Greetings, dear readers.
I have been baking, so – yes – I accept any and all groans at the pun. Being my father’s daughter, it was hard to resist; Dad loved puns. He also loved to bake.
Saturdays are busy days around here – pets, house, laundry – it all jumps into the jumble. When the timing is good, I bake bread, too. At day’s end, if I’ve done it right, the pets will be content and asleep and there will be loaves of sourdough rising in a warm spot in the kitchen.
This is one of the projects I have taken on while working safe at home. The bit of risen whole wheat dough left behind in a bowl one day became a second project from one recipe. I scraped it together, added a little more flour and water, and let it go. It kept going.
It’s not the world’s most vigorous starter, but it does rise, slow and steady, an alchemy that takes timed doses of water and flour and turns them into warm brown fragrant breads.
It is sweet to bake loaves in the evening and wake in the morning with the scent of fresh bread still lingering in the kitchen. Because my father taught me to bake, it’s as if he visited overnight.
Readers, here’s hoping your kitchens are warm and fragrant and that you are safe and well. All of your comments and questions are welcome – I read them all and I am grateful you are here.