I love spending time in my little kitchen, especially in the winter when Kiki and I can't decide on a setting for the thermostat. She bitching around that it's too hot for her coat, me freezing all the time, we found our compromise with her sleeping in the frozen living room and me doing food stuff in the kitchen. Everybody wins, except for Kiki, who doesn't get any of the food I cook, mostly out of spite.
This isn't entirely true. I spend about an hour a week cooking for my dog and then packing her meals into little boxes that wait in the fridge for the next couple of days. This might seem odd, but she loves it, and it is in fact cheaper for me than to buy dog food. Everybody wins, including my wallet.
So with Kiki enjoying the icicles under the table and me warming up next to the slowcooker that makes our lentils edible, I act like I didn't see the pile of dishes and go on to make a bit more of a mess.
A couple of years back a bobo wave that swept me up and made me go vegan also dabbled my feet to try and buy less stuff in but to make it myself at home, starting obviously with home made lunches and ending with me cursing my dough crusted fingers when kneading with insufficient flour what would become a bread that had far too little salt in it. A host of circumstances had me return to not eating and buying animal products late last year — with concessions to exceptions when being very, very intoxicated.
This, in combination with one of my goals for 2016, namely to not buy from companies that are crap and the unwritten resolution to buy less crap over all, had me back in the mood of experimenting with creating stuff that I otherwise would have bought at the nearest store. One mission that I didn't yet embark on is to try making OpenCola, a publicity scheme gone subculture that is essentially an open source recipe for a cola drink.
At the moment I have in my kitchen a tiny plastic dish to be opened only very carefully, as it contains my new pet soury, the sour dough. Well, it will soon. At the moment it only contains a fucking mess. If successful, this little jar would be the start for many loafs to come: I read that you can even bake – if not with all flour sorts – without added yeast, which would mean that I could bake a bread with only my home made sour dough, a little sugar, flour, salt and water. And obviously, rosemary or poppy seeds (I switch back and forth).
Even if baking bread for me started with a lot of cursing and swearing – then again, what fucking doesn't? – I get the feeling that I now totally can bake an awesome bread whenever I choose to do so. And have it taste great, not only eat it with the pride that a mother evolutionarily must feel when looking at an hideous firstborn. It has become actually enjoyable to me, much like playing the piano. I enjoy doing it. I don't have the feeling that I "mastered" this: I don't yet understand how to do this and that, I simply do the same process that I know will work, but it's exciting to me to experiment with these things.
Bread takes time. It doesn't take a lot of work, but the dough needs time to rest, the more the merrier the little bacteria dance and prance and frolic before being roasted to death for the glory of a whole grain rye caramelized poppy seed sour dough
latté bread, preferably at a low temperature for up to two hours of Pompeian torment. One can almost hear their little cries and sighs, while they give their life for our sins, to become the body of bread. και ο σαρξ αρτος εγενετο. Okay, I'm done. I'm good.