Sourdough Bagels.

I was having kind of an off baking day today. It really began yesterday, when I figured I should reduce my starters to one. Did you know that since I've been obsessed with Peter Reinhart, I have been maintaining two strains of my starter? One remains on the counter at 100% hydration, eating a daily breakfast of half it's weight of water and flour. The other became "firm" starter: a refrigerated firm-feeling refreshed dough ball that eats about every 3 days 1 c. of flour and 1/3 c. water. I was starting to feel silly having two starters, but at the same time, couldn't bear just throwing that darling little dough ball from the fridge into the garbage. What better solution that to just use it all up?

With so much success and adoration for the multigrain bread, and the excuse to share a loaf with a friend that had a layover here in Milwaukee this afternoon, I knew that 8 oz. of the firm starter could be used up in it. If I were to go on making nothing but Reinhart loaves, many of which call for starters that are either "firm" or "mild" (which really just means at different hydrations than the starter I keep on my countertop), I would perpetuate only the dough ball in the fridge. It's kind of nice to only worry about feeding once every few days... Since I had just a little bit of firm starter left, I figured I may as well whip up a batch of sourdough bagels when I was at it. A half batch took exactly the amount I had left, 4 oz.

This was my first experience with natural leaven bagels. I'd have to say, this dough was much nicer to work with than the super dry and elastic commercial yeast version I've made. While the yeasted version was very tasty, it couldn't hold a candle to the naturally leavened version, and really the workload is about the same.

There are really two ways to shape bagels. Reinhard recommends pinching a hole through the middle and gently expanding until the bagels look like bagels. I prefer the "snake" method, probably because it's just more fun to roll out snakes. This dough was sticky enough to hold together too.

Now, you may remember that I said I was having an off baking day. The multigrain bread that went through it's first fermentation when I was out of the house visiting my in-laws down the street, decided that it was going to work extra quickly. When I got back, I could tell it was close to the over-ferment mark; I chalked it up to the weather and tucked it into the fridge for the overnight rest. Then, I hoped for the best. This morning when I removed it an hour prior to baking, the dough was crested over the top of the brotform, a clear sign of over-proofing...

Oh well, I fired up the oven containing my cast iron pot and baked it off anyway. It isn't the prettiest loaf, but I think it should still be tasty. I sent it along with E., who should have it in Minneapolis by now. I'm kind of curious about it, the way I'm curious if my human child is behaving for others when I'm not around.

Towards the end of the bake time, I brought a large pot of water to a boil and boiled the bagels which also looked a bit suspicious:

Clearly, they had risen prior to their overnight proof, but they didn't seem to have the plump bellies they should have had, post proofing. After boiling them one minute per side, I had some hope that they would be okay once baked - but you can see how they were lumpy and uneven.

It was probably the best surprise ever that these were hands down the best tasting bagels I have ever eaten. And, I'm not just saying that as a proud parent. They were chewy-crusted, holey wonders, and slathered with cream cheese were the perfect early lunch. The Boy-O ate one after school with peanut butter and asked me why I made them. I said that I just felt like it and he said "well, thank you for making them, because I love them". There is all the encouragement I need to go on and make more!

Meanwhile, while obsessed with the genius of Peter Reinhart, I recall that long ago I pledged to make all of the breads in the My Bread book by Jim Lahey. I don't want to take back my vow of Lahey love, but I am considering altering the remaining loaves to use natural leaven. Wild yeasted Lahey bread may be just the push I need to go on and complete my personal challenge, while still remaining true to the ideals set down in My Bread.

When thinking back on my bread journeys, I really am glad I started off with Lahey bread. It was a perfect start for high-hydration doughs whether I knew it at the time or not. And, if even now I'm feeling a little lazy, mixing up his ratio of 300 g. water (50 g. of it starter) with 400 g. flour yields a perfect loaf every time. I certainly am indebted to him, and certainly still have all of the drive to try out the loaves I've yet to make.

As for the sourdough bagel: I am smitten. I am no New Yorker and have limited expertise on the mysterious bagel, I have no vat of lye that I dip into, I have no hard and fast ideal that I expect when I bite into a fat dough ball with a hole in it's middle (save that it should, preferably, first be cloaked in cream cheese). But in my opinion to date, this is the bagel that I will compare all bagels to from now on. The only thing that will make it better is homemade cream cheese - and as soon as I can order some mesophilic culture, the perfect bagel and companion cheese both will be mine for the eating.

Photos.

Today ends a year I spent working on a 365 photography project. I actually learned a lot in a year of daily photography. I learned that I do not like to be bound to posting pictures every single day, even if it only takes two minutes. I learned that mobile app photography on my phone is infinitely satisfying, even though the quality of the pictures isn't always the best. I learned that no matter the advances in technology, I am inherently old school: I prefer to frame up a picture rather than crop it, I prefer to get the lighting right up front than try to figure it out in post production. I learned that it's hard to say what I want in 17 syllables, but that the brevity of words makes no impact on my ability to remember the thoughts behind the picture of that day.

Photography is so deeply personal. Food photography is hard, because the gusto I feel for the food is never as well translated on "film". I really believe that anything is beautiful if viewed the right way, and of course I say this because I am no food stylist. All of my rejections from Tastespotting confirm that I feel my sense of composition is better than it is (though to be fair, they have accepted some of my favorite photos). Fortunately for me, as long as something tastes great, I don't much care if the picture is the best ever.

