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[personal profile] desperance
Sunday: it's not really a placeholder, neither a bookmark. We are not marching on the spot here.

Nevertheless. Yesterday we drove up to the city for a fabulous Ellen-Klages'-birthday dinner with Ellen and Madeleine Robins and Pat Murphy. We watched boats on the water at Golden Gate while the sun went down beyond the Bay; we ate fishes and shellfishes and steak and creme brulee; we spoke of almost everything but shoes and sealing-wax, and also cabbages. (I don't believe I mentioned kimchi once.)

Tomorrow, K has an interview and I have a dentist.

Meanwhile, it's today. I have made and jarred jam; I have baked bread. I have watered the garden, which is hot as loveliness this baking July day. We had dim sum for lunch, and then went shopping after; and now I am mostly reorganising the kitchen, transferring all my pulses and dried fruits and other pantry staples into mason jars rather than the mix of tupperware and plastic bags that has sufficed hitherto. Things are getting labelled, also. Think of that.

Barry-cat is scheduled to be radioactivated in August, for his hyperthyroid. He spends three days sealed in lead, and when he comes home even his poo will be nuclear waste for a while. If it saves him from the dreaded pink pill for pale pussycats, I am in hopes that he will think it all worthwhile.

I suppose I ought to do some work. but it's always hard at weekends. And I suppose I ought to give some thought to dinner, but I have cooked already this day and I'd rather go on pouring things into jars and feeling useful. Hey-ho.

The bread is my new sandwich loaf. I'm still working it over, but at the moment it looks like this:



That's 300g water, 30g olive oil, 25g diastatic malt powder, 8g instant yeast, 6g salt, 300g all-purpose flour, 125g wholewheat flour (actually I used emmer, but hey), 100g semolina; mixed and then kneaded six minutes in the stand mixer. It's a sticky dough; slick it with olive oil and leave it a couple of hours, then knock it back and set it in a loaf tin to rise a second time. I painted the crust with buttermilk to get that golden glow. And then slashed it and baked it for thirty-five minutes at four hundred F. And then photographed it in the California sunlight, obviously, for further golden-glowishness.
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