Adventures In ForesightThe winter weather of the weekend past has put some lasting echoes into life; one notable one is that I seem to have passed through this years moment of adjustment, and my foolish skin has finally acceded to the drop in the thermometer. It is freezing outside in a technical sense, but after the air of the days past, this feels positively balmy. The snows this morning were welcome if only because it needs to be relatively warm for it to snow like that. There were other reasons they were not, of course: I was largely unaffected by all of that, but I know well that this is only in part because I was careful, more still that I was lucky.
I whomped together a large mass of dough; I had though to make an experiment of keeping dough in cold air to streamline the evening meal a bit. With the fresh dough, I rolled up some loaves, baked them off, and then fought the cold by eating them warm, slathered with butter and the deep richness of a ripened cheese. It was not quite right: the dough would much rather have been a flat bread, proudly shouldering sauce. The next day, I pulled the rest of it from the Cambro, coaxed it back to pliant life, made it flat, gave it that thin cowl of sauce and cheese, and sent it in to bake fast in the hot air. It puffed up all over the place: a tasty terrain, but for all the world wanting to be a tangy, crispy loaf.
One thing I will give the Victorians: it's greatly more fun to toss dough when the ceilings are higher. I must remember to mind the ceiling fan.
The stove sits cleaned and drying, moonlit white.
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