Yesterday I made two French style boules. The kitchen is quite chilly so even though the dough was rising in the oven (with only the light turned on), it still took forever to rise so I could shape it. But at last just before dinner, I somehow maneuvered the sloppy dough into two beautiful boules and stuck them on the peel and back into the oven to rise.
Luckily, our dinner did not require the oven – we had chicken with prunes and apricots on couscous with the last of the preserved lemons and steamed broccoli. (I’ve GOT to do more lemons! The flavour really is wonderful.) Dinner was delicious….
And finally it was time to put the bread in the oven. I set the timer to go off half way through the baking and we started to watch a movie on DVD. When the bell rang, I jumped up, raced downstairs, turned the bread around and reset the timer. (At least I’m pretty sure I reset it.) Then I raced back upstairs; we resumed the movie and some time later, T said, “Mmmm, I smell bread!” I was miffed because I couldn’t really. And the smell of baking bread is so lovely! But I didn’t want to interrupt the movie again until the bell rang. One of the things I have learned about this bread is that it really is better to let it bake for a good half hour – if not more.
But then, of course, I started getting nervous. How long had we been watching the movie? I didn’t hear the bell. Did you hear the bell?? So back downstairs I raced and saw that the timer had gone off.
Who knows when? The time!! The time!!! Out came two rather dark – no not burned – loaves of bread. Oh woe is me!!! I contemplated making another starter right then and baking bread again today. But T nixed that. He has assured me that once the dark bread is sliced, nobody will notice how dark the crust is.
But what am I going to do about my hair? Won’t they notice the bald patches from where it is torn out?