Today was a good day.
Last week I got a live shoggoth -- though some would call it a sourdough starter -- from my buddy Sol, who got it from Chaz Villette, who -- if I'm understanding this correctly -- is actually a fictional character created by Elizabeth Bear, Will Shetterly and Emma Bull. So Chaz' shoggoth was named "Elmer," Sol's is named "Homer," and mine is named "Olmer." I had a great-great uncle Olmer, no kidding. (or was it great-great-great? I also had a great-great uncle Adolph; they don't make many Adolphs any more.)
Anyway.
Today, Olmer's first offspring gave me two loaves of sourdough bread, and it was MIGHTY. One loaf went to Nora, wrapped in the same pristine white cloth she delivered her challah in, since everyone knows it's wrong to return an empty gift-cloth.
The other we fell upon like ravening wolves, spreading butter on its still-warm, crackling skin NOM NOM NOM. I baked it using the famous no-knead recipe, though I'm not sure I could articulate what I did. I just kinda glooped together Olmer and flour and water till the dough looked right, then let him ferment overnight. I shaped two loaves from the resultant sticky mess, and got this. It's a bit flat, and somewhat overmoist, so I think I'll aim for drier dough next time. Still, it was absolutely delicious, and you could hear the crust crackling and pinging as it cooled. Thanks, Sol!
Olmer lives on in the fridge, and I think I'll start another loaf this weekend. And if anyone wants some feral yeasts of their own, let me know.
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Now, here's the current state of the garden:
So far: Spinaches, lettuce and radishes in this picture. The peas are against the fence on the other side of the driveway.
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Next, here are some pix of my many daffodils, which are one of the main reasons for the dissipation of my annual winter gloomcloud.
And lastly, I had a really wonderful conversation this evening with my neighbor Rob, who never fails to inspire me with his artful zen carpentry skills: He's building his new workshop, and he'd just finished leveling his old concrete floor with specially-planed individually sloping woodshims mounted on two-by-fours, and had finally hung his handcrafted, impossibly beautiful salvaged-beadboard doors. Gorgeous. Awe-inspiring.
Life is good.