Anyways, for some reason, whenever I think of the Fall, I think of bread. I also think of bread when I think of summer, winter, spring, or giraffes. Bread is delicious. If I love it so much why don’t I just marry it? I’m not sure – probably because I ate all of it before it got the chance to pop the question.
While not a loaf of bread per se, I made this pizza dough the other day, and it was amazing, and doubled as a delicious foccacia: http://www.thejoykitchen.com/recipe.lasso?recipe=1116. I used a cup of whole wheat flour and just a bit less flour over all, and about a pack and a half of yeast in mine, so just kind of feel it out. For the record, when I’ve used too much whole wheat before, it hasn’t risen as well – haven’t figured that one out yet! I don’t have a picture because I was too busy eating it… It rose beautifully and was deliciously crusty. I am starting to think that I posted this recipe before. I am pretty sure that I did – and with good reason.
Another fun thing I am doing this fall is a show in Ladysmith, on Vancouver Island on Sept 23rd. If you’re around there, I’d love to see you! It will be the anniversary of a lovely local couple there, as well as my company’s 10th anniversary celebration. Who knew?!
At any rate, while there are no pictures of food on this post on this food blog (oops), here’s a poem about bread, and autumn, and night time, and baths, and pyjamas (how do you SPELL that word?!), and tea, and stuff.
I gave up on the sun long ago,
choosing the moon’s soft assurance to bring me down
the sun’s wide eyed smile
nowhere near the beauty of the moon’s soft frown
less bold, quieter, a safer place
to cough these devils from my throat
cool, dry comfort in borrowed blankets
wild eyed lovers given way to sleepy faced companions
everyones egos dropped
for shakin heads and shrugged shoulders
tension releasing as dawns day lets go to the nights dusk
and settles in
kettles boiling, steeped herbs steaming the air
sweet perfumed comfort – a deep breath – first in, then out
as frost lands first delicate on blades of grass
yeast within tepid water
honey to feed it, time to watch it grow
flour sprinkled somewhat indelicately
learning this dance a bit better with each batch
dough kneading in and out and around
when with cloth settled,
filling its bowl with puffy clouded girth
punched down, breathing a sigh of relief
it wakes again to become the sweet heady scent of home
crust flaking, inside a yield
warm and melting the days ration
in to a golden sun of passion
every bit tasted on its way to filling bellies
soaking bones and skin in cozy water
flowers and extracts, salts and oils
wringing hair clean and new
dried with fluffy towels enrobed in clean cotton
drifting off to sound and precious sleep.
Happy autumn, everyone!