What do you do when in your life you feel that you're not exactly where you want to be? I'm a firm believer that the panorama of our external lives is a physical manifestation of that inner.
Lately i've been feeling a bit thwarted, admittedly by my own hand. And when I feel this way I dive on in to meditation and slap my cards on the table. It's the only way to get things resolved.
At moments like this I imagine the Universe pushing through twin, timeworn, saloon doors, pausing for a moment betwixt them for effect. The sun sears the thirsty landscape behind, seeping, blinding, like a white-hot argent abyss. And wearing a ten gallon hat with dusty chaps, the Universe sidles up, bandy-legged, along my side, plunks down two shot glasses and a bottle of bitter, brown booze. 'There's only one way this thing can go down,' I declare, all business and brass tacks. I think the Universe appreciates my candor, if not my edge. 'That's right, and it's up to you to decide which way that will be,' the Universe replies, graveled, funereal, because my Universe also smokes filterless cigarettes. 'I'm just here for the ride.'
My latest revelation: I've not been clear about where i want to be, when all along I thought I was. I've been errant, I realize, dawdled, some, but when it comes to growth of the spirit, there are no linear paths nor predictable arrival times. I'm like a gypsy, see, and I've permitted the gale to sweep me to and fro with its most decided effort. And through my self-discovery, I have always erred on the side of prudence, I'm guilty for being severely thorough and taking my sweet (bleep) time. My motto: Your strides will prove fruitless if a trail of half-baked endurances lies behind you, and nothing ever prospers from a marriage to denial or sloppiness. Believing so will result in a life of... you do the math.
I've been hovering in limbo for a while now with my material life, and I will admit, I feel as though I may vaporize. My revelation was twofold today, one a catalyst for the other, each an inextricable part of this whole, neither born first nor subordinate, but indeed concomitant. You've just read the one, and this the other underscores its meaning: There is a difference between being scrupulous and flogging a dead horse, you may well know. It's high time I set down the baton and made up my bloody mind.
Lately i've been feeling a bit thwarted, admittedly by my own hand. And when I feel this way I dive on in to meditation and slap my cards on the table. It's the only way to get things resolved.
At moments like this I imagine the Universe pushing through twin, timeworn, saloon doors, pausing for a moment betwixt them for effect. The sun sears the thirsty landscape behind, seeping, blinding, like a white-hot argent abyss. And wearing a ten gallon hat with dusty chaps, the Universe sidles up, bandy-legged, along my side, plunks down two shot glasses and a bottle of bitter, brown booze. 'There's only one way this thing can go down,' I declare, all business and brass tacks. I think the Universe appreciates my candor, if not my edge. 'That's right, and it's up to you to decide which way that will be,' the Universe replies, graveled, funereal, because my Universe also smokes filterless cigarettes. 'I'm just here for the ride.'
Tartine's Seeded Semolina, Toasted
My latest revelation: I've not been clear about where i want to be, when all along I thought I was. I've been errant, I realize, dawdled, some, but when it comes to growth of the spirit, there are no linear paths nor predictable arrival times. I'm like a gypsy, see, and I've permitted the gale to sweep me to and fro with its most decided effort. And through my self-discovery, I have always erred on the side of prudence, I'm guilty for being severely thorough and taking my sweet (bleep) time. My motto: Your strides will prove fruitless if a trail of half-baked endurances lies behind you, and nothing ever prospers from a marriage to denial or sloppiness. Believing so will result in a life of... you do the math.
I've been hovering in limbo for a while now with my material life, and I will admit, I feel as though I may vaporize. My revelation was twofold today, one a catalyst for the other, each an inextricable part of this whole, neither born first nor subordinate, but indeed concomitant. You've just read the one, and this the other underscores its meaning: There is a difference between being scrupulous and flogging a dead horse, you may well know. It's high time I set down the baton and made up my bloody mind.
Bread. And all roads leading to it.
It makes sense, given my itinerant ways, that I would start a blog called the Tartine Bread Experiment, and find that I've only baked three of the books loaves up to this day, some three months in. Dawdling notwithstanding, I got to see just how much latitude I have with my wild yeasts, and what's more, I developed my very own bread. You've got to applaud the good and the ugly all the same.
