Well, we are back from a month of adventure. I miss the
sandy shore, the free time, and the family and friends. (Roy may or may not
have called me out on my depressed attitude this morning.) It’s going to be a
long time until next summer...
But one nice thing about being home is being in my kitchen
once again! Also, The Great British Baking Show, which I didn’t watch on PBS
this summer. Have no worries though friends: thanks to the internet and two
free evenings I’m alllllllll caught up. :D
The Great British Baking Show inspires me to try new things.
Last year it convinced me to wish for a stand mixer. (A purchase which has
proven useful on just about a daily basis.) This year apparently it persuaded me
to attempt making my own puff pastry. Why? Well, it’s a lot cheaper than a stand
mixer, for one. I’m not entirely sure…it’s not like I buy store-bought pastry to
make things. It just seemed like a new adventure in the science and art of
baking. So much to get right.
And soooo easy to get wrong. I have my first batch chilling
in the fridge and have already made at least three rookie mistakes. 1. I didn’t
watch any Youtube tutorials, which in today’s age is stupidity at its finest.
Why wouldn’t you watch a bunch of professionals before you wasted ¾ of a pound
of butter? 2. I folded the dough incorrectly when I encased the initial block
of butter. This has made subsequent rollings-out much trickier. 3. I didn’t
knead the initial dough OR let it rest long enough. So it’s not terribly pliable.
So there’s butter leaking out of busted bubbles in my puff
pastry dough. It’s OK though—I’m still practicing the rhythm of chilling,
rolling, and turning. And I’m going to see if I can get anything workable out
of this batch. And then I’m going to try again.
Donations of butter gladly accepted, because otherwise this
may end up costing more than a stand mixer after all.
Book 50/50: That’s
right: FIFTY books in 2016! <trumpet fanfares> Under the Tuscan Sun. I think there’s some kind of chick-flick loosely based on this book. However, I didn’t realize that when I picked it up
and, after watching the trailer of the movie this morning, have little desire
to see it. I don’t think they share anything other than a house in Tuscany. If
Elvera Berry didn’t write this book her twin Elvira Buettner did, because it
reads exactly like her writing. A memoir of a literature professor who
purchases a run-down dwelling in Cortona, in the heart of Tuscany. This book
made me hungry for all things Italian: pasta, mushrooms, olives, wine, and shoooooooes. With the exception of an odd foray into all things spiritual
(despite admitting freely that she is "a pagan") at the end, a lovely trip to
Italy through the eyes of a smart, reflective woman.
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