This weekend was long and rewarding, my work centered around food for a friend's college graduation party. I love making food for others, and this was no exception. I made a lot of different things that I'd never made before, including gluten-free cookies, and have a new batch of recipes for my arsenal. So to celebrate a year of photography, here is what I made this weekend, with lots of links. Hope you enjoy!

364/365 | graduation day.

Purple sage.

My sage didn't come back this year, so I had to borrow some from my neighbor. I'm rooting some, and will plan it next to a green variety that I picked up at the farmer's market last week. This sage was fried for a sweet potato and bean salad.

Rio Zape beans: soaked, unsoaked.


Rio Zape and Sweet Potato Salad with Fried Sage and Pine Nuts.

I haven't bought pine nuts in ages, and couldn't believe their 30$ a pound price tag, but fortunately there were just a few tablespoons topping this off. This salad was in Steve Sando and Vanessa Barrington's Heirloom Beans book. It was just another in a long list of excellent recipes I now love for life. Rio Zapes are the older brother of the humble pinto. They are just plain delicious. I have a half pound left, and I think I may try planting some.

Ina's Curried Cashew Chicken Salad.

This was really good. I actually improvised the dressing, blending a whole mango with a minced ramp, some lacto-fermented mustard, cayenne and the curry powder. One of the best things about cooking for others is that I don't eat meals and instead get to taste everything until I get the flavors right. This salad is missing it's raisins intentionally - and I have a little bit of dressing left. I think I'll crumble up some tofu, add some raisins, and have it for lunch.

Peter Reinhart's multi-grain bread, made into rolls.


Alton Brown's Gluten-Free "The Chewy" cookies.

These are the first gluten-free cookies I've made, and I loved them. They are made with brown rice flour, and have a good earthiness about them. They got a lot thinner than I suspected, but were still as chewy as their name suggests. I may try baking them from frozen next time I make them.

Crostatas: Rhubarb, Strawberry-Ginger, and Rhubarb-Strawberry-Ginger.

My kitchen got so warm that the pastry dough was unruly. These still turned out well, and this is still my favorite way to use up jam.

Quinoa with Tofu and Asparagus (sans tofu)

I pressure cooked some vegetable stock last week after reading this, and it worked out pretty well. I also roasted the asparagus instead of steaming it, since the oven was on and I used a full 2lbs of it. I also used ramps instead of garlic. Ah, Spring...

I made a double batch of gluten-free crackers, and this amazingly delicious Walnut-Lentil Pate that was left un-photographed (but check out the Bojon Gourmet and her lovely photos). There was also 5lbs of pork shoulder that I cooked down with some tomato jam, garlic, onions, and other miscellaneous spices - kind of like this - but maybe a little different. My friend served a jar of "Smokra", and I think I'm going to have to can up something similar this summer. It was amazingly good.

Rhubarb Curd.

After considering frugality yesterday, it almost seems funny to me that I woke up this morning and decided to make rhubarb curd. All curds I have made, lemon, lime or orange, seem to have an air of sophistication that scream luxury and not restraint, and rhubarb curd is no exception. It is intensely Springtime, impossibly smooth, wickedly tart, and positively addictive. I can sincerely add frugal to that list, since I used up frozen rhubarb from a year ago, and frozen egg yolks left over from a Daring Baker Challenge. Skimping even on the sugar, this actually seemed like a zero cost project (since it seems I am all about being cheap lately), and it really does taste like a million bucks.

A few days ago, I saw a pic on flickr that inspired the whole rhubarb curd thinking. It's actually not something I'd ever heard of or considered making. I am not normally in the habit of posting things just to post them, but this curd is so good that it demands seasonal attention for all of you who have been waiting all year just for rhubarb to reappear.

I get my rhubarb from my Mom's established patch. Her cuttings came from my Gram and as I've said before, I love thinking about the ancestry of those perennially spectacular plants. Our rhubarb isn't the gorgeous pink strawberry rhubarb that most recipes I see on food blogs have access to. Ours cooks down to an industrially drab green, even though if I choose to make juice with it, it does have a rosy pink glow when the stalks are strained away. Because I didn't want a drab greenish curd but rather a pretty pinkish one, I decided to add a few strawberries (also from my freezer) to naturally dye the lot into a more respectable hue. It worked, and I'll probably use this trick again when making jam or sauce. I couldn't really detect the strawberry as a flavor, which is what I was aiming for, but it probably did add a nuance of sweetness which enabled me to further slash the sugar content.

Rhubarb Puree.

A week ago, I made 12 cups of frozen rhubarb into a pectin-free refrigerator jam since I was looking ahead to make some into crostatas. It tastes really great (though it is a little on the unattractive side aesthetically speaking...) and originally I though I would alter Dorie Greenspan's lemon curd recipe to use it. Then I found this recipe from Lara Ferroni which appeared to save me the trouble. In the time it took me to defrost my frozen egg yolks in a makeshift double boiler, I had cooked down a respectably reddish rhubarb puree, and had blasted it into complete smoothness in my VitaMix. It tasted so great on it's own that I considered scrapping the whole curd idea, especially since my frozen yolks looked a little suspect.

