A dough is prepared started with 1 + 1/2 cup warm water.
And yeast. And sugar.
Then flour unsifted to a shaggy careless mess.
Autolyse. Look it up, I'm tired of explaining.
Two eggs.
1/4 cup butter.
That changed things considerably.
lecithin
salt
more flour
Then it occurred to me I'd rather have milk than water, and the water is already in there. So powdered milk was added to compensate, and boy, does yeast ever like powdered milk. That yeast is like a million tiny kittens lapping up powdered milk. That made the machine run longer than usual.
Added flour with machine running until I was satisfied with the hydration.
I did not want it to puff up like this, but it did, it could not help it. In the oven it inflated on its own by the irrepressible internal bursts of intense love that it feels, an unnamable joy for its place in creation.
It's not so dark as that up there.
A whole bunch of pictures were left out, telescoping in and out, farther in and farther out and more in between but it's bread, just bread, nothing so fascinating as, say, an excursion to Casa Bonita.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Something serious happened and everything is different now.