It’s afternoon in late August and the air is just barely starting to cool, bringing with it reminders of Fall. Oma and I are skipping down her road, each with an empty bucket on one arm in merry pursuit of the blackberries growing wild down around the corner. You can smell them before you seeRead more
It has been a least a year of testing and re-testing spelt sourdough breads, reading and following instructions in different bread books, I even took a friggin’ course on it and still I had yet to produce one loaf that was anything similar to my no knead bread with commercial yeast. That is until twoRead more
This is my Opa. For as long as I can remember slices of his Sourdough Rye Bread would be front and centre in the breakfast table feast when we came to visit. Surrounding it I would always find wedges of sharp cheese, thin slices of cured meats, a soft boiled egg or two, homemade jamsRead more