I'm happy to announce that along with a commitment to materialize once again, and pursue that what has struck my fancy these livelong years in a serious way, I have also decided to come back to the Tartine experiment as it was intended. I mean to investigate this business of methodical progress, one with a beginning, a middle, one with a definitive end. For even the most resolute gypsy must land on solid ground from time to time. One can only hope that the landing will involve both feet, or in the very least that the horse aground is flocculent enough to break her fall, wholly perished many times over that it may be.
700g BRM semolina flour
300g KA bread flour
200g levain
*75g each flax and sesame seeds
20g salt
Mixed the levain (levain = 1 TB 100% hydration rye starter, 200g h2o, 200g flour, mixed, left to stand overnight) with the water and flours. Autolysed for 40 minutes. Meanwhile, toasted the sesame seeds in a cast iron skillet over a high flame, tossing constantly. Cooled, then pulsed in a spice mill (a coffee grinder devoted to grinding spices), in batches. Pulsed the flax (do not toast) just the same. Squished the salt and the seeds into the dough. 4.5 hour bulk ferment begins with turns at 30, 60, 90, 120 minutes, the remaining time left to stand to do it's thing without intervention. Note: The last hour and a half fermentation was done in the fridge because I had to pop out for a moment to take care of some biz. Home again. Divided dough, shaped into loose rounds. Bench rest 30 minutes. Then shaped into boules, rolled them in flax and untoasted sesame seeds. Top side down into linen covered bowl they go. 3 hour proof where they practically doubled in size. Preheated oven to 500 with the combo cookers. Inverted boules, parchment down first, onto a paddle, slid them into the combo cookers, and baked at 475 for 30 minutes, lidded. Popped off the lids. Baked for another 35.
Verdict
Crust: Uber shattery. Crumb: rather tight, and the texture was very moist and tender. Flavor: Nutty, buttery, divine. Aroma: Smelled like buttery heaven. Dough temperament: Tres simple! Worry factor when fermenting: Zero. It increased in size predictably. I so love my rye starter (thanks Susan!). At first the dough was like batter and I was afraid, but after the series of turns, it developed fantastic gluten strength.
* Update: My baker friend Joe, who is off on a new venture to become a bona fide bread maker, told me that had I soaked the flax seeds, I would have gotten a more open crumb. He intimated that flax seeds in particular draw a great deal of moisture from the dough, which will result in a tighter crumb. I will try this experiment again, taking his advice. He said that there is no need to soak the sesame.
To the staff of life, and an ode to writing, my first love.
I'm happy to announce that along with a commitment to materialize once again, and pursue that what has struck my fancy these livelong years in a serious way, I have also decided to come back to the Tartine experiment as it was intended. I mean to investigate this business of methodical progress, one with a beginning, a middle, one with a definitive end. For even the most resolute gypsy must land on solid ground from time to time. One can only hope that the landing will involve both feet, or in the very least that the horse aground is flocculent enough to break her fall, wholly perished many times over that it may be.
Tartine's Seeded Semolina
(slightly revised)
750g h2o700g BRM semolina flour
300g KA bread flour
200g levain
*75g each flax and sesame seeds
20g salt
* I am using flax seeds instead of fennel, which is what the original recipe calls for.
Verdict
Crust: Uber shattery. Crumb: rather tight, and the texture was very moist and tender. Flavor: Nutty, buttery, divine. Aroma: Smelled like buttery heaven. Dough temperament: Tres simple! Worry factor when fermenting: Zero. It increased in size predictably. I so love my rye starter (thanks Susan!). At first the dough was like batter and I was afraid, but after the series of turns, it developed fantastic gluten strength.
* Update: My baker friend Joe, who is off on a new venture to become a bona fide bread maker, told me that had I soaked the flax seeds, I would have gotten a more open crumb. He intimated that flax seeds in particular draw a great deal of moisture from the dough, which will result in a tighter crumb. I will try this experiment again, taking his advice. He said that there is no need to soak the sesame.
To the staff of life, and an ode to writing, my first love.
Tartine's Seeded Semolina, The Photos
Levain
The dough was like batter and smelled buttery.
Toast the sesame seeds.
Flax and salt.
Flax and toasted sesame seeds, ground. Salt.
Bulk fermentation.
Shape.
Proof.
Proofed!
Ready for oven.
Score.
30 minute steam.
Nutty, moist, tender crumb.
A jumble of slices.
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