Couple of years ago, Klimentini, one of our most enthusiastic customers, gave us her family recipe for Christmas bread. Her brother used to send her one from Greece but last time it arrived weeks late in small pieces because Homeland Security, or whatever we call it, thought the astonishingly strong spices were there to disguise the aroma of other stuff destined to go up your nose.
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.
The PArtisan Baker 