{"id":1802,"date":"2004-11-08T19:14:00","date_gmt":"2004-11-08T19:14:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/elitemporaryblog.wordpress.com\/2004\/11\/08\/on-self-sufficiency-and-sourdough"},"modified":"2015-09-24T03:54:36","modified_gmt":"2015-09-24T03:54:36","slug":"on-self-sufficiency-and-sourdough","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/orangette.net\/2004\/11\/on-self-sufficiency-and-sourdough\/","title":{"rendered":"On self-sufficiency and sourdough"},"content":{"rendered":"
Forget the Ann Demeulemeester sex bag<\/a> and all that snooty France stuff; give me a bull-scrotum bag and the open prairie, land of my birth<\/strong>. Forget the joys of a shower with excellent water pressure; all I need is the Red River<\/a> and some pumice. Cast off the lacy lingerie and other things requiring delicate hand-washing; give me leather, rags, and a splintery washboard. And down with Mr. Pete, my trusty four-wheeled steed; I want Cinnabar, that wild-maned, dead-legged beast we fought over at summer camp.<\/p>\n Dear reader, I\u2019m trying my hand at being a self-sufficient pioneer woman, able to sustain herself, sweaty man, and grubby kids<\/strong> on nothing more than flour, salt, and water. How convenient that some flours are fortified with vitamin C; that way, we won\u2019t get scurvy. Modern pioneer life is something indeed.<\/p>\n This tale begins October 29, 2004 with Margot\u2019s sourdough starter<\/a>, which for weeks I\u2019d been lovingly stirring, feeding, sniffing, and stroking. Being of the \u201canything with wheat must be tastier and is of course infinitely more nutritious\u201d school, I chose as my first project a simple whole wheat bread from Sourdough Jack\u2019s Cookery<\/em><\/a>. For brevity\u2019s sake, I summarize: all went well until I moved the three loaves from their nice warm rising spot into the oven, whereupon they collapsed and withered<\/strong>. I’d asked my sourdough to work harder than it was prepared to. The resulting loaves, while a lovely shade of gold, were rather diminutive, measuring between two and three inches tall. This disappointing fact, however, did not stop me from consuming a third of one loaf immediately. The rest was quite passable when toasted, especially when lacquered with a bit of this summer\u2019s strawberry jam. I made do. After years on the frontier, I\u2019m used to disappointment.<\/p>\n Undaunted by the previous weekend\u2019s mediocre showing, I set out on November 6 with Jack Lang\u2019s excellent tutorial<\/a> on sourdough. Starter is nothing short of magic<\/strong>: it bubbles and fizzes, weaving elastic strands of gluten that look not unlike Halloween\u2019s leftover decorative cobwebs. I was uncertain of how much flour to add during the final shaping stages, and the dough was sticky and stretchy and belligerent. But my banneton<\/em> (a fortuitous purchase at BHV<\/a>) coddled it gently through the night, and aside from a bit of sticking upon transfer from \u201cpeel\u201d (a.k.a. cookie sheet) to \u201cbaking stone\u201d (a.k.a. aluminum half-sheet), the process went reasonably well.<\/p>\n Being an exacting sort of pioneer woman, I was of course expecting Poil\u00e2ne <\/a>quality on the first try. Opening the oven, however, I was met with a fairly flat, amoeba-shaped loaf. I dismissively chucked it onto a cooling rack and slunk off to the river for a good cleansing. But, dear, patient reader, when it was thoroughly cooled, I cut off a good chunk and found it shot through with beautiful little air holes and pockets, off-white, giving off a slight sheen under the light<\/strong>.<\/p>\n The crust was thin but crispy, the crumb delicate, chewy, and almost sweet. It might not be perfect, but it will make a quite satisfactory lunchtime vehicle for a swipe of peanut butter. It takes little to please a pioneer woman.<\/p>\n This tale of self-sufficiency has only just begun. The starter lives on, and plans are in the works for another go with Mr. Lang\u2019s method next weekend. Perhaps the holidays will bring Nancy Silverton\u2019s Breads from the La Brea Bakery<\/em>. That, and a KitchenAid mixer with a dough hook. I\u2019m desperate for a dough hook; it\u2019s so rough-and-tumble, so pointy and untamed.<\/strong> This guy<\/a> is much funnier than I am, and he\u2019s got pretty bread; I attribute it to the dough hook and gobs of large Tupperware<\/a>. All that stands between me and a KitchenAid mixer is my mother, who keeps hers\u2014a second-hand find of my father\u2019s that she\u2019s never<\/em> used; oh, the waste!\u2014on the pantry floor, surrounded by mouse traps, old dog bowls, and rolls of paper towels. Look out, Oklahoma: come Thanksgiving, your mixer is mine. If it’s from Oklahoma, it must be authentically pioneer-esque, like me.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Forget the Ann Demeulemeester sex bag and all that snooty France stuff; give me a bull-scrotum bag and the open prairie, land of my birth. Forget the joys of a shower with excellent water pressure; all I need is the Red River and some pumice. Cast off the lacy lingerie and other things requiring delicate hand-washing; give me leather, rags, and a splintery washboard. And down with Mr. Pete, my trusty four-wheeled steed; I want Cinnabar, that wild-maned, dead-legged beast we fought over at summer camp. Dear reader, I\u2019m trying my hand at being a self-sufficient pioneer woman, able to sustain herself, sweaty man, and grubby kids on nothing more than flour, salt, and water. How convenient that some flours…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[1],"tags":[],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\n<\/p>\n