Weekend cookies!  I’ve been trying different cookies, bars and brownies each weekend and sending most of them with my husband to his work.  He claims it helps to get people to look forward to attending the many meetings that occur at his company.  I take some to my work too but we’re a much smaller company so we don’t have that many meetings or people.

It’s really great fun and gives me an opportunity to explore small scale baking.  I find baking these little treats to be quite fun and gratifying.  Of course, now people at hubby’s work expect him to bring treats.  They’re even making requests.  “I can’t eat chocolate.”  “Something more healthy.”  “More chocolate.”  Plus my husband announced that his favorite is shortbread.

So I decided to compromise.  I made some classic shortbread and then dipped half of them into dark chocolate.

That left the request for something healthier.  So I decided to make use of in season blueberries and make some mini-blueberry muffins.  They might have been in the oven a tiny bit too long but they taste quite yummy and have a nice crisp top.

There, now everyone can be happy..’cause blueberry muffins have fruit and fruit is healthy….right?

Still trying to catch up in the BBA Challenge, I baked two breads yesterday:  Casatiello and Challah.  I was really looking forward to the Challah.  It’s a bread I “get” – rich taste, soft texture, braids; it’s got it all!  On the other hand I had never heard of Casatiello and, true to human nature, I was a little wary.  Maybe even a little scared.  What kind of bread has cheese and meat in it?  Fruit sure.  Nuts, why not?  But meat?  I approached the endeavor cautiously but figured if Peter Reinhardt gives it a whole chapter who am I to scoff?

Compounding the complexities of making the breads I have a whole schedule of activities on Saturdays.  I like to do a nice, long walk in the morning while my husband works out with his trainer at the pool.  Then we rendezvous and go out for lunch.  That’s usually followed by either errands and/or looking around at the bookstore or the mall.  How was I going to be able to perform all the steps required after the various fermenting pauses?

Since this challenge, for me, is meant to be a learning opportunity, I decided to experiment with a combination of normal and retarded fermentation.  I prepared the sponge for the Casatiello and set it out to proof.  Then I quickly gathered the ingredients for the Challah, put them into the mixer and let it do it’s magic.  In a few minutes, a lovely ball of dough had formed.  I took it out, hand-kneaded it for a bit (just because I enjoy the feel of the dough) and set it in a bowl for it’s first fermentation.  Then it was off for my walk.

Everything ready for the Challah

It was a beautiful day here in San Diego.  Hopefully, we’re finally coming out of the “June gloom.”  It was just the right temperature and the park was filled with people and dogs and activities.  I enjoy that feeling of getting outside, moving my body and seeing other people.  Even though much of what I enjoy doing are solitary pursuits (baking, gardening, yoga, reading) I do enjoy seeing and interacting with people.  It’s part of the reason I enjoy blogging.  The feeling (if not always the reality) that I’m communicating with others and sharing my life.

Back from my walk and the Casatiello sponge was nicely bubbly. Time to make the dough.  This is when things got a little wonky.  I added the sponge and egg/milk mixture to the flour, sugar, salt mixture.  It was still pretty sticky so, as the book says, I started gradually adding flour so it would form a ball.  I thought I was doing this very gradually (although I’m always afraid of over-mixing).  Suddenly, it seemed, the dough was a tight wad that my mixer couldn’t even mix.  The dough felt really, really stiff.  I had used buttermilk for the liquid and, perhaps, there was too much milk solids and not enough liquid?  I decided to dribble in a little regular milk to try and de-solidify the mass.  It helped some and the mixer was able to mash the dough some.  It was still pretty stiff and lumpy.  (I was now concerned that I had another disaster on my hands ala The Great Bagel Disaster). Undaunted I started adding the butter.  Of course, since it was still a pretty stiff mass of dough the mixture was having a lot of trouble incorporating the butter.  More like the outer part of the dough was getting nicely buttered while the inner part remained impervious.  I decided to add a bit more milk and that seemed to help relaxing the dough enough to get the butter more-or-less in.  It still looked like the buttery dough was wrapping an inner core of non-buttery dough.  So I took it out and worked it by hand.  Doing this I was able to get it to a state resembling a uniform bread dough.  It still seemed too stiff, especially compared to the Brioche I had made the previous weekend.  I actually considered just chucking the whole thing.  Who cares about Casatiello?  Never heard of it anyway.  Grumble. Grumble. Grumble.  But, I figured, I’ve come this far I might as well see what happens.

