It was an event-packed summer weekend to say goodbye to July, with some late-night baking squeezed in. Our blog this week is therefore a photomontage.
The crust was delicious, very flaky. The filling was also wonderful, with just the right amount of lemon. If only we could figure out how to thicken it. No matter, it made a great fruit soup.
This pie was a fun little summer project and a great dessert to carry us into another hopefully-warm month!
Much like a cheap mystery novel where you read the beginning, scan the middle, and finish the end, is my story with the Semolina bread.
In the beginning:
“It’s dead.”
“No, it can’t be–just give it time.”
“The water was hotter than a hot tub and it is still not foaming. I’m telling you, it…is…dead.”
Not trusting Jessica’s opinion, I remove myself from my window seat and peer into the metal bowl she is holding. The yeast is indeed dead.
“Doesn’t yeast have to eat? What if I sprinkle in some sugar? How about some salt?”
Before I could answer, Jessica grabs a pinch of sugar and tosses it into the bowl. We stare expectantly. Nothing.
“I don’t think that worked,” I say, “I can pick some more up at the store.”
Jessica crinkles her nose and with disgust stares back into the bowl. “Nah, I’ve got two more packets of yeast. Let’s just try those.”
And we do with various combinations. Did the yeast like salt? Nope. Sugar? Nope. Is it not hungry and just wants to be left alone? Nope.
“I’ll go buy new yeast,” Jessica sighs, admitting defeat.
Finally foaming!
Middle:
“What can I do to help?”
“Let’s add more flour, the dough is pretty sticky”
Our new yeast was working as it was suppose to. Fourth time and a brand new packet was just the ticket. It had risen nicely and we were now in the dough forming stages. I added a couple tablespoons more flour and pulled the sticky dough from the bowl.
Beautiful semolina flour
Still sticky
“Ugh, good thing I don’t have any tactile defensiveness.” Showing my dough laden hands to Zuzu.
“What do you think Zuzu? Jump Zuzu! Jump!” I say after I notice her sudden attention to my food crusted hands. She jumps just high enough to get a lick of the dough. Being of particular taste, she has had her fill and walks away.
“Alright Jess–I’ve got to go meet up with a random guy I met on a (reputable) internet dating site. Hopefully I don’t end up dead like our little yeast friends.”
Rolling her eyes and giving me a placating smile, she goes back to finishing up this week’s baking challenge.
what happens when you put the camera in a fruit bowl
having Naan flashbacks
End:
“How was your date?” Jess asks as I walk in the door at 11:00pm. The house bursting with smells of fresh bread.
“Meh, I’m alive. I consider it a success. Wait a second did you bake the bread? I thought you were going to wait!”
“It is in the oven now. I didn’t want it to rise too much and get puffy like the naan. That was naan-sense.”
The timer goes off and we make our way to the kitchen. Jess pulls from the oven a beautiful little loaf of Semolina bread topped with golden sesame seeds. Not waiting for it to cool, we cut into the tough outer crust which protects its doughy insides.
This was story of tragic beginnings, soft middles, and crunching endings. Delicious.
Bonjourno from Italy!
Alright, not really. As close as I will come today to an Italian escape is with my lovely cup of coffee, some delizioso biscotti, and the Italian calendar that hangs in our kitchen. But I will take a little biscotti detour any day. This baking assignment was timed perfectly with a movie we watched last night on cappuccino (The Perfect Cappuccino, for those inclined towards nerdy-fun documentaries). Once past the chatty intro, I was submerged into the world of coffee. And had to suppress a massive craving, at 10pm, for un caffe espresso.
Our baking duo simmered to a solo this week. Hannah is enjoying the wilds of Alaska. She promises to bring me back a cute baby bear, as Portland garbage pickup is now only every two weeks, and I forgot to take it out last week. Surely more coffee-biscotti retreats will awaken my memory.
Mt. Hood (placeholder for some Alaska pics from Hannah)
The biscotti baking, like a quiet Sunday evening, passed quickly and sweetly. Because I was enjoying my quiet Sunday, I avoided the grocery store and unearthed (almost literally) a bag of unopened pistachios from the bowels of the pantry. Though never opened, they were still stale. I roasted them in the oven, hoping to warmly coax out their nutty essence. The oven returned to me little pods of salt, but at least they looked like nuts.
Not sure about these little guys
Coffee-chocolate experiment
No no, don’t eat yet
After slicing and baking again (on a cooling rack!), the biscotti was finished, and so was my french press. The biscotti fluffed and melted nicely into my cinnamon-sprinkled coffee. The salt pods did not attack; instead, I tasted faint chocolate and a hint (very small) of pistachio. I love that I have enough for at least a week of morning coffee time. Sorry Hannah, these may not survive until you return.
Get cozy, I only have one cooling rack.
Coffee and biscotti belong together, just like Sundays and detours, bears and garbage. And baking with friends 🙂 Next time, our baking duo resumes to try our luck at Semolina Bread.
Not quite Italy, but close enough.
Trumping the Tart 