The frozen yolks did end up come back almost fully to life, and certainly did their job of thickening. I remedied any telltale specks of cooked yolk by straining the curd through a metal sieve before putting it into jars. If you are using fresh yolks and the mixture doesn't "break", you will not need to do this I suspect.

Rhubarb curd doesn't appear to gel quite the same way as citrus curds do, but rather has an almost gelatin soft set to it. I think it would be stellar in the bars that Lara Ferroni originally posted this with, and also perhaps in this giant scone that Bojon Gourmet recently posted that I also can't seem to get out of my head... I cut the sugar quite a bit and found it plenty sweet, but you can use the original proportions if you prefer your rhubarb on the sweeter side.

Rhubarb Curd (adapted from Lara Ferroni)
makes about 12 oz. finished curd

• 400 g. chopped rhubarb (about 14 oz. or 4 c.) I used 10 strawberries, then added the rhubarb to equal 400 g.
• 1/2 c. sugar
• 6 egg yolks
  
• pinch of salt
• 1 t. or more lemon zest
• 50 g. (about 3 1/2 T.) butter, cut into pieces

Stir the rhubarb and 1/4 cup of sugar together in a medium sized pot. (Since I was using frozen rhubarb I didn't add any water, but if you are using fresh, you can use about 1/4 cup of water.) Cook over low heat until you can no longer see whole pieces, and the rhubarb looks like a uniform sauce. (Using a VitaMix enabled me to blend the puree smooth when it was still hot. You do not have to blend it smooth at all, but then the curd will not be absolutely smooth the way a citrus curd is.) Cool the rhubarb sauce, and blend to a smooth puree if you desire.

In a double boiler (or a bowl over boiling water), whisk the egg yolks, remaining sugar and salt. Whisk until well combined and warm. Add about 1 cup of the rhubarb sauce and the lemon zest. Keep stirring until the mixture is warm again. Check for taste and add more of the pureed rhubarb until you get the desired flavor and color. Remove from heat and stir in the butter a piece at a time until is melts and disappears into the curd.

If you are concerned about lumps as I was, strain the curd through a fine mesh sieve and store in glass jars. Citrus curds have a refrigerated life of a couple of months, but this recipe was listed as one week. I suspect you can get longer out of it, but I also suspect that there will be none left to contend with after a week passes.

I actually have a lot of last year's Spring food to use up. For some reason, I tend to hoard things like strawberries and rhubarb that I froze a year ago, preferring the comfort that they are within my arm's reach. This actually happens to me every year, and then all of a sudden, I'm looking for ways to use things up quickly so I can make room for the new. Hoarding strawberries, I didn't know that I still had 4 quarts to use up before the June berries will be on. June is nearly here! What am I saving them for? Though, this year, things look like they may be running late, so maybe it is a good thing that I am so judicious in my usage...

I am the sole rhubarb eater in my family, and I have no idea why. My boys won't try it, and it's one of the things that I don't even try to push on them, since I love to hoard it for myself. When this curd is gone, I'll likely sit down with a slab of rhubarb kuchen - though that is such a heavy recipe I usually make it when I can give most of it away lest I eat all of the slabs. Meanwhile, I dip my finger into the little glass jar, amazed at the power of Spring and rhubarb. Amazed at my wealth, culinarily speaking.

On Frugality and Lacto-Fermentation

I like being broke. Someone should make this into a bumper sticker, and I would happily paste it onto my aging Oldsmobile. There is something about going through lean times that makes me insanely happy, like I am better able to take stock of all of my blessings as well as my well stocked pantry and freezer. The only thing perhaps I don't like is not being able to splurge on specialty ingredients, but given how delicious a simple Lima bean can be, even that facet has no lasting appeal.

Fragality causes me to examine all parts of my kitchen life. Am I baking bread? Then, something else can be baked before or after the oven is at the 475 degrees to make use of the energy. Running the dehydrator for more soaked oats last week, I made a triple batch so there was no extra space - and today I soaked three different kinds of nuts so I could again fill the dehydrator nearer to capacity before plugging it in for a day of running. I have no dishwasher, and now find myself cooking things in batches in one cast iron pan instead of three so I only have to clean up one. It's actually a pretty good idea, saving me wear and tear on my hands as well as on the kosher salt I use to clean the pan. It's sad that the tightening of the belt makes me remember to be extra cautious of my energy consumptions...

Last week, I soaked three kinds of dried beans to make a three bean salad, and then ended up making only a two bean salad. The Limas sat in the fridge, in their liquid, for 4 days until I remembered that I should do something with them - or freeze them: an option I try to use as a last resort. Sometimes, the freezer turns into a forgotten wasteland of perfectly viable comestibles, and lately as I focus on zero food waste, I try to find creative ways to use up all parts of whatever I made before joyfully leaping on to something new. I try to do this without relying on the banishment to the freezer. That's actually hard when I love cooking so much.

My fridge looks like a glass jar heaven, bits of fermented this and that taking up precious space - but worth it in the enjoyment a spoonful or two adds to each meal. Lacto-fermentation is actually a terrific way of stretching out the deterioration rate of foods with a limited lifespan, not to mention that I find it enhances the flavor in nearly every case. The Limas, I decided, would become a hummus inoculated with whey, increasing both their nutritional profile and their staying power.