Casatiello fixins

I had my cheese and salami all ready.  I had decided not to crisp the salami.  It was a quite hard German salami and it seemed just fine the way it was.  I was able to gradually incorporate all of it into the dough.  As I added each handful, I kept thinking, “I’m never going to get all of this into this dough.  Not gonna happen.”  But, miraculously, it all got worked in.  It was now a VERY stiff dough but I dutifully coated it with oil and set it out to double.

A dough only it's mother could love

The Challah had completed it’s first rise so I took it out, briefly and softly kneaded it to degas and returned it to its bowl.  I showered and dressed.  Did a couple of small chores and the breads were ready for the next steps.  First, I separated the Challah dough into 3 portions, shaped them into little boules and let them rest.  Meanwhile, I prepared the pan for the Casatiello.  I decided to use a 9″ springform pan, sprayed it with oil, lined it with parchment and a parchment collar and then sprayed everything again.  I shaped the Casatiello into a boule and placed it into the pan.  The Challah pieces were nicely rested by then and I shaped each piece into a a strand and braided (only later did I realize I had slightly screwed up the braiding but I decided to ignore that mistake because it still looked pretty cool).

My husband was now ready so I popped both the Casatiello and the Challah braid into the frig and we were off.  We had a very pleasant afternoon and ended up buying a Wii (and a Wii fit).  I’m promised that this is going to be fun.  We’ll see.  I was eager to get home and see how my doughs had fared in their hibernation.  To my pleasant surprise, the Challah had doubled in size and looked fantastic.  The Casatiello had also grown…perhaps not double but definitely a lot bigger.  I decided the Challah was ready for baking and pre-heated the oven, washed it with egg whites and decorated with sesame seeds.  In it went.  Since the Casatiello was rock hard (the butter, I imagine, having hardened in the refrigerator) I left it to sit out on the counter and come up to room temperature.

The Challah looked great going into the oven and even better coming out!

You can see the braiding error (toward the top of the picture) but I think it just makes it look interesting (that’s what my mother used to tell me anyway).

The Casatiello had warmed to room temperature but hadn’t really changed in size so I figured, what the heck, and popped it into the oven.  At this point my husband yells “let’s go in the hot tub!”  Now?  Now you want to go in the hot tub?  I’ve got bread in the…oh what the heck, it’s probably doomed bread at this point anyway.  “Sure!” I bellow back.  By the time we’re ready the Casatiello has been in the oven about 20 minutes.  I rotate it and set the oven automatic turn-off for another 20 minutes.  I figure it would take longer than that but by the time the oven cooled it would have plenty more baking time and, worst case, I could turn the oven back on for a bit.  I realize I was asking a lot of the poor thing but one has to embrace life’s opportunities.

Off we went.  I came back to the tweeting of the timer on the oven.  I checked the internal temperature and it was only up to about 140.  So I cranked up the oven and gave it another 15 minutes.  And then another 10.  And then another 10.  And then maybe 5 minutes more until it finally reached 190.  That thing is dense.  I placed it on a rack to cool and prepared dinner.

