When your schools close four days before a hurricane actually gets to Florida, you know it's serious.
Here I am, watching the sun (and the bread dough) rise on a beatific Thursday morning, running some old western on Filmstruck as two birds climb all over me while I research how to make my boules quit sticking to the damn banneton baskets (cornstarch and water and rice flour, BTW).
Hurricane Irma, now the strongest and biggest beast of a storm ever measured in the Atlantic, is still taking her sweet time ruining everyone's day in the Caribbean before she drunkenly arrives on our shores this weekend. In the meantime, I've done what every introvert with a cooking obsession does when she's feeling out of control and scared shitless: preparing too much complicated food.
Last night, it was a huge pile of falafel. I've been meaning to do it for a while now, and it turned out EXACTLY DELICIOUS, but for future reference, half that damn recipe. I just hope my mountain of chickpea ambrosia doesn't go to waste when the power goes out and shit starts thawing in the freezer.
This morning, it's precious rosemary sourdough, which I plan to share with house-bound friends and family. I haven't done a sourdough in a while, so having nothing else to do but sit and stew while reluctantly awaiting Irma's wrath, I figured I could at least be productive.
It's GROWING...
Time to wait for fermentation. I'm enjoying the pool while I can.
AHHH YES THE HOUSE SMELLS LOVELY.