...if I don't eat the whole jar in two days, that is.

I actually had a small amount of bean puree when it was all finished up. It could have been all the tasting I did... and I had maybe a scant cup and a half of cooked beans to start with. Bean purees in general are some of my favorite things, since they are really a great complement to bread. I also love making them, since they require a bit of kitchen alchemy. Tasting, tweaking, thinking about flavor and what I have a taste for, it's like lazy and inspired cooking, without even firing up the stove.

Even though my VitaMix would make absolute smoothness of bean puree, I always opt to use my ancient (well, probably '80's model) Cuisinart food pro. The subtle graininess is something I appreciate, and I like adding olive oil through the top that is designed to let the finest drizzle through on the way to emulsification. My flavors yesterday leaned heavily toward traditional hummus, though sometimes garlic is just too much for me. (Saturday, I lacto-fermented some guacamole and used far too much garlic. It was good, and my Husband really liked it, but I was a little "garlicked out" buy the time I started the Lima Hummus.) Ever since I visited E. in Boston last Summer, I have been addicted to the combination she served of radish, hummus, olive and maybe cheese with bread. Radishes will be planted in my garden for the first time this year, I'm hoping to plant later in the week if this weather ever warms up...

My favorite chile olives that my co-op sells in bulk.

The only thing to really remember with lacto-fermentation is to let the mixture sit for at least 7-8 hours at warmish room temperature, and then transfer to cold storage. Some things can ferment for a few days before refrigeration, in general I follow the guidelines in Sally Fallon's Nourishing Traditions. For simple things that I know I'll likely polish off within a week, I ferment this minimum time. For condiments that I will keep longer, like the cilantro-raisin chutney, I ferment for 3 days. Also remember to use whey that has a live, active culture (or if vegan, and not lacto-fermenting something with fruit, an appropriate amount of salt). Another thing to keep in mind is that the whey that is a by-product of heated cheese-making is not good for lacto-fermenting.

Lacto-Ferment Lima Hummus

• 1 1/2 c. Lima beans
• granulated garlic
• lemon zest (I was out of lemon, and keep zests in my freezer)
• a few tablespoons of white onion, chopped
• cayenne pepper
• salt
  
• cumin
• 1 1/2 T. whey
• about 2 T. olive oil, more to taste and consistency desired

Add Lima beans to the food pro and blend until fairly smooth. Add the rest of the ingredients pretty much to taste, using the full amount of whey. Continue to blend until desired consistency is reached, and taste to adjust seasoning to your preference.

Pack into a jar, leaving a small amount of head space, and seal tightly. Leave to ferment at room temperature for at least 7 hours before transferring to cold storage.

I lacto-ferment stuff because it's fun and tasty, but also because I really believe that the extra fermenting is good for me. In things like this, where spiciness plays a vital role, my family can't even tell, and I don't even tell them. But really, I made this Lima Hummus just for me, and will likely eat it all week, with the radishes that felt like a splurge to purchase. I'm excited to try a new version of a Peter Reinhart bread that uses a multi-grain mixture of polenta, rolled oats and wheat bran... I hope I still have some hummus left when that rolls out of the oven on Wednesday...

Lessons in living with less are plentiful. Certainly, it's a theme throughout American history especially in times of economic stress. But really, they are good lessons for anytime, whether flush or spread thin. Frugality reminds me personally to appreciate everything - be it my health or the ability to do things for myself, the luxury of good urban ground to grow food in. These are all daily blessings I forget, and the wastefulness that begins to entangle me when I have extra is something that feels so good to have off my shoulders.

Sometimes I think maybe my food-blogging will suffer for lack of new and exciting food, but really, Lima beans are exciting! They are cheap, and take on flavor well. They have occupied my kitchen thinking for a couple of days and that is really what I best take away from writing about my experiments. Every day I spend a good amount of time poking around my kitchen, thinking of ways to sneak nutrition into my family, and I have the privileged of succeeding most of the time. This doesn't change with the amount of dollars spent on groceries. For all of it, and for living with less for now, I am so thankful.

Orange Liqueur.

I never used to think much about preserving the Winter fruits. The past two Winters, I indulged myself in marmalade, and I have preserved lemons in the past, but really I have yet to branch out into canned clementines, or other lightly sweetened sectioned fruit. Next Winter, I will be better prepared with a list of citrusy canning projects, but until then I'll have an orange liqueur to keep me company.

I came about "liqueurizing" an orangy concoction somewhat by accident this year. It seemed there was a buzz surrounding Cara Cara oranges, which I had never before tried, and were available at my co-op. When I ate one, they quickly became a favorite, melding a slightly grapefruit undertone with the recognizable orange. Julia had been busy making triple sec, using brandy. I was daydreaming of Spring and rhubarb season, and remembered that I hadn't tasted my rhubarb liqueur in a very long time. When I poured a little cordial glass, it was as fine and mellow as a cordial could be, all the harsh bite of gut-rot grain alcohol successfully tamed as time did it's thing.

Deena's recipe was such a good base ratio (and it stands as one of my favorite food blog posts ever), so I decided to apply the same method to oranges, hoping to create an orange liqueur that could stand in both drink and baked good as proud and bracing fresh orange substitute. When I decided to bottle it up yesterday, I feel I've succeeded, but I won't truly know until time works it's magic, and smooths out all the edges.

iPhone pics.