Now I had planned that the Casatiello would mostly be dinner and I was stickin’ with the plan.  (I had meanwhile tasted a snippet of the Challah which was excellent!  Beautiful golden color, moist open crumb and delicious delicate flavor.  Ahhh.)  I knew I wanted a berry mix so I cut up strawberries and nectarines and sprinkled with a bit of sugar.  Added some blueberries and topped with whipped cream (I keep one of those whipped cream canisters in the frig at all times in case of a whipped cream emergency).  Then, since I felt the Casatiello would be a meal in itself, I sliced some nice tomatoes, picked some lettuce from the garden, prepared little dishes with mustard and mayo and presto! Dinner.  (My husband got some extra fruit because he’s bigger.)  I tentatively cut into the Casatiello expecting the worst.  To my utter astonishment it looked (and smelled) heavenly!  The bread was a little dense but, regardless, it tasted fantastic.  The wonderful combination of cheese (I used a combination of mozzarella and Monterey Jack because that’s what I had in the house) and the German salami wrapped in the rich bread.  It was a total taste explosion in my mouth.  Way beyond what I was expecting so I was very pleasantly surprised.

I served up our little meal and my husband warily poked at the bread and held up the little dishes.  “What’s this?”  Mustard.  “What’s this?” Mayo.  I explained that the bread contained meat and cheese and I thought it would be nice to just condiment it and add some tomato.  He looked dubious right up to the moment that he got a bite into his mouth.  The look of sheer pleasure was well worth the effort.  “I love this honey!  It’s just like a Lunchable only all together.”  High praise.  High praise indeed.

Coda:  My husband has requested that we have some more of “that” bread with scrambled eggs tonight.  The man is a genius.

Yes, you read that title right.  I am tasked with rubbing special (antimicrobial) lotion into Gyro’s paws.  And, to add insult to injury, not for the first time.

Gyro, our beloved but aged Pembroke Welsh Corgi, requires excessive ministration again.  He’s always been an itchy dog (allergies) but last year he itched (or more properly scratched) himself into a severe illness.  Multiple very bad infections of his skin, papilloma wart on his foot requiring multiple surgeries, chewing his paws into little bloody hamburgers, demodex mites, eye infection…he was a mess.  For a while, he was so ill we didn’t think he was going to make it.  He was on 8 different medications twice a day (including a potentially poisonous one for the mites), I was medicating his paws twice a day and giving him 3 baths a week.  For months.  Not to mention the cost.  Let’s just say he’s approaching the “Most Expensive Dog…Ever” category.

And he recovered!  It was miraculous.  Much of his illness had been exacerbated by being on Prednisone for many years (to control the itchiness).  Prednisone works by suppressing one’s immune system.  This was a very bad thing once he got those infections.  They just overran his system.  So no more Prednisone.  One very itchy dog.  But he (and we) have been living with the itchiness.  Giving him Benadryl and baths.  And, although the illness took a lot out of him, he’s been pretty much fine.  Old.  But okay.

Recently he was scratching much more than usual.    He could barely take 3 steps without having to stop and scratch something.  I took him to the vet a couple of weeks ago and, sure enough, he had a bacterial and yeast infection.  Back on meds he went.  After the full course of meds he seemed even itchier than usual.

Rather than going back to our regular vet, I took him to the doggie dermatologist (yes, there is such a thing) that he had seen last year and who had pulled him through.  You know you’ve had way too many vet bills when everyone at the Animal Specialty Hospital greets you and your dog by name.  The technicians cooed over Gyro.  He is pretty great.  And he eats up the attention with a spoon.

After some skin scrapings (always fun), poking and prodding it was decided that he, indeed, had a bacterial and yeast infection.  The dermatologist took a sample and is culturing his bacteria as she thinks it may be an antibiotic-resistant staph strain.  That’s our Gyro.  A real over-achiever.  She suggested a super-bath at the the hospital so Gyro had a spa afternoon and I went back to work.  I picked him and all his new meds up in the evening.  After recovering from seeing the grand total for the little visit (no paramedics had to be called but it was a close call) we returned home.

So, now he’s on 2 meds (more to come once we figure what the bacteria is) plus a body spray (to help with itchiness and reducing yeast growth – I just told him it would make him pretty and he was into it), and, yes, lotion for his feet.  I rub his little paws twice a day with a very nice feeling lotion.  Talk about a dog’s life.  I should be so lucky.

