Star's Fault

Sweet Sourdough ~

Sometimes I cook.  Actually, when I was younger, I was quite the cook.  Now that I am all grown up, my food choices are more limited due to my slowing metabolism and good Irish genes.  I asked my doctor for his recommendations, and he offered, so kindly ..."parsley, no sauce."  He's in his 70's, healthy and vigorous, and says he has "fond memories" of foods he used to eat, like bread....

and butter...and homemade raspberry jam [sigh].  

This is a new sourdough starter bubbling happily on my kitchen counter.  It has been growing and building for the last couple weeks, and a cup of it will be used this weekend to make yummy bread... which we'll have with lots of good butter and homemade raspberry jam.  I am feeling very rebellious. 

By now, most of you know that I am a life-long Alaskan.  I spent my early years living in a quonset hut or log cabin in the wilds of interior Alaska in a little community called Red Devil.  Red Devil is the name of the raw cinnabar, or mercury ore that was mined at that site in the 1950's.  Later, we moved to Southeast Alaska, where I lived until 1993, settling in the big city of Anchorage late that summer.

I have lived the Alaskan life, hunting, fishing, camping, hiking, living off the land, heated with wood, used an outhouse, sewed parkas, picked berries, and learned to live a simple life and make do. Hubby's family came to Alaska around 1951 as Christian missionaries, before statehood and when Alaska was considered a "foreign" territory.

I don't remember ever wanting for anything, but we lived a humble life.  It seemed we had everything we could possibly need, and yes, we had sourdough.  Bread, pancakes (oh heaven), biscuits, and waffles every Sunday. 

See the little bubbles in the jar?  This is also called a "sponge".  It smells wonderful, rich, nutty, total goodness. I've been feeling nostalgic lately, and with winter coming had developed a hankering for homemade bread.  There's just no bread better than sourdough bread. 

Would you like to bake with me?  My starter is really simple, Two cups unbleached flour and about 1 and 1/2 cup warm water - you're going for the consistency of really thick pancake batter, so add more flour or water if you need to.  You can't mess this up, so be brave!  I put mine in a big glass jar so I can see it working.  Set this out on the counter for several days to capture the wild yeasts in the air.  I cover it with a light dishtowel or cheesecloth to keep the critters out.  Don't bother it, and after about 4 days it will begin to bubble happily.  I like to keep my starter in a warmish spot in the kitchen away from direct sunlight and cold drafts.  Too hot or too cold will kill it. 

Then you're going to take out about a cup of the batter and toss it, replacing it with a cup of flour and about 1/2 cup or so warm water.  In a few more days it will bubble nicely again.  Take another cup out, toss and replenish with another cup of flour and about 1/2 cup warm water.  A few more days and its really bubbling.  Once you have this nice layer of "foam" on top, it is ready to use.  It usually takes a good week or two to make a good flavorful starter, and after a while your nose will tell you when the starter is just right for baking.  It should smell sour, but not like.... well, home brew.

I think I'll make a french bread this weekend, or perhaps a rustic cinnamon raisin bread.  I'll share my recipes and pictures of the finished product, butter, jam and all. 

Happy Wednesday!

Eileen

 

 

The Air Becomes Still Colder ~

 

Fall is my favorite time of year.

The lawn mower is put away and the snow blower is brought from storage, the geese gather and practice for their long migratory flight, robins visit the bird feeder one last time. I love the smells, the colors, there is a richness in the air that speaks to me, a reminder that summer has indeed gone and the calm of winter is near.  The rose hips are frosted silver on the vine. Sweaters, scarves, garments of warmth and rich texture are pulled from closets, old friends to keep me warm.

The colors of withering leaves, lichens and grasses, even the silvery sky, all inspire creativity. The trees have shed their leaves in great, wonderful piles on the ground.  Soon their bare branches will be etched in snow.  Daylight hours grow short. Children scamper off to school with their book bags and pbj sandwiches.  They love their teachers, and recess, and the new girl.  The garden fairies have long fluttered away.  I am constrained to spend more time at home, settled in, fire blazing, summer's soft home colors exchanged for rich warm pillows, heavier curtains, lap blankets and things of comfort that invite nesting. A sweet cocoon drawn snugly around us.

The kitties shed their summer fluff and grow thick, silken coats.  They shake their paws covered in frost, unused to the cold ground.  Soon there will be snow on the back porch and they will not rush to get outside, but will venture out, tip toe, trying not to touch the new white stuff. Fall calls me to knit, wooden needles clicking, rhythmically moving, luxurious yarn turns into socks, sweaters, scarves, slippers. Fall offers time for introspection, memories, time for baking, banana bread, pumpkin pies, turkey, tradition and family, of Grandmother and life lived at a slower pace. 

She wore an apron and baked bread and cookies, made lovely meals and cleaned up afterward.  My Grandfather would clear the table, carefully returning any unused silver back to its drawer. We ate on blue willow chine and there was a tablecloth. Her garden had bright red apples, and squash, and fat rose hips. I remember children in Halloween costumes with parents leading them through my neighborhood, flashlights sweeping through the night, and happy giggling and cries of "Trick or Treat".  The anticipation of Christmas coming.

Today, as the new snow falls softly outside this morning, I am brought back from my reverie, winter has arrived, and the Holy Season is near. 

 

Eileen