Easy As Bread

January 26, 2010

I am making bread right now. Or rather, the bread is making itself while I write this blog. I mixed the ingredients about an hour ago, kneaded the dough for a bit, and set it aside to rise. It’s in a bowl on the countertop, doin’ its thing. I’m using a recipe from a book called Home Cooking: A Writer in the Kitchen, by Laurie Colwin.

The author writes, “The second best thing about this bread (the first is its taste) is that, unlike most things in life, it adjusts to you.” It’s true – you let the dough rise for as long as you need to; there is no need to watch the clock. It’s a perfect recipe for a Saturday when you’re running errands or busy doing stuff around the house. You can leave the house for a few hours while the dough rises at room temperature. It’s fine. (I usually allow 5-8 hours total rising time. I might, for instance, do a 4-hour first rise, a 3-hour second rise. It doesn’t really matter.) And it’s entirely okay to substitute ingredients you have for ones you don’t have.

Here is the recipe:

Combine:

    • 1½ cups unbleached white flour
    • 1½ cups stone-ground whole-wheat flour
    • ¾ cup coarse ground whole-wheat flour. (I use oat bran instead, because I like its flavor and texture, and because I usually have it on hand. The author also says that if you don’t have coarse ground, you can use more regular whole wheat flour.)
    • 1 heaping teaspoon salt
    • 1 tablespoon wheat germ (or corn germ)

    Mix:

    • ½ teaspoon yeast
    • “1 ½ cups liquid – half milk, half water, or more water than milk – whatever you have to hand.
    1. “Pour liquid into flour and stir it up. The dough should be neither dry nor sticky but should tend more toward the sticky than the dry. If too sticky, knead in a little more flour.”
    2. Knead dough, place in a warm bowl, cover bowl with a towel. Let it rise at room temperature.
    3. Eventually, whenever works for you, punch down the dough, knead it again, roll it into a ball, put it back in the bowl and “forget about it until convenient.”
    4. “Sometime later (with a long first rise, a short second rise is fine, but a long one is fine, too), punch the dough down, give it a final kneading, shape into a baguette, slash the top with four diagonal cuts, brush with water and let proof for a few minutes (and if you haven’t the time, it can go straight into the oven).”
    5. Okay, here’s where the author and I differ quite significantly. She suggests that you bake it at 450 for half an hour, then bring the temp down to 425 and bake 20 more minutes. When I try that, the crust comes out too thick and dark for my taste. I find that baking it at 400 for 40 minutes total is quite enough. So see what works for you.

    I’ve made this bread about eight times now, and it’s been good every time, although I think it’s gotten better as I’ve made slight adjustments to suit my taste. Even if you’ve never made bread before, don’t be afraid to try it. It’s rewarding!


    Go With What You Got

    January 20, 2010

    I wish I could write songs. Also, I wish I were an actor and a dancer and a sculptor. And maybe a gourmet chef. But I am trying to be a writer. I squeeze in some drawing, painting, cooking, and baking. I’m trying to learn how to crochet and knit. But mainly, I work at being a writer.

    Songs, though … Words combine with music, and my heart responds in ways it never would to words alone. Last Thursday I got to hear the final mixes of the 5 songs on Valhalla Hill’s forthcoming EP. It always amazes me when my own friends and family members create art that makes my heart soar. Listening to those songs, I thought, “I wish I could do this.” I found myself discouraged by the talents I lack, wishing I could trade for someone else’s talent, maybe.

    But when we got to the fourth track on the EP – the title track, “Go With What You Got” – my envy turned to inspiration. “Can’t you see it’s not about the things you don’t have now?” Of course. My responsibility is to use what I have to do what I can. (Way to inspire, Joey!) I may never be able to write a song, but I can work at writing and drawing to the best of my ability. I can push through writer’s block and distraction to create something good. And if I fail … at least I will have tried.

    After listening to all the songs a couple times, we headed home. A line from T.S. Eliot kept running through my head:

    For us there is only the trying. The rest is not our business.

    The line is from “East Coker,” one of Eliots Four Quartets. Here’s a bit more for you:

    So here I am, in the middle way, having had twenty years—

    Twenty years largely wasted, the years of l’entre deux guerres

    Trying to use words, and every attempt

    Is a wholly new start, and a different kind of failure

    Because one has only learnt to get the better of words

    For the thing one no longer has to say, or the way in which

    One is no longer disposed to say it. And so each venture

    Is a new beginning, a raid on the inarticulate

    With shabby equipment always deteriorating

    In the general mess of imprecision of feeling,

    Undisciplined squads of emotion. And what there is to conquer

    By strength and submission, has already been discovered

    Once or twice, or several times, by men whom one cannot hope

    To emulate—but there is no competition—

    There is only the fight to recover what has been lost

    And found and lost again and again: and now, under conditions

    That seem unpropitious. But perhaps neither gain nor loss.

