I pass this abandoned house every day on the way to work. The blackberries have grown right over the top of it, And against their tough old leaves, the hazlenut (aka filberts) catkins show up so bright and hopeful! (The swath of pale green to the left of the door is the hazlenut tree struggling against the blackberries and ivy.) This whole area used to be hazlenut orchards. The old house has a couple of plum trees, an apricot tree, a cherry tree and a lovely apple tree slowly going feral around it. It's a great destination for a leisurely walk for me, and I can feast on windfalls all summer long.
We are getting a bit of a sunrise squeezed between the clouds. And the sun is moving further north! Woohoo!
I left the bread to rise slowly overnight, but forgot to dampen the dishtowel, so it will have tough bits in it where the dough sort of dried on top. It is bench-proofing right now. Alton wants me to brush cornstarch and water across the top before I bake it. Wonder why?
I took just a tiny pinch of the dough. Pleasantly sour, but not too much. Nice yeasties! Good yeasties!
Why doesn't commercial yeast taste tart, but wild yeast does? Am I domesticating yeasts if I feed them and put them to work for me?
Must remember that tap water has chlorine and my little friends don't like it. Feed them bottled water. Keep them warm. My grandma, the camp cook, used to take her sourdough to bed with her in the winter to keep it from freezing. Did she cuddle it under her arm like a child, or tuck it down by her feet like a pet, or stick it under her pillow like a pistol? And how did her husband feel about it all? Maybe good bread is worth sharing your bed with a crock of sourdough. Wonder if ladies passed around patterns for crock cozies? Too commonplace for the ladies' magazines, but oh so useful! Like the wool "soakers" babies wore before the invention of rubber pants. Oh my, life has gotten easier!