I wanted to call this blog Daily Bread but the name had gone. Hopefully to a devotee of Dan Lepard rather than any higher powers. One of the world's greatest pleasures is baking bread. It gives a warm, false aura of self-sufficiency, even in a South London flat where the nearest edible animal is probably at Vauxhall City Farm. Our sourdough starter, Beast, is the third member of the family. It needs to be fed and nurtured. Just as it feeds and nurtures us.
Sunday's loaf was our first with spelt. Coarser but lighter than the usual rye. it has produced a wonderful bouncy, open loaf with a sweet, nuttiness to balance the inherent sourness. Cut thick and covered in Marmite, it made a frugal but delicious supper. Two days on and it is approaching the watershed when it becomes slightly too stale to eat as it is, demanding a burst in the toaster before the thick layers of butter and marmite are spread on. No matter, it makes world class toast and by Thursday, it will be gone.
By the weekend, there will be a new loaf: warmer, fresher and more satisfying than any from a bakery.
No comments:
Post a Comment