One of the things I love about my job is that my boss lets me work from home a day or two a week if I need to. Apart from allowing me to plough through a lot of work, it also means that I can get things done around the house in the time I save not commuting to work. Winner.
Friday's homely urge was to bake a lovely sturdy loaf that could easily beat one of those lightweight supermarket offerings in a fight and would allow for a Bank Holiday Monday breakfast to be cooked with local farm shop bacon, eggs from our garden and bread that could stand up to it all. I wanted a sourdough, a sturdy wholesome bread with no rubbish in because I'd made it myself.
The problem with that is I don't have an airing cupboard so keeping a starter warm at 30 degrees isn't really possible for me. But then the joy of Google happened, and I found a recipe for simple sourdough. No starter needed, just yeast and yogurt which I had in the fridge. Culinary fate.
I nearly gave up on the dough which was so sloppy. I also don't have a Dutch oven, but urges being the mother of invention, I improvised with a heavy pan that I do have. The dough and I worked together, until on Friday night into the oven she went and out she popped later, golden, a bit flat, but looking like all the best homely dreams I could dream up. And she did her job - lovely bubbles of air inside, firm, thick crisp crust. This is one you have to plaster the butter on. She can take it.
I don't know why but I love that this is a bread you have to cook in a pot with a lid. Like a little lifeforce. A bread egg.
How to instantly make your house feel like a farmhouse, even when it's not. Sigh.
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