Not being a huge drinker, and being downright snobbish in demanding the finest when in the company of alcohols, I consider Cointreau the gold standard, the King of orange liqueurs. I should preface that I have not ventured far down this orange paved road, triple secs in general not something I buy or drink often at all. In my mind, there are two premium options for orange liqueurs widely available, my favorite, Cointreau, and the slightly sweeter Grand Marnier. The ethereal and pearly clear sophisticate of Cointreau is a mysterious thing. It is so intensely orangy, my limited drinking self has never found anything to compare.

The bottle, at home in my spice cupboard, has flavored rice puddings and nut-studded quick breads with ease, and a splash here and there has enlivened beverages with bright, unmistakeable orange flavor. Could I dare come close to making something this incomparable?

I figured since I was near the bottom of my Cointreau bottle (I've since polished it off, adding the remainders to a rhubarb sauce for the Easter ricotta cheesecake), I could spend the money on another - or take the risk of spending about the same amount on a bottle of grain alcohol and try infusing my own.

Grain alcohol, by the way, is creepy stuff. Not only do I feel the overwhelming compulsion to explain to the clerk what I'm planning to do with the stuff, it comes with flammable warnings, and disclaimers in bold face on the very visible front of the bottle: "NOT INTENDED FOR CONSUMPTION UNLESS MIXED WITH NON-ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGE". If you ever needed a reason Not to drink something, this is probably the bottle for you. It does, however, do a stellar job of leaching every last drop of color and flavor from whatever you drop into it, making it the perfect medium for liqueur base.

Partially inspired by Marisa's post on dehydrating lemons and limes, and my "internet friend" E. from Maine, I sliced 4 Cara Cara oranges thinly and dehydrated them until crisp. I added them to the peel of 6 or 8 (I can't quite remember) navel oranges in a half gallon canning jar. Then, I poured in the grain alcohol, screwed the top on tight, and forgot about it for a month as it sat on the shelf in my dark basement. The shocking traffic cone orange and the pure orange scent was overwhelming, and both were cues that I should bottle.

Using Deena's formula and the trusty Metric System, I used a beginning measure of infused grain alcohol (866 mL), added 1 1/2 times spring water (1299 mL) and the bare bones of sweetening: half of the beginning measure of sugar (433mL). (Yes, I know I should not have probably used mL's to measure the sugar, but I did.) I heated the water/sugar just enough to dissolve all of the sugar, and then let it cool. When I added it to the crystal orange clarity of the base alcohol, I was surprised as it turned opaque. When I tasted it, it was a little harsh, a little sweet, and a little bitter, but it was also fully orangy and already quite good.

It seemed like the Cara Cara oranges "rehydrated", but they were brittle and dried when removed from the grain alcohol.


a blurry comparison of color pre-dilution (left) and post-dilution (right).

Will I give up Cointreau and it's gorgeous opalescence in sole favor of my new homemade version? Not likely. But I feel that mine will be at home in baked goods, jams and glazed carrots to be sure. The tangerine opaqueness is a pretty thing to look at sitting on my counter, but I know I must soon transfer it to the dark basement to both preserve it's color and let it mellow.

I saved last year's boozy rhubarb remains and cooked them down. Too strong to be eaten on it's own, it did make a good kombucha flavorant... but I don't think the brittle, alcohol-dried orange peels will do the same. They are still sitting in a bowl on my counter, since it pains me to have to throw them out. Just a nibble on them makes my tongue numb from both the bitter peel and the creepy-strong grain alcohol. Any suggestions before the whole lot goes into the garbage? Not sure about composting it, what with the high toxicity of that alcohol...

color leached oranges.

Our Spring is very fickle this year. It's cold, rainy, cloudy and then there will be an 80 degree day directly followed by a 45 degree one. Maybe that is why the sunny orange of this liqueur appeals to me so much. Maybe that is why citrus seems so great in the Winter. No matter the season, citrus preserved is something that never fails to make me happy. For no other reason than the surreal color, I am glad for my experiments with this orange liqueur.

Mothers.

Mother's Day is here once again. This particular day of the year has taken on entirely new meaning since I became a mother. It seems incredible that this is my own personal 4th Mother's Day, and that the tiny, helpless babe that existed those 4 years ago is now already memorizing books, writing his name, and drawing numbers all over the driveway in sidewalk chalk. I never realized just how much sacrifice my own Mother gave for me, giving everything from sustenance to laundry her full attention, and even occasionally her finger-wagging that has made me what I am today. Mother's Day now not only reminds me of my amazing Mother, but of the endless circle of life, the ebb and flow of both the seen and unseen.

Mothers. Of Vinegar.

When Lizzy brought up a bucket full of vinegar mother from her basement for me, I flung myself at the mercy of this organism. Mother of vinegar is essentially a mixture of cellulose and acetic acid bacteria, a growing colony (not unlike the kombucha SCOBY) that does it's job day in and day out with very little human intervention. It's actually hard not to let this process start on it's own, unless you are beginning with a liquid that has some type of preventative, like the sulfites present in most wines. Given this no-brainer-type information, I felt that finding some solid instruction on how to make amazing vinegar would be easy. That wasn't really the case, and now I think I know why: it is shamefully easy, and you really just learn by doing.

