sourdough weekend

In this week's episode of the Great British Baking Show, during Bread Week, the contestants had to make two loaves of soda bread. Peter, whose brother is gluten intolerant, decided to make his gluten free, and Paul Hollywood complained that it was dry, stodgy, and gummy--and I was like, yeah, it's gluten-free bread.

Honestly, if gluten didn't make my entire digestive tract want to avenge itself on me, I would eat it and be happy. I've been gluten free now for more than 8 years now, and I only sort of miss it when I see the things that you can never make with gluten-free flours (oh, ye laminated pastries!). However, one thing I have managed is delicious bread.

This bread is so good, at least when fresh, that when I served it to friends at a pre-pandemic, pre-baby dinner party, they scarfed down most of the loaf. Unfortunately, gluten-free bread is tastiest on its first day of baking, and if you buy it in the store, it's already old and thus dry as the toast you have to make it into to make it palatable.

This bread is a sourdough. When I was pregnant last winter, after the fall semester concluded, I set out to bring a new creature into the house (other than a baby), a sourdough starter. Made up of water, brown rice flour, and time, my sourdough starter began its life, and I began my pursuit of the perfect loaf.

This obsession carried me through the pandemic, ensuring we had bread to eat on a regular basis that didn't have to be procured from the grocery stores we've been avoiding except for a restock every three weeks or so. It's also fun. And now I have two starters--a multigrain one (usually teff, sorghum, and quinoa flour but it varies depending on what I have on hand) and a brown rice one.

Currently, my go-to recipe and technique is from Naomi Devlin, who has a great sourdough course. Devlin, a UK-based cookery teacher, has been experimenting with gluten free and actually has been teasing me with the promise of laminated, flaky pastry to tempt me to buy another course from her. Her recipe and methods also informed my other go-to book, Aran Goyoaga's Cannelle et Vanille, which is just a marvelous cookbook.

Anyway, I had neglected my starter for a few weeks as I have been immersed in trying to keep up with my classes while working from home and being the primary calorie source for a rather plump baby, so I decided to bake two loaves--a boule and a sandwich loaf, just to see.

I'm still working on the right temperatures for everything. Our oven is obnoxious and doesn't keep good temperatures and heats all wacky, so it's a bit hard to pin down. This time, I think I ran the oven a bit too hot to start, since the boule got a bit darker faster than I would like, but overall both loaves were lovely. The preschooler happily eats it with salted butter and the grape jelly L made with grapes from the community garden.

While gluten-free bread can never fully stack up to the ease and simplicity of a wheat-based loaf, I'm glad I've found a good approach to bread that isn't stodgy, dry, and gummy.

Pandemic Diaries, May 2020

 Early in quarantine, I jotted some notes:

May 9

Life as a parent of two  young children while a pandemic rages on around us: Well, this is not how I thought I'd be spending our spring and summer with a new baby.

Today: L goes to the farmers' market to get produce and plants. If this were last year, next year, we'd all go--I can see it. The preschooler running up to the granola seller to get a sample, then begging L for a bit of pastry, asking me to buy him a popsicle. Me, wearing the baby on my chest, perhaps stopping to nurse or to sit and eat my own treat or sip my coffee. L darting through the market because he hates standing still, choosing plants for the garden and veggies to eat. We meet friends, we wander blissfully.

But, no.

Today, he went to the drive-thru farmers' market pick-up. He had ordered ahead, reserved a slot. Mask ready, he loaded the groceries and went to get other produce. He washes his hands in the kitchen sink when he returns, carefully counting and lathering thoroughly with the castile soap we made a few years ago. The kids and I stay home, yet another day out of many. It's now and tomorrow and many months ahead of us.

May 10 (Mother's Day)

Today's human contact: Zoom barre3 with my local studio. I don't like my video to be on when I'm working out, so I wait until the end to turn on my camera, to connect with the studio owner or others in the class. It's Mothers' Day, and I relish the hour where I can move my body freely, even as I am still recovering from the baby's birth.

My present from L was not only a nice bag of goodies from the local bookstore but also a way to support that bookstore in a pandemic, which is a sign of how we are making choices these days, trying to keep our communities alive and thriving.

I had a long video call with my mom, and it ended with us talking about racism. I have hope that maybe she won't vote for [UGH], maybe. Or at least she doesn't buy into his crap. I can hope, which is all we can do in these horrible, strange times.

