I’ve been trying to make a decent sourdough bread for years. This weekend I think I finally succeeded. My wife Shamane, who’s by far the better baker, had created a starter I was certain I must have murdered. Cultures of bacteria that make bread rise with life had thrived for weeks in our refrigerator. But I nearly laid waste to the entire population with a premature dose of salt in failed attempt at flavor. Fortunately for the bugs and my marriage they survived to make frothy sponge of gassy goop that could be kneaded and shaped into two light and flaky loafs.
“A little salt won’t kill the yeast,” had said as we tasted this latest batch. “And as for flavor you’ll pull in some of the molds and spores from around the house.”
That got me thinking and suddenly I could taste the many subtle aromas of our life together. Home baked bread permeated with essence of sawdust, ground stained glass, ski wax shavings, dog hair and bike grease.
For the recipe check out my absolutely favorite “Tassajara Bread Book” by Edward Espe Brown http://www.powells.com/biblio/6-9780394741963-5
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