One thing that certainly is a given, is that to make vinegar, you need an alcoholic medium. You may remember that Jeremy at Northern Brewer gave me 2 gallons of home-brew wine (which is coming along nicely, but it's going to be awhile yet due to the volume), and lots of advice on how to open ferment fruit juices using different strains of yeasts.

Around the time that I began the rhubarb-strawberry version, I also decided also to ferment some preservative-free blueberry juice my Parents' had brought me from a trip they made to Nova Scotia. That bottle was only 375 ml., so I added some homemade apple juice I made by blending some green apples with a little water in my Vitamix, then straining it. I emailed Jeremy to see if I could use the same yeast strain that I had used to ferment my strawberry-rhubarb juice, and he confirmed I could. (I would say that I need to learn more about yeast strains, but that is a topic for another day...)

I use unbleached cotton muslin in my kitchen a lot. I get it at the fabric store.

I split the fermented juice, which took about 2 days to finish, into two mason jars and added a small chunk of vinegar mother to each. Within a week, the mothers covered the surface of the jars.

Now would be a good time to add that if there is one thing I have noticed about Lizzy's house, it is that it has flies... even in Winter. To make vinegar efficiently, you need room temperature, not the cool depths of my basement. (Lizzy kept her cider vinegar in the basement, but it took more than a year to do it's conversion. I suspect she did not want to make room for a giant barrel in her kitchen.) The things I worried about on the drive home with a pail full of mother of vinegar were twofold: first that my husband is not fond of flies - especially indoors, and second that he doesn't like the smell of vinegar. He doesn't really know what I'm doing in my kitchen, spending countless hours tinkering around, but this I suspected, he may detect if I wasn't careful.

Leaving the mason jars, covered with muslin and sheltered from light, on my kitchen counter only worked for so long. A few weeks ago, I started noticing tiny 'vinegar flies' as far away as my bedroom. The growing scent of vinegar was actually even putting me off of drinking my daily kombucha - I just began to feel vinegared out. I have a shallow, dark pantry in my dining room, and moved the jars inside - warning my husband that if he went in there it would likely smell like vinegar. It seemed to take care of any tiny flies too; I haven't seen a trace of them since.

Meanwhile then, I noticed the mothers steadily growing in thickness and a small amount of sediment sinking to the bottom of the jars. This morning, I figured I'd stop procrastinating, and find a way to bottle it up. From miscellaneous reading, I knew that if I bottled it without heating it (left it completely raw) it would continue to develop and in time be extremely strong. From this link, I determined to heat it gently to 140 degrees, and then bottle in in sterilized glass jars.

As I mentioned earlier, there was a little sediment in the bottoms of the jars. As careful as I was not to disturb it, it really did make for cloudy vinegar. I strained it through more muslin, still concerned that my finished product was just going to be cloudy and there was nothing I could do about it. I loaded my glass jars (and some canning lids) into a pot of hot water and brought them to a boil for 10 minutes to sterilize, and at the same time, I brought the vinegar to 140 degrees.

As soon as it reached that magic temperature, all of the cloudiness parted, floated to the top. I poured the whole lot once more through some muslin, and had beautifully clear vinegar. Then I loaded the hot vinegar into the hot jars, suspecting they would seal. Even though it wasn't necessary, they did seal and I have a pretty tasty finished blueberry apple vinegar. I'm new to vinegar, and know that it must be aged to mellow out. I have no idea how long that will take, but I left one of my jars sealed only with a stopper so I can check up on it periodically.

I am happy with my plummy purple vinegar. I may not get to actually enjoy it for quite some time, but for very little investment I feel like I have learned a whole lot and will have a whole lot to show for it. I still have to bottle the strawberry rhubarb, which did smell even stronger than the blueberry apple, but now I have a better confidence on how to do it. I keep a curious eye on the 2 gallons of wine that appear to have grown a shag carpeting over the top. Why my blueberry apple mother looks completely different, gelatinous by comparison, I have no idea.

I assume the differences are par for the vinegar course, and the whole experience is not unlike human motherhood: it is ever changing and somewhat demanding, and probably some of the best of what can happen to me in my lifetime. While I only have one child, I suspect if I had many, each would be just a little different, requiring me to be as different as the mothers coating the tops of different-ingredient vinegars.

Backlit, you can see the true colors.

I could go on with the comparisons, how straining and clarifying relate to human experience, how depth and age improve the personality of both liquids and people but I'll spare you. I'll say instead that I am so privileged to be a mother, and one of a real live human being. It's a role I never imagined for myself, but one that has brought me the deepest pleasures in life to date. More likely than not, it is what has caused me to learn about such things as vinegar, and what keeps me learning on a daily basis! These are the very same things I know I learned from my own Mother, in her quiet way. I am thankful for her, and all she has inspired me to do and be in my life.

Blistery Peter Reinhart Bread and Peanutty Cookies

Of all the cookbook reading I do, it's possible that I believe the best cookbook writing comes from bread bakers. I know that there is passion in all different genres of the culinary arts, but there is just something about the bakers that click with me. They rise early and alone, they are obsessed with perfection. And, uniting all of them are the common ingredients of flour, water, salt, yeast. When you think of the volumes written about the ratios, techniques, and the utter transcendentalism of this quartet of humble beginning ingredients, it is overwhelming.