May 16

One day, I couldn't get the image out--a cup, filled up with steaming coffee; a waiter coming by to pour. They did not have gloves, a mask, a fear of a virus (or of transporting one). No, just the simplicity of pouring and drinking, paying, tipping, enjoying.

So today, I ordered coffee and pastries from one of my favorite local coffee shops for pick-up [ordered and paid online! the convenience!], the pleasure of a well-made cup of coffee ours once again. We took it to The Depot to enjoy in the spring sunshine. Though a bit chilly, I was warmed by the pleasure of such a small semblance of normalcy. The baby sat in the carrier he's been in just a few times; the preschooler ran wildly through the grass and clambered on rocks, pointing out the water, a ball he found, the fish, the bubbles.

I know we must continue to isolate, but we are seeking out safe ways to feel less restrained, to lighten the weight of isolation and loneliness. 

October in a Panic

In a text with my mom, I told her how old the baby now was (hint: not so tiny), and she remarked about how time flies. And part of me was yes, absolutely, it does seem like just yesterday that the second child was born--but it also seems like 100 years ago and in a different age because it was a pre-pandemic (or BC--before corona).

Also, I suspect this next month is going to drag until we find out the results of the election.

I revived this blog in part because I've been enjoying a friend's sabbatical blog, and I realized  I missed writing that wasn't creating content for online classes or sending notes to my senators for them to ignore. But I also wanted to revive a space to just...talk about things I think are interesting and to find joy in writing again.

Today, the air is filled with smoke, and so we are inside. It's likely the last warmer day for a while, but I don't mind the impending cooling weather because it'll remove the smoke (I hope) and it means I can wear sweaters and give into my pumpkin-spiced desires. I'm trying to find the joy where I can, in writing and in pumpkins, so that I can focus on the things that are currently going well instead of the impending sense of doom or the moments of panic I keep experiencing.

I have these moments of panic because our country is a dumpster fire being presided over by a white supremacist and our democracy truly feels threatened. My poor students are just trying to hang on, and I'm spending all my work days just trying to help them learn and reassure them that I'll accept anything they want to turn in but having so many of them fall behind. The work I want to do--research, applying for conferences, applying for sabbatical, applying for grants--is constantly on the back burner as I dump all of my time and energy into teaching and service.

But, in a Zoom call with friends on Monday, I was reminded that the doom cycle isn't always productive. We could spend all the time bemoaning our current fates--and it's ok to do that sometimes--but one friend also reminded me that things are not all bad. And it was a good jolt out of the doom cycle and focus on negativity. I'm healthy, my family is healthy, I'm employed, I have sufficient money to donate to the preservation of democracy and help those in need, I have work I love and is meaningful. And, better yet, weirdly the pandemic has been helping me connect more to those who are far away, who I haven't connected to in a while, like the two friends on my Zoom call Monday, or the two friends I Zoomed with over the weekend, or the people I call on the phone.

The pandemic helped me get over my reluctance to call people on the phone, a major achievement!

So, yes, it all sucks, but there are also some bright spots, like the promise of cooler, cleaner air that is coming soon, the waft of fall on the air, and the impending pumpkin-based delights that the weekend will bring. And this blog will likely cycle between the doom and the joy, depending on what I need or am interested in, but hopefully it'll also be a space to just connect again with things that I enjoy and people who matter to me.

Community

When I started telling people I was pregnant, I realized I was both forming and joining a new community: the community of moms. I loved it--women whose children were adults to those who had smaller ones were eager to welcome me, sharing their experiences, and reminiscing about what it was like for them to be a new mom or to raise a kid.

This notion of community is one that has driven much of my life. One reason we decided Boise would be a good fit was the potential for community--I saw how I'd be friends with so many people from my department and that there would many others who would let us be part of their home. Now that we've been here a year, this is definitely the case.

Yet, joining new communities doesn't mean I have to leave the old ones behind. We are making new friends here, but we are also still rooted in our community in Fayetteville. We spent most of June there, celebrating weddings, our new baby, and enjoying the friendships we've had for a long time.

I love being part of a number of communities, be they academic, family, or friend-based. These communities are notable for the mutual support they provide and the joy they bring. And now we're jumping into a new community of parents, and I'm excited to see what we discover.