The bagels and I decided to have a re-match. The bagels were confident but I fought through to triumph.  Or, at least, a draw.  After the Great Bagel Disaster I felt it was important to get back on the horse right away.  Even though my plan was to make the Brioche for the BBA Challenge I figured I could fit in some bagel making as well since there’s so much wait time involved.

I had a plan of attack:  I believed in our first bout the bagels had thrown me with high-gluten flour and insufficient hydration.  I was ready this time.  I decided not to use any high-gluten flour (that’ll teach it) and to make sure that my sponge was nice and batter-like as described in the The Bread Baker’s Apprentice recipe.

I made an interesting discovery in the process of making the sponge.  Last time I had weighted the flour but used the volume measurement for the water.  Since water weight is the gold standard for volume measurement (i.e., 1 cup of water is supposed to weight 8 ounces hence the ideas of 8 ounces to a cup) I figured using cup measure would be easiest.  The recipe called for 2 1/2 cups of water or 20 ounces.  Last time when I added the water to the flour (a mixture of 1/2 high-gluten and 1/2 bread flours) it just kind of clumped up.  Literally clumps of flour balls in a sort of molten mass.  So this time I decided I’d try weighing the water to ensure accurate results.  That was an eye-opener!  I measured out 2 1/2 cups by volume and then set the bowl with the flour and yeast on the scale, hit the tare button to zero the scale and started pouring.  Turned out my 2 1/2 cups by volume was only 13-14 ounces by weight!  No wonder I didn’t have enough water.  Sure enough the flour and water were clumpy but this time I didn’t take it lying down.  I drew on my resources and, yes, got some more water.  I brought the water weight up to 20 ounces (by weight) and now the sponge became nice and fluid.  Thick but runny.  Dare I say it?  It was like pancake batter – just as described in the recipe.

I left it to it’s bubbling for the requisite 2 hours while I went on to Brioche preparation.  After the 2 hours the sponge looked quite active.  The volume had increased a lot and it was very bubbly.  When I tapped it on the counter (as specified in the recipe) it quite nicely collapsed in the center.  I figured I had it on the ropes now.

Now came the decisive moment.  Would it mix up into a stiff but satiny dough?  Was I just being lured in by it’s innocent appearance?  Would it ensnare me in it’s wiley ways again?  I added the additional yeast, salt, malt and flour.  Using the dough hook on my mixer I began the battle…er, mixing.  And then it happened!  It came together into a lovely dough ball.  Kind of shaggy but definitely dough like.

After a few minutes with the dough hook, I turned it out onto the board and kneaded it by hand for 5 minutes or so until it was smooth and pliable.  It was still kind of spongy but nothing like the previous session.  It had a much more doughy (as opposed to rubbery) texture.  I quickly divvied it up into 4 1/2 ounce’ish pieces (I actually weighed them this time so the pieces would be more consistently sized) and let them rest.  I contemplated that giving them time to rest might allow them to concoct some sneaky counterattack but I took my changes.

They were actually quite a pleasure to work with.  The dough’s texture was excellent and they formed nice little balls easily.  After letting them rest (nicely covered with a damp cloth – no bedtime story though) they were ready for shaping.  This too proved MUCH easier this time.  Instead of the tough, rubbery resistance I met last time, these little guys were easily manipulated by poking a hold through the slightly-resistant middle and stretching to form the bagel shapes.  Once they were all formed, they had to rest again.  These guys get tuckered out pretty easily.

After their little nap it was time to see if they were ready for the long, overnight retarded fermentation.  They looked pretty bouncy to me.  I prepared a bowl of room temperature water, dropped the test bagel (or, as we have come to think of it, the sacrificial bagel) into the water and it happily remained floating on the surface of the water.  Not even a dip toward the bottom of the bowl.  I removed it, blotted it and returned it to it’s brethren on the baking sheet.  (You know, as I describe this, it sounds more and more like taking care of a bunch of colicky infants.)  Into the frig they went for their overnight adventure.

