How to Bake a Perfect Life - Barbara O'Neal [87]
My mother is right. I should know better by now.
But this is my daughter, who needs distraction. “Yes,” I say. “Way out of my league!” I laugh to show it doesn’t bother me, but I’m thinking of his house, the music playing, his calm, elegant manners.
“Nobody is out of your league, Mom. You’re probably out of his.” A voice murmurs nearby and Sofia says something muffled. “Hey, I have to go. The doctors are going in.”
“Love you! Let me know if you need anything.”
“Kiss, love, bye!”
I stand in the dark garden with the phone in my hand and send a prayer to my baby across the miles. Be well. Be safe. Be strong. A wind moves across the moonflowers, making them bounce, and my cat comes streaking out of the garden. For a minute it almost looks as if someone is standing there. Then a cloud shifts and the area is too dark to see.
The bread is waiting.
Jimmy is at the door with a frown. “We might have a problem.” She holds out a wooden spoon. “This is Adelaide’s sponge.”
Even before it gets to my nose, I can tell it’s gone too sour. “Ay yi yi.” With the tip of my little finger, I scoop out a small taste, put it on my tongue, and turn to spit it right out again. I should never have refreshed it when I was so angry at my sister, and I’m still rattled over Sofia. “Tell you what. Do what you can with the others and I’ll get this washed and refreshed this afternoon.”
She nods. “Any ideas what to put in place of the rusticas, then?”
“You know, Jimmy, I’m going to let you decide.”
One pierced eyebrow lifts in wary surprise. “Me. Decide.”
I laugh. “Yes. It’s time. Choose something and let’s go with it.”
“Cheese and herb focaccia,” she says, testing. She’s been dying to make focaccias part of our repertoire.
“Perfect.” I carry the starter to the counter. Even the color is off, a vague pink, stained with my lingering fury at my sister. Later it will have to be washed, but for now I have to focus on what to fill the cases with this morning. Baguettes, I think, the best and simplest bread in the world. I wash my hands and dive into the comfort of flour and salt, yeast and water, the eternal, essential cornerstones of bread.
RAMONA’S BOOK OF BREADS
CARING FOR YOUR MOTHER DOUGH
Starters are sturdier than they appear, despite all the legends of miners sleeping with their starters against their bodies overnight to keep them from freezing. Still, some tenderness is required.
To care well for a mother dough, take it out of the fridge and refresh it once a week. The starter may have a layer of liquid, which will vary in color from light yellow to dark brown. This is the natural alcohol produced by the yeasts and is never to be feared. Stir it into the starter vigorously, measure out half of the starter, and put it in a fresh jar. Use the other half in some baking, or throw the other half away (or give it away). To the remaining dough, add 1 cup flour, 1 cup water, and stir vigorously. Let it stand overnight and return to the fridge.
If a starter has gone too sour or weak, stir it vigorously, measure half into a large, clean jar, and add 1 cup of lukewarm water and stir it in. Then add ½ cup rye flour and 1¼ cups unbleached white flour. Stir and let stand in a warm place where you can keep an eye on it. You should see plenty of activity within a couple of hours. By morning, even the most bitter of mother doughs should be refreshed and ready to work again.
Katie
When Katie gets up, Merlin is already outside in the backyard with Ramona. Shimmying into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, she pads down the stairs as quietly as if someone might hear her. In the cool, still-shadowy kitchen, which smells a little of the supper they ate last night with the aunties, she turns on the computer. While it boots, she peeks out the kitchen window to be sure Ramona is still there. From below come the sounds of the girls setting up the bakery cases for the day. It’s only five a.m. With a rush of longing, Katie thinks of how the dew will still be all over everything, making