Sorry about the lack of blog input. I’ve been self-employed for the past 27 years but still, every January, I am paralysed by the idea of income tax returns. Anything to do with finance scares me. So I piss about for weeks shuffling receipts. Plus I’ve been planning a gourmet sourdough weekend baking course for a bunch of people who are setting up a restaurant locally.

Normal service will be resumed as soon as possible.

You know me: tend to go my own way and ignore advice to spray ovens, use a baking stone, bake in pots, do the window pane test, etc., etc. Never worried too much about recipe conversion or whether hydration is a couple of grams high or low (according to the book) – it’s all in the feel, init?

For reasons I’m not yet ready to go into, I’m currently doing some work on pizzas – I’ve actually gone as far as to buy Peter Reinhart on the subject (I thought that would shock you). Furthermore, I’m attempting to accurately transpose some of his formulas from US to metric. Previously I’ve been really sloppy about this sort of thing – weigh a cup of flour, weigh a cup of water and take it from there – always seem to have got away with it.

How do Americans manage to cook anything anyway? “Take three and two third cups minus two tablespoons …”

Anyway, this time I’m going to be scientifically accurate. He starts off “Take 5 cups (22½ ounces) of unbleached, all-purpose flour”. So, using the dip-and-sweep method (see, I do know somethings) I measure out 5 cups. It comes to way over 22½ ounces (and this is before we even consider grams). Do it again in case I put in an extra cup. No difference. Start to wonder if US ounces are the same as UK ounces. Start to Google.

Can’t find anything to indicate more than one ounce weight. So cups then? I did know that cup sizes varied but not just how complicated it got. I assume my cups, which I bought in the UK years ago, must be UK (Imperial) cups. But no – several websites later I establish they are metric cups. So all I have to work out is the proportion of metric cups to US cups (I think we can safely leave Japanese cups out of the equation). It is then that I discover there are two types of American cups, the Legal Cup and the Customary Cup. Make myself a large Hot Whiskey and give up for the day.

I wonder if measuring spoons vary? That just leaves flour equivalents and temperature doesn’t it? Although what exactly does he mean by a grill? what’s a cheese steak, a hoagy …

Then there’s all those biscotti to make:
And then there’s the regular bake on Thursday

Never mind. Soon be Christmas.

The handwritten recipe, which of course was yeasted, contained no water, just olive oil, a little orange juice and a splash of brandy. Not only that, measurements came in kilos, wine glasses and coffee cups. A little challenge to convert to sourdough. But we did.

Two years on I’m making it again and have adjusted the recipe to make it a little easier for the sourdough baker – a little less reverential, a little more mine.
I made Klimentini a test version and she was well pleased which makes me similar.

Plus a shot for foot-fetishist Jeremy – haven’t shown me tootsies for ages.

Ben is one of the few bakers who have made it to all five of the annual baking events, arriving with his bike between his legs and a mixing bowl under his arm. He’s usually still mixing when everyone else has gone home.

Nice bread, Ben (snarl …)

I did fake up some pictures for a piss-take of the advocates of bread improvers on the Australian Sourdough site here but no one took the bait and the only respondent seemed to think I was serious.

But the interesting thing was how much the beetroot improved the bread – great rise and a really moist crumb. So next time Tomato Bread came up I gave the beetroot another outing, this time cutting tiny julienne with a mandolin:

Looks like it caught something contagious.

HM Government Health Warning: Too much bourbon can make the baker fall over

When the apples get picked in October, one gets chopped and added to the jar with a little more water and sugar. Within a week or two it’s fermenting nicely – there’s a healthy hiss when the jar is opened and a spurt of fine bubbles through the brew.

This week was apple bread week. I thought I’d left it too late to get a starter – already Sunday evening. But I went ahead and mixed some of the liquid from the jar to make a paste with flour. All Monday it looked pretty lifeless so I left it alone. Tuesday morning a few irregular bubbles and I stirred the hootch back in with the solids. Not much better Tuesday evening but I refreshed it anyway. Finally Wednesday morning it was bubbling like a fully payed up sourdough starter (although, of course it’s not). Refreshed that evening and Thursday morning. Sauteed chopped apples in butter, brought Westons Cloudy Scrumpy to the boil and cooled it again. Thursday evening mixed them into a dough of strong white and toasted barley flour. Baked Friday morning.

How much do you reckon that would be worth in Harrods Food Hall?

Sometimes we work as a team. It’s built its web about an inch from the window so flies can happily walk up the glass underneath it until I startle them into flying into the trap and the spider dives down and pounces:

Look at that – a fly as big as the spiders body. That’s what you call a good dinner.

Down in the jungle by the waterhole, guarding the outer perimeter and keeping the bakery safe from rodents is Legs the transgender cat.

We had to change her name from Legless to Leglass when a friend watching him/her wash pointed out that he/she had no cojones, not even an operation scar. Her pedigree name is Legs Lazarus. Legs because the bottom half of her rear legs are white so, like the Cheshire Cat’s grin, her legs are the last thing you see disappearing into the jungle. Lazarus because a couple of years ago when she was a very young cat there was a day of freak weather – a weird combination of heat and humidity which brought about the only real baking disaster I’ve had in the past four years. The temperature in the fridge ROSE overnight. Doughs were collapsing before I had time to get them in the oven. Also collapsed was Legs found lying in the garden in full sunshine hyperventilating. Sue moved her into the shade and put water out for her but she was still there panting by the time we went to bed. We thought she’d die but by morning she had risen again. So it’s Legs Lazarus.

Not that she’s our cat, you understand – wouldn’t be hygienic to have a cat in a bakery – we just feed her and in return she kills rodents and leaves the proof on the doorstep.

Which reminds me. A few years back I was quite excited to discover that a well-known Paris boulangerie had a webcam in the bakery. Went to the website and the camera showed a deck oven with a loader in front of it. So I settled down to watch the action and learn some technique. Nothing happened. I logged on every few days and never saw a single movement. Just when I decided it was only a still photograph, a cat wandered into the frame, hopped up onto the loader, cocked a hind leg in the air, gave a good washing to that part of the anatomy where Legs would have had cojones if she was a boy child, and then settled down to sleep. Never saw so much as a ficelle …