I know that sometimes I avoid reading books just because everyone has read and applauded them. I do the same with movies. It's completely feasible that I am the only North American who has never seen (and never will see) Titanic. I think, wrongfully, that I felt this way about Peter Reinhart - the indelible image of the tightly clutched mammoth loaf of bread on the cover of The Bread Baker's Apprentice just one of the things on everybody's list and the last thing on my own list of things to read.

When out of town last week, I bought a copy of his 1998 Crust and Crumb from my Mom's co-op in LaCrosse. Peter Reinhart calls this book Master Formulas for Serious Bread Bakers, and said that his methods detail a way to achieve World Class bread. As always, I read the preface, the introduction, the bits of information in the Table of Contents - marveling over all of it masterfully printed on nearly 90 lb paper. When I finally got past the introduction, where a writer typically seems to shed their personal language and really open up into writing as an art form, I found myself re-reading whole pages but for the beauty of sentence structure and the English language as it describes the ancient sustenance that is bread. It's tricky stuff to write both artful and informational simultaneously, and Peter Reinhart does it flawlessly.

"My bread epiphany occurred a few years before the bread revolution hit full force. I was cooking for the seminary of a Christian order in San Francisco (I am still a lay brother in that order, the Christ the Saviour Brotherhood). One of my friends, a very talented cook named Brother Philip Goodrich, took on the then-practically-unheard-of challenge of following all eight pages of Julia Child's instructions, in From Julia's Kitchen, for making French bread. The results were so spectacular that I followed his example, forcing myself to carry out every little step and consulting with him when I stumbled. The bread was so much better than anything we could buy, even the fabled sourdough of San Francisco, that I began making bread every day. Sometimes the results were disastrous, especially when I strayed too far from what I now know to be common bread sense. However, when the bread came out right - even accidentally - when the crust crackled and then dissolved into sweet, roasted wheatiness and the interior felt cool and buttery even without butter, I was hooked. This was my subjective initiation.

Firm Starter.

I confess, that while I've read about such (standard) bread techniques as the "windowpane test", I never before did this myself. Perhaps I felt like it was maybe a little needless for a home cook, I also kind of felt like I would be succumbing to full-out craziness, kind of the way I used to toss pizza dough up into the air (but only when no one was looking so they didn't think I was trying to be cool or something). Gluten development that happens through proper mixing is miraculous, and the temperature increases that the dough undergoes also indicate it's readiness. As great as I consider Nancy Silverton's book (Breads from the LaBrea Bakery), I couldn't grasp that until reading it through Peter's eyes.

I have graduated to a WindowPaner. There is no turning back now. To do a window pane test, simple take a small amount of dough, and try and stretch it into a thin pane-like membrane while moving it circularly around. If it rips, the gluten isn't ready, if it stretches thin and lets light pass through, it's ready.

My first duo of loaves was made with what Peter calls a firm starter. It was a starter made with my wild yeast culture that formed the ball seen above. Essentially, starter is mixed with water and bread flour, fermented 4 hours, then left to refrigerate overnight. Being firm, it is able to be kneaded by hand and as it sat it rose and became overwhelmingly sticky. To break it apart into the 6 pieces he suggested, I had to wet my hands thoroughly.

I used my stand mixer to get the sticky dough going, knowing that higher hydration does lead to better, bigger, airier holes in the finished bread. I feel that it is difficult to avoid adding too much flour when working solely by hand, but someday I'll work up to that I hope. It would be nice to have a huge, wooden bench type counter where I could fully let the flour fly, but my reality is an 18 inch maple cutting board that is dedicated to dough. I love to dream.

To calculate when you will bake, work backwards to see about what time you should start. I wanted to bake in the afternoon, so I started the firm starter the morning of the day prior to baking. I think "overnight" usually refers to about 8 hours, but I let it go more like 16 with good result. I also baked these in a pot, Jim Lahey style. The moisture from the bread creates it's own steam, which is trapped in the pot and released as baking goes on and the lid is removed. I was happy with my results.

Peter Reinhart Bread (Crust and Crumb)

makes two loaves

for the Firm Starter:

• 1 c. (4.5 oz.) unbleached bread flour
• 6 T. room-temp water
• 1 c. (4 oz.) starter

for the Dough:

• 5 1/4 c. (24 oz.) bread flour
• 2 c. cool water (65-70 deg.)
• Firm Starter, from above use all (11.5 oz.)
• 2 1/2 t. salt

To make the Firm Starter: mix the starter ingredients in a mixing bowl. When they form a ball, turn the dough out onto a floured surface and knead just until all the ingredients are incorporated, and dough forms a smooth ball. Place dough in a clean bowl, cover, and let ferment at room temperature for 4 hours. Then transfer to the fridge overnight.

Remove the Firm Starter from the fridge 1 hour before mixing up the dough. Before mixing, cut it into 6 pieces. It will be pretty sticky, I used wet hands.

To make the dough: combine the flour, water and starter pieces in a stand mixer fitted with a dough hook. Mix on low for 1 minute, then on medium for 3 minutes. (At this point, you can save 12 oz. of the starter to become the Firm Starter or 'chef' for additional loaves at a later time. I assume from reading, that it would be viable in the fridge for up to 3 days.)

