Look at the fellow at the far right of this painting, and what he’s holding close to his belly. It’s a huge loaf of bread, sometimes called a miche. He and his friends are gathered around a restaurant table. A waiter is pouring wine, our man is cutting the bread, the meal is about to start, there is expectation, laughter, conversation, and delicious food to come!… Continue reading
Baking bread in Mildrith, the wood-fired oven, is an ongoing experiment. I know her better every time I bake, and she responds to my ministrations. Her needs are simple: put lots of heat in those sand/clay thermal walls, lots of fire and wood, and she bakes all the bread I need.… Continue reading
I have a refrigeration problem.
Last week, I had orders for more bread than my fridge could handle. My second-hand fridge that is devoted solely to bread production can hold up to 24 loaves in a squeeze. I once tried 26 and it wasn’t pretty. It’s at full capacity.
Why do I need refrigeration for Happy Monk bread?… Continue reading
It’s complicated, my relationship with Bettina.
When she’s smelling sweet, I’m in love! When she doesn’t smell right, I worry what’s wrong. Is it something I said? Something I forgot to do? Sometimes she’ll be smelling good, but she doesn’t rise, or her bubbles just don’t look right. She doesn’t use her words very well, so we have to communicate on the unspoken level.… Continue reading
A neighbour once said, “A delivery of firewood is thrice enjoyed: Once, when the wood is delivered, next, when the wood is stacked and put away, and finally, when it is burned.
To this, I would add a fourth: chopping. As required. I shall explain.
There is no natural gas on Pender Island, and few people bother with propane, except to run their stoves.… Continue reading