiplied effect has turned them into horror stories for me.

"Birds" children running downhill from schoolhouse

A bit inland from Bodega Bay, we came to the town of Bodega. Confusing, isn't it? Both are famous for the Alfred Hitchcock movie "The Birds" being filmed here in the early 1960's.

I saw it in my teens, and can still recall sitting on the living room floor, self-consciously and silently terrified. Ever since then, when I see crows looking down from telephone wires, I know from the experience of that movie that they have a sinister intent.

The schoolhouse today, a private residence

Hitchcock mixed up scenes from the two towns for the film, and we checked out two of the landmarks that remain in Bodega: the schoolhouse and the church, which stand very close to one another on a hill. Within the last year we Glads and the C. couple watched "The Birds" together. It wasn't as scary as I remembered, but I still don't like it. I do like the buildings in Bodega.


On our way back from the beach we first stopped at a historic watering hole in the town; the Casino's bar was built a hundred years ago by the bartender's great-uncle. His grandmother still manages the place, opening the doors and closing up every day even in her 80's.

The dining room (the sign said "Dinning Room") was most appealing to me. It was fresh and clean and empty that afternoon, tables, chairs and floor of bare weathered wood as old as the bar. A dozen or more deer and elk heads decorated the walls around. I drank an Ace Peary Hard Cider, brewed locally.

After our refreshment we walked along a muddy little track through the grass along the bank above the road, to see the church and the school.


The church is St. Teresa of Avila. Services have been held there weekly since its dedication in 1861. From the church you can look down on the little artsy town of Bodega, as in the photo below.

When we had set out from our house that morning, I decided not to bother with a camera. Then of course I regretted it many times! I was lucky to find all of these pictures on the Web.

I'm happy to say there was nothing horrific about our meandering day. That's a good thing about enjoying the present moment: one doesn't have to be subject to artists' imaginations, to old news articles, or to one's own memories of bad things. "Sufficient to the day is the evil thereof," and as there wasn't any of that sort of thing on our outing, it provided sufficient R&R for my weary soul. Thanks be to God!

Town of Bodega, California