Add the salt, and continue mixing for another 4 minutes, or just until gluten sets up. Dough should pass the windowpane test, and read 77-80 degrees on a thermometer. Hand kneading will take 10-12 minutes to get to this stage.

Put the dough in a clean bowl, cover (Peter uses plastic, but I used a lid for my stock pot), and let rise at room temperature about 3 hours. The dough may not double fully, it just needs to "begin swelling".

Divide the dough into 2 pieces, and round each into a ball. Let rise ("use a prepared banneton, basket or mixing bowl and place the smooth side down) about 4 hours until doubled in size. Peter has specific method for this, but I let them rise the way I normally treat breads: one in a well floured linen cloth inside a colander, and the other in a reed banneton (basket) that was heavily coated with flour and wheat germ. He also recommend misting them with cooking spray, and placing them in a plastic bag. I just make sure they are away from drafts, and cover with a dry towel topped by a water-moistened towel. I just have a thing about cooking spray... I'm sure that would work perfectly, though.

About 45 minutes from the end of the second rise, place a cast iron pot (with it's lid on) in a cold oven, and preheat to 475. I decided to bake them both, one after the other, but you could also choose to let a loaf retard in the fridge overnight. Peter notes that it will develop a more sour flavor and that you should remove it from the refrigerator an hour before baking.

Gently turn over the risen loaf, score and transfer the loaf to the hot pot. Replace the lid, and bake for 30 minutes. Remove the lid, and continue baking for 10-15 minutes more until deep golden brown. Remove the loaf to a cooling rack, and cool at least an hour until slicing.

Blistered Crust.

Because I was standing around the kitchen for 1 1/2 hours during baking, and because I had decided to clean and wash out my refrigerator on Sunday afternoon (discovering a pint jar of Sally Fallon crispy peanut butter lurking in the far back), I figured I'd take advantage of the hot oven and make some cookies. Sally Fallon's nut butter tastes a bit different than most nut butter since the nuts are soaked and dehydrated, then blended with coconut oil to replace some of the natural oils that are lost in this process. There is also a little honey in her recipe, which really makes the blonde peanut butter taste unconventional. I liked it, but the Boy-O is both picky and a peanut butter connoisseur. Cookies are sure ways to use up "suspect ingredients", and while he thought they didn't taste like peanut butter, he still gobbled them down.

I cut traditional amounts of butter and sugar in half, since there was oil added to the nut butter I made. The things I loved about these peanut butter cookies were the things that often sadden me about others: they were not too sweet, they were not too rich, and they were both a little chewy and a little crunchy. They also celebrate the homemade nut butter, and I can't tell you how many times I have read "do not use natural-style peanut butter". Use it! And, they will be great.

Natural Peanut Butter Cookies

• 1 c. peanut butter (I used Sally Fallon's sprouted kind, but I'd imagine any nut butter would work well)
• 1/2 c. (1 stick) butter, softened
• 1/2 c. brown sugar
• 1/2 c. white sugar
  
• 2 eggs
• 2 t. vanilla
• 3 c. AP flour
• 1 t. baking powder
• pinch of salt if using non-salted nut butter
  

Preheat oven to 350.

Sift the flour and baking powder (and salt) in a small bowl.

In a large mixing bowl, cream the nut butter and butter until well mixed. Add both sugars, and mix well. Add about a cup of the sifted, dry ingredients, and blend.

Add eggs, one at a time, and vanilla - mixing well (1 minutes) after each egg addition.

Add the rest of the dry ingredients, and blend until just combined. Form batter into uniform ball.

Arrange them about 2 inches apart on parchment lined baking sheets, and flatten them criss-crossed with the tines of a fork. (They don't spread too much, so you can keep them pretty close together.) Bake for 15-18 minutes, rotating pans about half way through baking time.

Cool on the pan for a few minutes, then transfer to a wire rack to cool completely.

By the time the last of the cookies were cooling, I finally felt I could risk slicing open my first "World Class Bread" loaf. Peter Reinhart's descriptions of a buttery interior, the wheatiness, the thin cracking crust: they were all there. This bread tasted different than the countless others I've made using the exact same ingredients. It was the method and ratio that was changed, and perhaps the romantic way he describes the way that this bread should taste. Because I had formed the loaves the way I did, tiny blisters popped up on the skin of the crust, something that I don't think has happened to my bread before. They were both gorgeous. They were both World Class. They looked luminous inside, and they came from my oven.

It seems I've run into a string of exceptional writers lately, and it causes me to over-analyze my own paltry attempts at words on a page. What I lack in wordiness, I make up for in passion, at least I hope. As for Peter Reinhart... I will be reading The Bread Baker's Apprentice, and I haven't looked forward to anything more in a long time. As I continue to read on through Crust and Crumb, I continue to be infinitely inspired by the lowliest and earthiest food, and the way bakers think. I inch closer to becoming a baker myself. Maybe this is my own "bread epiphany", or maybe just another in a string of epiphanies. All the while, I just sense in the back of my being that one of these days I'll figure out what I want to do, what I want to be when I grow up. Then, certainly, the next obsession will strike.

The post has been Yeastspotted.