Next morning, having a successful Brioche under my belt (more on this in another post), it was time for the boiling.  Bagels are a LOT of steps!  They looked pretty good coming out of the hibernation chamber (refrigerator) although I thought they could be a little more risen.  But, following directions, I prepared the boiling water with baking soda.  Keeping my handy timer next to me, I boiled them 3 at a time.  I thought I heard some choruses of shrieking and moaning on the trays behind me but I ignored it.  I gave them one minute per side and returned them to the now oiled and semolina floured parchment paper.  Added some sesame seed and a bit of kosher salt.  Once they were all prepped and the oven pre-heated to a blazing 500 degrees, I popped them into the oven with cautious optimism.  This could actually work!  They were looking pretty good.

I rotated the trays after 5 minutes and got a look at them.  I believe I said, “Hmmmm.”  They were not exactly picture perfect looking bagels.  No appreciable additional rise had occured (although I didn’t really expect any after killing the yeast with the boilling but it’s hard to let go of optimistic expectations).  And the time it took to rotate them really dropped the temperature in the oven which probably wasn’t a good thing either.

I gave them another 5 minutes and checked their temperature.  See?  Just like infants.  According to the thermometer they were done but they didn’t look very brown or golden or, well, done.  But the bottoms were definitely browned so out they came and onto rackes to cool.  They looked a lot more bagel’ish than the first batch.  And they didn’t collapse horribly into Elephant Man disfigurement.

As you can see, they’re not exactly poster child bagels.  I tore off a piece from one.  Again, a much better experience than last time as I could actually tear it off without resorting to scissors and gnawing.  The inner texture was pretty good.  The crumb was dense but bagels are supposed to be chewy.  The taste was really good (the sesame seeds and salt certainly didn’t hurt).  And they were definitely chewy.  For dinner I tried toasting a couple for me and my husband.  They just didn’t seem to want to brown.  I don’t know what that’s about.

I would say, overall, that they turned out fairly well.  They were definitely bagel-texture-like.  The crust could have been more crackly (or crackly at all for that matter).  But the taste was really good.  So, that’s it, I’m declaring myself the victor in the rematch.  Take that you bagels you.

I’ve been wondering about this idea for a while.  How do we define ‘cooking?’  Is it an individual thing or is there a global definition that lays our criteria that must be met?

Wikipedia defines it as follows:

Cooking is the process of preparing food by applying heat, selecting, measuring and combining of ingredients in an ordered procedure for producing safe and edible food. The process encompasses a vast range of methods, tools and combinations of ingredients to alter the flavor, appearance, texture, or digestibility of food. Factors affecting the final outcome include the variability of ingredients, ambient conditions, tools, and the skill of the individual doing the actual cooking.

This is pretty good.  Pretty comprehensive.  Of course, this would then include baking right?  I think Alton Brown’s wonderful book I’m Just Here for More Food: Food x Mixing + Heat = Baking says it right in the title.  So baking is just a form of cooking.  Raw food enthusiasts would argue that cooking is just Food x Mixing (using Mr. Brown’s formula).  I remember a routine of the comedienne Paula Poundstone where she defined cooking as any food preparation that required 3 steps or more (by this definition ‘Pop Tarts’ qualified).

For me, “cooking” means putting together a meal.  I like to think about who is going to eat the meal (even if it’s just me) and the actual food that is being used in the meal.  Where did it come from?  Did an animal give it’s life for it? (Yes, I eat meat sometimes…but I do try to honor the animals that contribute to my diet – it’s not much but it’s something).  What is the quality of the food?  It’s sensory presence.  It’s flavor.  How will it work with other things: herbs, spices and other ingredients?  For many years I mostly did what I refer to as “assembly.”

