I hopped on the sourdough train, gosh, three years ago now. My sister got me a starter kit (jar, stirring thing, proofing baskets) and a packet of dried starter from San Fran. Her hope was to benefit from the baking. And she did.
My boys continue to love weeks when I make loaves. (The recipe I use makes two.) They either chomp through them in record time, or they sit and linger until I end up tossing the last slice or two. There's no rhyme or reason to it.
Regardless, yesterday was dough day, and today was baking day. Some friends sent me stencils to use on the tops of the loaves for this most recent birthday, so I did that. It's kind of a fun, if unnecessary, addition. Hubby had a sourdough grilled cheese for lunch. Youngest had a thick slice covered in butter as part of his. So that first loaf is more than half gone already.
And then, because things have been somewhat annoying of late and I'm trying to find better ways to deal with frustration and annoyance, I baked chocolate chip cookies this afternoon. The boys don't seem to mind that, either.
Of course, pro tip, if you're going to use a timer on the cookies, it helps if you actually hit start instead of just setting it. Oops.
The first dozen are very...crisp. They're not burned. But it'll be interesting to see if anyone actually eats them.
Of course, in the midst of all of this, I'm back at it working on reducing my personal footprint, so I partake of none of these yummies. And that is perhaps the worst part of it. I like the baking - that's definitely true - but I do miss the chance to taste the fruit of my labor as well.
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