Times are a'changin'

My last post was all about resolutions. Little did I know at the same time (well, I did know, but it was very early) that I would be going through a major life change--that I would be having a baby this year.

Now it's July, and I'm in my 28th week (the start of the third trimester). Pregnancy has been fascinating as a physical and emotional (and feminist!) experience, and I'm enjoying this time for sure. Currently, I'm feeling my baby move around (s/he seems to respond more and more to noise, touch, etc--was stretching along with me in prenatal yoga this morning!). I'm also at the point where it seems my body changes at an almost daily rate--the week-to-week growth is definitely noticeable.

2015 (and 2016) have been times of change: I started my first post-graduate school job in 2015, which I love, in a new city in the West, which I also enjoy. While I definitely miss my AR friends and family, we are making new friends and connections in Boise. After nearly a year here, it's been a positive change, and the baby is adding yet another good--but BIG!--change to our lives. We are now considering buying a house just to really throw a wrench in things (ha!).

I'll talk more about some of my thoughts on pregnancy, pending motherhood, academia, exercise, feminism, and more in future posts.

no resolution

I opted to skip new year's resolutions. I never really have--I'm always thinking about ways I can be better, happier, healthier, etc. But this year...I'm just over it. I accomplished so much in 2015, yet expended too much energy fussing about the weight I gained, finding myself in a place where I would resolve to eat better and workout more, only to fail again and again.

Not. Fun.

So my resolution, one I marked down while I was enjoying my barre3 studio time in Fayetteville, was to be kind. Be kind to myself, be kind to others. This sense of kindness means that I won't beat myself up. It means I'll focus on nourishing myself not punishing myself, seeking out connections with people I enjoy, and best of all, stop ignoring all of my successes and seeing only what I perceive as failure.

Thus far, this no-resolution resolution has served me well. I feel happier in my own skin and more content--and, it turns out, I'm nourishing my body with delicious food and running and friendship. And if I can maintain this focus in the midst of the next semester, then I know I'll be onto something far more important that a resolution that fades after the decorations get put away and the glitter gets swept into the trash.

hey, it's 2016!

January is the traditional time of reflection and contemplation, and I realized I'd done some of that in my head but not out loud. So here I go--

2015 was a wild whirlwind of things for me. I graduated, got a job, moved across the country, started the job, and concluded my first semester on the tenure track. Crazy! And now that I've looked at my teaching evals, I see that it wasn't too bad in terms of teaching either.

We spent the remainder of the old year and the start of the new back in Arkansas. Oh, how lovely it was to visit old friends, see family, and generally relax with people who love us dearly. I got to spend time with a friend planning her wedding, which was a treat and an honor.

Back in Boise, we're finding a niche for ourselves as well. We have friends, and my goal for the new year was to quit hiding from my pretty awesome running group--while I am often tired when it's time for the group runs, I realized that maybe I was avoiding them because I was feeling intimidated or something, which was just silly. I ran with them on Thursday and Saturday, and they were happy to see me and to see L.

We've also made a lot of friends within my department. In fact, I had the chance to go on a writing retreat in December and to have people in our new community over for Thanksgiving dinner. The last few months have felt like we do in fact belong here. And it doesn't hurt that it's such a great place to live.

While we were back in Fayetteville, people kept asking me how things were or how I liked my new home. It felt artificial, a bit, to gush about how awesome things are but 1.) I'm a pretty positive person, and when I feel content and fulfilled, I tend to ignore the ugly things and 2.) Things really are great. Ultimately, I didn't want to come off as trite in response to the question, but I stand by the answer. Things are great. And I think they'll continue also being challenging, interesting, exciting, and maybe sometimes mundane. And that's just fine with me.

manly meat-eating

Eating meat, some have noted, is a way of asserting masculinity. After all, some men may not cook at all, but they certainly won't hesitate to fire up a grill and burn some burgers into little hockey pucks or dry out some chicken (what L refers to as crimes against meat). In his book Cooked, Michael Pollan pointed out the male-dominated nature of meat-cookery, demonstrated most fully by barbecue competitions and the enthusiasm by which most men exhibit at the chance to eat, say, a steak. There's probably a reason some men I've encountered are horrified by the thought of being a vegetarian, and why more women then men are willing to adopt that lifestyle.