I had cooked for my family (husband and three kids) for many years.  Particularly, when I was home with my young children, I did LOTS of cooking.  I’d spend the entire day playing in the kitchen.  I would bake bread most days, make my own tofu once or twice a week, even make cheese!  I learned a lot about cooking experientally.  Trying different recipes and seeing what happened.  There was the occassional catastrophe but mostly things worked out quite well.  But my children didn’t really appreciate these elaborate preparations.  Often I was greeted with dismayed faces (if not downright horrified) expressions.  “What’s this?!!” they’d shriek shrinking back from the plate before them as though I was asking them to eat live insects.  Bear in mind, this would be in response to something like Boeuf en Croute (with from-scratch puff pastry).  “I want macaroni and cheese,” they’d pitifully cry.

My then-husband was a very hearty eater.  He’s eat pretty much anything.  He’d happily tuck into whatever was placed before him but there was no discernible difference in his response to anything placed before him other than the occassional full-mouthed, “‘S this? ‘S good.”  High praise indeed.

As my children grew a bit older my interests turned to other things.  I decided to return to school.  Eventually school became a full-time thing and then a full-time job ensued upon completion of my education.  By then I had a lovely new husband but I also still had my kids and full-time job.  I tried, for a while, to “cook” but would end up making some where between 2-4 meals per dinner because I liked to eat more healthy/vegetarian type stuff, the kids wanted no part of that and my husband wanted neither.  The advent of excellent prepared foods in supermarkets like Trader Joe’s and Whole Foods were heaven-sent for me!

Thus began the dark years of “assemblage.”  I would stock the panty and frig with all sorts of things: roasted chicken, pizza, salads, deli meats, rolls and muffins). From this store it was easy to rush home, swoop into the kitchen and have a meal on the table in minutes.  When asked if I cooked I would say, “No, I assembled.”  They were not inspired meals but they filled us up and everyone could more-or-less have what they wanted.  Even better as the children got a bit older they could just pull out what they wanted, when they wanted it and, well, leave me out of altogether.

Increasingly though as my life has quieted from that period of frantic pacing, my interest and love of cooking has resurfaced.  Kindled by stumbling across many like-spirited people on the web I have re-found that quiet place of enjoying the act of making food.  I find again the meditative, happy act of thinking about food’s essence and trying to bring that out in a meal.  What has struck me most is how much I enjoy sharing the experience.  I am fortunate that my now-husband is very appreciative of my cooking.  Not only does he enjoy it but he’s very vocal in his appreciation.  That’s REALLY nice.  It has made me realize how much sharing one’s interests and passions is essential to their enjoyment.

We recently watched the movie Into the Wild (I had read the book by Jon Krakauer many years ago).  A poignant story of a young man in search of himself and his place in the world.  His search leads him to a lonely spot in the wilds of Denali.  I won’t spoil the story but at one point he writes in his journal, “Happiness is only real when it is shared.”  It really resonated with me.  And so, I am so happy to have this venue, this blog, to share my experiences (cooking and non-cooking) with you.

Tomorrow I will post my Round #2 match-up with Bagels!  And queueing up is my experience with Brioche.  I love the BBA Challenge (thank you Nicole at Pinch My Salt…it’s so motivating!

I was so hoping that the story would have a happy ending but it was not to be.  Look at those poor misshapen things.  I did try I took them out of the frig this morning trying to maintain an optimistic attitude  I felt the bagels were trying to look good.  You know, making an effort.

I started the water boiling, dropped them in three at a time.  They floated beautifully.  Of course they did.  They were essentially gloppy sponges.  Talk about doughy.

I was undaunted.  A little baking and they’ll be fine.  Have you noticed how optimistic I was?  Looking on the bright side.  Showing no fear.  Oh yes, I’m proud of that.

I finished boiling, fishing them out and dressing them up with sesame seeds.  It should have been clear that there was no salvaging these lumps but I wasn’t giving up.  I had my rose-colored glasses firmly on.

