With family in town, I was freed up yesterday to do some serious cooking and baking while Baby Harbat was entertained by her uncle and auntie. On the bread front, I worked on a sourdough boule, which came out pretty well.
Next up were two loaves of ciabatta, then two loaves of wheat sandwich. I think I’m actually getting better at this bread thing, in speed of preparation and sense of doneness. There’s something with the color, smell, and feel of the crust that engages all the senses. Though my senses were a little dulled by the multiple glasses of red wine I was required to sample during my evening in the kitchen. Because, you see, the main course was a beef stew with bacon, mushrooms, and onions that required aforementioned wine. One jigger for the pot, one for me. Another for the pot, two for me. And so on. By the time it was done, I’d only cut my hands in two places (note to self: don’t hold knife while doing something unrelated to cutting) and dropped just enough onion on the floor to be a balance impediment. Then again, maybe that was the wine. Overall, a fantastic meal that left me exhausted at the end.
Not unlike Baby Harbat, who skipped her morning nap in lieu of top-speed arse-hauling around the house. Time and energy finally caught up with her at lunchtime:
This week I plan on making brioche. If you’re not familiar, it’s a loaf of butter with a little flour sprinkled on top. Several books have warned not to be frightened when the dough falls apart as you keep adding the butter. Ha ha! This is Uncle F$#!-Up you’re talking to! I’ll only be worried if nothing goes wrong.