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Bread and BlueberriesAugust 31, 2008 I didn't mean to bake bread today -- I've got two loaves in the freezer, one onion walnut and the other the full sibling of the whole wheat Craisin blue-ribbon winner -- but last night my sourdough starter was looking neglected, so I whisked it in a bowl with two cups of warm water and two and a half cups of unbleached white flour, covered it with a towel, and left it on the counter. This morning it was bubbling so cheerily that of course I had to make something, and since I've still got some pancake batter in the fridge, "something" had to be bread. Into the bowl went the last of the orange juice (exactly two cups, which was just what I needed), the rest of the Craisins, some oil, three squirts of honey, two cups of white flour and two of whole wheat. In two or three hours the sponge had doubled -- if anyone tells you that sourdough starter alone can't raise dough, they lie, or maybe they just haven't met the right starter yet -- whereupon I kneaded and loafed. The loaves were humongous. If I hadn't already greased my biggest (9-by-5-by-3-inch) bread pans, I would have split it in three, but once loaf pans are greased, they have to be used. That's my private rule, based partly on "waste not, want not" and partly on not liking to wash greasy pans. The dough ate up all the white and whole wheat flour I had left in the house, along with a couple cups of the soy flour that someone gave me at least a year ago but I hadn't got around to trying yet. I rarely run out of flour, and this was a seriously close call: the dough was a little sticky but manageable, so I didn't have to run next door to borrow a cup or two. I did wash the big glass jars the flour lives in. Three sparkling clean jars are now sitting on the shelf (I used up the last of the rye flour toward the end of the spring). They won't be empty long. The loaves were out of the oven by 2:30. While the bread was rising, Trav and I went for a walk. I'd cut the last of the post-fair bread glut into cubes and put them in a plastic bag. On the way out, I scattered them in the woods for the birds and other critters. Travvy paid close attention to this operation. I explained that "other critters" did not include him as he is a very lucky puppy with a reliable food source, but I'm not at all sure that he took this in. On the way home, we stopped at a clump of high-bush blueberries that I've had my eye on for three days now; most of the high-bush blueberries in the immediate area have passed their peak or been picked (it's been a great summer for blueberries and huckleberries), but not these. I picked. Trav wandered up the road a bit, trailing his leash. I could see him, so I figured he was fine -- which he was, but I didn't realize till I was done that he'd occupied himself digging a new mud puddle in the road. His paws, his face, and, especially, his purple leash were fairly marinated in mud. All in all it seemed a fair trade: the birds got the bread, I got the blueberries, and Traveller got to play mud puppy.
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