Into a nicely pre-heated oven they went.  I shouldn’t have wasted the electricity.  When I opened the oven to rotate the pans I beheld wildly puffed up bagelesque things.  A brief surge of delight!  I had saved them after all.

I checked their temperature after 40 minutes and they were about 190 so I figured they must be done.  I pulled them out and they actually looked kind of bagelish.  But as soon as I poked a finger at them the horrible truth became clear.  They were a mess.  They had puffed up enormously but probably just a result of some weird steam thing trapped in the ridiculous over-abundance of gluten.  As they started cooling they collapsed completely into heaps of ugly, weird, chewy hunks of hot dough.  I even thought, because I can’t really stop being optimistic, “maybe they’ll taste good.”  What a dope.  I tried “breaking off” a piece to taste.  The things were so touch and glutionous it was really, really hard to tear them.  Kind of like rubber.  Yum…right?  They actually sort of tasted okay (but I think that was mostly the sesame seeds and salt).

After staring at them for an hour or so I finally had to face the horrible truth.  It was a hopeless disaaster.  I threw them away and started working on my brioche.  Okay, bagels, you’ve won this round.  But we’ll meet again my little friend.  Oh yes.  We’ll meet again.

For those who like a blow by blow:

Boiling bagels.  Maybe it should have been oil instead of water.  That would have taught them a lesson.

Masquerading as actual bagels.  I feel so betrayed.

Okay, I give up.

P.S. I decided to perservere.  I think I know what went wrong…maybe.  And I just can’t let it go.  So there’s another bagel sponge a-bubbling on the counter.  Round 2 coming up!

To see the result of the rematch check this post: Bagels Redux – Who’s Laughing Now?

Don’t be afraid. This is not a picture of an alien or an alien space craft or some weird fungus. This, to my consternation, is my bagel dough the third in the BBA Challenge instigated at Pinch My Salt (a lovely blog describing baking adventures).

It’s been a sad, sad tale of baking in the night.

I had a solid plan all in place.  I would come home, relax a bit with dear hubby and then make the sponge for the bagels.  While that brewed away, I would rustle up some dinner for the two of us, eat it and then the dough would be ready for shaping.  Some resting, dunk testing and into the frig.  A great plan.

The reality was a bit different.  Things started off fine.  Home (a bit later than expected…you know, job…very intrusive) I changed into my baking duds (sweats to some), visited with the hubby and – this is where things started going awry – thought, “Pasta!  Some nice fresh pasta.  That’s the ticket to go with the leftover London broil.”  Pasta is fast right?  Eggs, flour, mixing, run it through the pasta machine and done.

So, I amend the plan.  Make the pasta dough.  While it’s resting make the sponge.  Then roll it, slice it and boil.  Perfect.

As you may know pasta making can be an evil business.  The dough can be very resistant to just about everything.  I thought I had it down.  Nice consistency, lots of flouring between rolling.  It’ll be fine.  And, just to be sure that things would go wrong,  I decided to try Semolina flour instead of the usual AP.  It’s different.  I used the proportions specified in the wonderful book Ratio by Michael Ruhlman (more about this great book in another post).  3 parts flour, 2 parts egg.  Supposed to be golden.  But I find that you need quite a bit more flour than that.  Okay, a lot more flour than that.  After much mixing and hand kneading we (the dough and I) arrive at a reasonable consistency.  It’s soft and smooth.  I’m beginning to fray around the edges.  The pasta dough is resting.

On to the sponge.  Sounds pretty darn easy.  I carefully measure the flour (I used 1/2 high-gluten and 1/2 bread flour) and the yeast.  Measure out the water .  Carefully following the directions I whisk the flour as I pour the water in.  Almost immediately the flour seems to absorb the water as if it’s spent 3 days in the desert.  I add some more water but now the mass has kind of bound itself together.  Just a lumpy mass.  Not smooth.  Not pancake batter-like.  Not like it says in the recipe.  Okay.  I figure I’ll let it do it’s 2 hour sit to bubble and double.  Let it think about what’s it’s done.