    For us, there is only the trying. The rest is not our business.

    I’m thankful for all my friends who try. For everyone who uses their art to “raid the inarticulate,” to express what seems inexpressible. It’s not easy, I know, and I am so grateful that you do it.

    By the way, if you want to hear the songs I’m talking about, you should come to Valhalla Hill’s CD release show at the Q Café in Ballard (Seattle) on February 13th. You need to hear what Rory, Joey, Isaac, and Jeremy have been up to. It’s good stuff.


    Considering the Flowers

    January 13, 2010

    Friday night I bought a bunch of irises. I cut their stems to varying lengths and arranged them in vases. When I went to bed, their indigo buds were still closed tight. Two flowers began to open on Saturday morning, and by Sunday evening, they were all open, at the peak of their beauty.

    I wanted to remember them in that state, so I pulled out my oil pastels and drew. Flowers are fun to draw and paint, because they have organic shapes, lines, and colors that man-made objects don’t. And unlike most animals or people, they’ll sit still for a couple hours as you draw them.

    Floral paintings can come across as chintzy and sentimental, but I sympathize with any artist who wants to draw them. Because they are so vibrant and so vigorously alive, and because they last such a short time, flowers often urge me to grab my pencils, my pastels, or my paints so I can capture a bit of their beauty before it goes away.

    As I drew, I recalled this conversation from Neil Gaiman’s Coraline (which, I repeat, you really need to read):

    “I still keep pictures in my mind of my governess on some May morning, carrying my hoop and stick, and the morning sun behind her, and all the tulips bobbing in the breeze. But I have forgotten the name of my governess and of the tulips too.”

    “I don’t think tulips have names,” said Coraline. “They’re just tulips.”

    “Perhaps,” said the voice, sadly. “But I have always thought that these tulips must have had names. They were red, and orange and red, and red and orange and yellow, like embers in the nursery fire of a winter’s evening. I remember them.”

    The “voice” belongs to a child’s ghost recalling one of his few lingering memories. The tulips seem emblematic of his entire life: they are vibrant, sweet, and ephemeral. Old Testament psalmists, Dutch Renaissance painters, and modern folk musicians have all used flowers as metaphors for life’s transitory nature. I think they’re onto something. Flowers inspire me to enjoy life’s sweetness, they urge me to be creative and to celebrate beauty, because beauty, however briefly lived, is important.

    It is good to remember that life is short. But it is also good to remember that we look forward to something more than death. Flowers remind us of resurrection too. Take, for instance, this passage from 1 Corinthians. And read this poem by Louise Gluck, who, it seems, is also inspired by irises.

    Van Gogh’s irises


    One More Book for the 2009 List …

    January 7, 2010

    Well, we are one week into 2010 already, but before more time goes by, I’d like to add one more book to my “Best of 2009” list. I squeezed it in just before the New Year, so it still counts. The book is A Million Miles in a Thousand Years by Donald Miller.

    It’s the kind of book that works for me. I love Donald Miller’s minimalist style, his sense of humor, and his honesty. What I like best, though, is the book’s main idea: Life is a story, and the choices we make determine what kind of story it will be. Reading this made me wonder how many times I’ve passed up a good story because I didn’t want to feel awkward or I didn’t want to make a scene. I know I am not alone in this.

    Here is a great quote from the book:

    … [H]umans naturally seek comfort and stability. Without an inciting incident that disrupts their comfort, they won’t enter into a story. They have to get fired from their job or be forced to sign up for a marathon. A ring has to be purchased. A home has to be sold. The character has to jump into the story, into the discomfort and the fear, otherwise the story will never happen (pp. 104-105).

    The reason this is so inspiring to me is that I love stories. If you know me at all, if you’ve read this blog at all, you must have figured out by now that stories are my passion. I want to be making everyday decisions that help me not only write good stories, but also live good stories. I hope I’ll be able to look back and say that reading this book was an incited me to say yes to adventure throughout the year. If you need a little push to help you choose adventure over inaction, I recommend you read this book too.

    I’ll finish with a classic quote from G.K. Chesterton for you:

    An adventure is only an inconvenience rightly considered. An inconvenience is an adventure wrongly considered.


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