Revisions, Coffemaker, And Bread
Finishing a massive pile of revisions is like answering a knock at the door and having an underwear gnome hand you your own brain, wrapped in SaranWrap and pulsing slightly. You stand there, staring gape-jawed at the gnome. Who turns a backflip, winks, and scurries away, vanishing into the dawn mist. You’re left holding your own brain in both hands, cold because you answered the door in your sleeping-skivvies, and then the age-old thought occurs to you:
If this is my brain, what am I thinking with?
Yeah. It’s kind of like that.
So I finished the revisions on Redemption Alley and I’m in that strange in-between phase–where I’m gearing up for another Kismet book and the deep submerging in a world not my own it will entail. But it’s a nice sunny day and somehow I know I’m not ready to go down yet. I’ve got a chicken in the crock pot and two loaves of bread dough rising in the oven–more on that in a second–and I’m really not finding that internal tickle that tells me now’s the time to get a character in some more trouble.
So I suppose I’ll work on something else–Weasel Boy, perhaps, or tinker with something solely for my own pleasure today. Part of being a responsible creative is knowing when to break a rule or two. *grin*
About the bread: I like coffeemakers. No, these ARE statements that go together, I promise.
The best way I’ve ever found to proof bread is to run water through the drip-coffeemaker half of my espresso machine while I shape the loaves. I put the loaves in the oven and put an empty pan right below them. When the coffeemaker finishes burbling I pour a goodly amount of that water into the empty pan, close up the oven, and forget it for about an hour, at which time I usually have lovely proofed loaves.
Now, this doesn’t work so well with a banneton, since the wicker/basket material tends to soak up the steam and getting the loaf out, no matter how well you’ve dusted the whole thing with flour, gets problematic. But for loaves shaped in pans, it’s AWESOME. Perfect proofing, every time.
I also did a bigger, better ciabatta that actually turned out, with shiny strands of chewy goodness inside and a nutty, caramelized crust to die for. (The problem was, I didn’t keep the dough wet enough.) I tell you, Peter Reinhart is a GENIUS. His bread books–especially Crust & Crumb–are so, so easy to understand, with the reasons for why the dough behaves the way it does clearly set out and tons of tips and tricks. My baking, she has never been so happy.
I’m currently working on mastering a buttermilk-started sourdough. I’ll have results by the end of the day.
And that’s all. Enjoy your Thursday, everyone.