Back to the pasta.  This next part mostly went well except that it took about twice as long as I thought it would (or should).  I found a pretty good method as I went along of using the rollers to massage and condition the dough getting it into a nice smooth slab.  I ran it through the largest size, doubled it, folded in any ragged edges and rolled again.  And again.  And maybe some more.  (TIP:  If some sneaky, sticky edge gets stuck to the roller thingies stop everything and clean the stupid thing right then.  Otherwise, it just keeps grabbing the dough.  Don’t ask how I know that.)  Anyway, the pasta gets rolled quite nicely down to a 4 or 5 on the machine (there was no way I was getting it any thinner).  I cut it and let it rest while the water boiled.

From there, dinner was about made.  Fresh pasta with butter and parmesan.  London broil.  Artos bread (it’s all coming together).  We eat and watch some tube.  Now it’s time to take the next bagel step.  That’s when I knew that the plan was not all it was cracked up to be.  The sponge had certainly bubbled and grown.  It was definitely about double.  But it was still woefully lumpy.  I mean seriously lumpy.  Like a bed with a cat under the covers.  (Don’t ask how I know that either.)  Okay.  It’ll be fine.  Once I put it into the mixer and add the malt, salt, more yeast, more flour it’ll all smooth out and be fine.

As you can see from the picture above that wasn’t quite the case.  What started out lumpy just pretty much stayed lumpy.  I was able to incorporate most of the flour with machine mixing and then turned it out on a board.  I was going to teach it a thing or two.  I kneaded and kneaded and kneaded.  It was the springiest, spongiest mass you can imagine.  Kind of like rubber cement that’s tacky only a lot bigger.  It did seem to get somewhat smoother and I had read that it was going to be quite stiff.  So I cut it into 12 pieces and let it rest.  I threw a couple of warning looks their way too.  Just to keep them in line.

After their 20 minute nap I began the bagel shaping process.  The dough was so springy (tough?) it was hard to put my fingers through to make a hole.  And they still looked seriously lumpy.  I found if I worked the little pieces like mini-boules I could then poke through and have a somewhat smooth looking exterior.

I think they probably would have floated right then.  They felt like bath toys.  But I let them rest under plastic for another 20 minutes.  They passed the float test on the first try.  They’re currently in the refrigerator for their delayed rise.

Tomorrow the boiling and baking.  What can go wrong?

Where did I put that biscuit?

Where do all our memories go? Why do we only remember some things in sharp detail, and other things just fade away? Are all the memories really thereand we just can’t get to them? Or maybe we can if we really try.

It struck me today – as it has before – that my memory of my entire life is patchy.  There are highlights that stand out in sharp detail.  Things like the births of each of my children.  The day I learned I was to be a grandmother and the day I became a grandmother.  Seeing my grandfather die.  My grandmother’s honey cake.  My mother picking me up from third grade wearing a bright orange petaled hat and a sunburn having just come back from a Caribbean cruise.

We seem to have no real volition about what we remember sharply.  In fact, I can remember saying to myself when holding my toddler son’s hand to remember this moment.  But I don’t really.  I just remember saying that to myself.

On the other hand, we seem to be able to dredge through our memories pretty easily if properly prompted.  A phrase, a smell, a quick glimpse will trigger something that we had no idea was still there.  Even as I write this some memories are popping to the fore of my mind.  As if just thinking about remembering, causes me to remember!  And, of course, there are the little things.  Where are my keys?  My passport?  My raincoat?

It’s scary in its way.  I feel I have had a rich life (so far) and I want to remember, well, everything.  Are the memories there?  Is there some way to get to them?  If you have any ideas, let’s talk about them!  Meanwhile, I’ll be searching the web.  There’s bound to be some hints there.  I’ll let you know what I find.