Instagram and Other Addictions

I finally got on Instagram.

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Fred vs. Amelia: A Sourdough Story

Fred and his bread

A few months ago, I made a sourdough starter. I named him Fred.

Fred was a late bloomer. He was sufficiently fed and watered, kept warm and cozy in his infancy, but he failed to absorb much of the yeast he’d need to make a good bread, and his sour was never particularly strong. I refreshed him regularly, let him warm his dough in the summer sun, tried nourishing him with sugar and milk and even beer. Like the parent of any slow-developing child, I sought answers in books. Some made sourdough starting sound easy; if I couldn’t do it, I must be a fool. Others proclaimed it a daunting task, virtually impossible and best left to professionals.

Well.

Baking, Sewing, and the Constant Need to Create

For a while now, I’ve been baking like a maniac. It started because I was auditioning to be a contestant on a competitive baking show. I’m still not supposed to tell you which one or any details (reality TV is über secretive) but I will tell you that while I made it through several levels of casting, I was not selected.

Muttereeickle

I love it so much, I make crazy faces.

When I was a kid, I had a trademark sandwich. I called it the muttereese because its filling was comprised of:

1. Mustard
2. Butter
3. Cheese

As I got older and my palate got more sophisticated, I added pickles. Thus it became the muttereeickle.

The other day I was poking around my kitchen looking for lunch and it hit me: a huge craving for muttereeickle. Except, instead of store-bought bread (usually buttermilk white or potato), I cut a couple slices from my loaf of homemade sourdough. Instead of Velveeta or Kraft processed cheese food, I used medium cheddar. Instead of dill pickles, I used bread and butter. (Funny, since I forgot about the actual butter, which really wasn’t necessary anyway). I thought about classing up the mustard, too, but in the end I went for good old French’s yellow.

Oh. my. god. Oh my god, you guys! (Ten points if you get that reference.) It was so good. To use a vocab word I hadn’t learned when I created the original, it was sublime. And maybe it sounds weird to you. And maybe you think I’m hormonal. Maybe it sounds like a pregnancy craving (hallelujah, it is not–one kid on each arm is enough for me, thanks.) But if you like sharp, tangy flavors like I do (hail the glory of the salt and vinegar potato chip!) you will love it. Because I love it. If I hadn’t just had lunch, I’d go make one right now.

Pepper, Olive, and Swiss Bagels

I’ve been trying to come up with some savory and festive recipes–I love to bake but there’s only so much sugar one can take, you know?–and I thought I’d make some bagels that looked like wreaths. Easy, right? I mean, they’ve already got the shape. The rest is a matter of flavor and decoration.

So… what’s green? Sage, I thought. Herbs. Make an herbed bagel. We had those at the bagel shop where I worked as a teenager and they were delicious. But they weren’t exactly green. Then I thought–green olives. As a topping. And to compliment the flavor, some paprika and chili powder in the dough. Red and green.

Sort of.