Numbers. Again.

[desperance]

Okay, look. I hate to brag, it's dangerous; but here are the final numbers for this month.

Pages: 187
Words: (approx) 60,000

Sheesh. For most people, that's half a novel. For me, it's a good third of a novel. Why can't I do that every month? [Lies back and thinks of three books a year. And time off.]

I am, I confess, tired now. And of course I can't stop yet, because the book's not over; and then as soon as it's finished it'll need redrafting in a hurry, and then as soon as it's off there's a play to write and another book and a new proposal and...

But tonight I feel accomplished.

I cooked dinner. This is nice. Soak pinto or rosecoco (or flageolet) beans overnight, and simmer till tender. Finely slice onion, carrot, celery, and fry them in olive oil; add diced pancetta, and fry a few minutes; add the beans and a little stock or water, and simmer until the carrot is tender. Stir in handfuls of parsley and season. Meanwhile, dip fillets of sea bass in seasoned flour, and fry two minutes on the skin side in hot olive oil; turn over for thirty seconds, and serve on top of the beany goodness.

Comments

[desperance.livejournal.com]

Yup, that's absolutely right - one of the things I learned during the great Year of Baking was how much flours vary. Not only from country to country: we have cheap flours, expensive flours, organic flours, stone-ground flours, all kind of flours of our own. And they all behave differently, damn their curious powdery natures...

See, the only way to be a fabulous baker is to do it all day and every day, be a pro. There's that much variety, you'll never learn it all else. And that's not fair, because I can't do that. I'm good at everything else I do in the kitchen, pretty much, because it comes down to a few basic skills that I have mastered. Baking is a whole different level of expertise, which I lack the time and opportunity to acquire. I have learned to muddle through, but that's the most I'll ever manage.

(Addendum: if being a pro is best, I guess being a mother is second-best - or perhaps being a mother of my own mum's generation, when you did still bake your own cakes, because shop-bought was a humiliation. She got to practise on an almost daily basis, feeding a family of six. Me, on a daily basis, I have no one to cook for but myself. And the cat, of course, but he doesn't like cakes.)