Of course, there are exceptions, but in a culture that values cisgendered expressions of identity, meat-eating becomes a way for (some) men to perform masculinity or assert their manliness through their food choices.

I set up this background to talk a bit more about the latest cooking memoir book I've sped through: Jared Stone's Year of the Cow. Here is a book that meets the requirements to belong to the genre I've been examining, yet he's the first male writer to be added to that list.

Of course, however, his foray into an overwhelmingly woman-dominated literary genre is by buying a whole cow and writing about how he cooked it and the impacts it had on his family.

I mean, just look at how the reviews discuss his book:

A high-octane, thinking-man’s account of one guy’s quest to find meaning in life by cooking a grass-fed steer. The food descriptions and recipes could tempt even a vegan to order steak. You’ll never look at feedlot meat the same way.”— Steven Raichlen, author of the Barbecue! Bible cookbook series and host of PBS’s Primal Grill.

I mean, "high-octane" and "thinking-man's"  and all that celebrating of meat. It fairly screams masculinity at the top of its lungs. And of course, Stone is a writer interested in domesticity--he talks about the delicious food he cooks, he shares his family life with his readers as he and his wife strive to raise their growing family in a high-pressure, busy, hectic world, and he gives recipes to celebrate the extraordinary cow he has purchased.

But some of the similarities with these the types of memoirs written by women fall away under closer examination. Stone focuses a lot of the book to talking about his health and to physical achievements like running barefoot and climbing a mountain. He talks about his career and other pursuits. He cooks a whole cow, for god's sake. While the memoirs written by women also frequently employ a gimicky catch in a bid to grab readers' attentions (and it works well enough, even for me), the focus on meat is one that marks this book as particularly and distinctly masculine.

Which isn't to say that women can't write books about meat--after all, Julie Powell wrote Cleaving about learning butchery. But there it's a foray into a unusual place for women, and she connects her exploration of this world of meat with the challenges to her marriage. (Excuse me while I go download this book to read--the critics eviscerate it in their reviews. I wonder why?)

Stone doesn't ever dig as deeply into these personal relationships. There's not a lot about his past--a theme that features prominently in the memoirs I've been reading--he doesn't talk much about how he fell in love with his wife (another common theme in other cooking memoirs), and there's not really much of a quest for home. He could have talked about the impact of his cooking a lot on his marriage, the ways that the cow alters his relationship and domestic responsibilities, any of these things...yet, a lot of the book is dedicated to his pursuit of better health.

Ultimately, Stone writes an engaging book that reminds readers that our food choices matter. And I think it is an interesting enough book to include in my research as I examine the gendered nature of these kinds of books and what they say about gender roles in cooking, in domesticity, and in the consumers of these texts.

why the strange font choice?

If there's one thing I can't seem to get past, it's the fact that this book I just finished is making strange use of italics. Here, let me show you a picture:

What on earth is going on here? Why does each section and each chapter title have one letter italicized? Why would someone do that to me? Don't they realize I'm teaching a document design course, and even if I weren't, I'd still find it alarming?

Here's the deal: given my puzzling over the damn font, I focus on that in my discussion rather than telling you about this vaguely interesting book I just finished. I say vaguely interesting because it's enjoyable, but much like the wine I'm currently enjoying, it doesn't stand out in my mind like the magnificent Poor Man's Feast. Daaaaaaamn was that book was good.

I digress.

Sasha Martin sets out to tell the motivations behind her blog, Global Table Adventure, and ends up telling us the story of her rough and fractured childhood. When her mother is compelled to give them up to be raised by friends who seemingly have a more stable home, it sets off a series of tragedies, not to mention the fear and uncertainly young Sasha experiences. She begins to find her way through cooking and eating, rooting her to the happier moments of her poverty-stricken childhood, where pouring cranberry juice on cereal became a treat, not a moment of desperate necessity.

These stories are compelling, and she weaves the recipes and food memories of her young life and her growing up, marriage, and the birth of her daughter. In her later discovery of a measure of happiness and successful relationships, she begins cooking the world, an act that brings her back to the past, joyful and painful memories alike.

Overall, Martin's book has memorable moments and interesting stories, and it ends full of optimism and joy, not to mention some tantalizing recipes, like Cambodian Grilled Eggs that L and I are fascinated by. But it's the strange font that I can't get out of my head. Perhaps I shall inquire of the publisher or the author why they chose to format the titles like that...