How our mortal coil unwinds
like a tightly coiled clock spring it sits and unwinds slowly
sometimes jumping of its carefully mounted ridges, exploding
we run, we think we can hide
another day presents itself
from one peril we run into another
all we know is that this is finite
suffering is not relative, but it is seen that way
media sees and sensationalizes
flooding, quakes and global climate change
the plight of the 3rd world
carrying the burden of the 1st world on its fragile shoulders
no one sheds a tear unless it is you
standing a moment we gaze forward into nothingness
tomorrow is here
we stand
we look
we know not what now holds
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
into the darkness
"exit light,
enter night
take my hand
we are off to never never land"
"Deep into the darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before."
I shall not tread lightly as i enter into the darkness of life, i shall enter into the dark spaces with a spectrum of bright colours blindingly i move forward, nay i say shall fear no dark space, nay i shall not fear injustice, nay i shall not fear the unknown.
Go forth he said, search for the flicker of light in the darkness that abounds, find the truth, find the happiness, find the colour, even it it means a 30 second exposure.
Something had changed, he stood there staring at the wall, it was different today, the same yellow sandstone wall covered by lichens and moss. It just seemed so different, he felt the inner connection he wondered about it, how come the patterns looked that way. He had to come back and take a picture, a picture of the pattern, no one would believe him. The butterfly had flapped its wings in Malaysia, more specifically KL. Everything would be different tomorrow, the weather, the patterns the sunshine everything would change. All for a little Carbon Dioxide he imagined, the weather was changing, it made him think about the Bob Dylan song that he had heard and loved and hated and all of the above at the same time.
Slowly he took another step up the worn pathway, glimpsing thought he fine rain drops gathering on the hood of his raincoat sending large globules of rain down his cheek. would it ever be the same again, he kepot pondering over and over, there had to be something he could do, almost instinctively he dodged the lady with the pink hair, he was wearing an emerald green dress today. The water slowly started seeping through the seams of his shoes, he felt the ever present squelch, first on his left foot then on his right. He had always been limping, he could never understand why. There was no reason for him to limp, but he did, waiting for the traffic light, he knelt to tie his shoe lace, out of the corner of his eye he noticed the on coming traffic, how he had wished he had bought a car instead of spending his money on that book, or he should rather have thought books. Slowly, yet deliberately he stood up and sidled closer to the traffic lights insidious beeping, he knew it was for the blind people, but it irritated him so. from a distance he got his first aroma of the coffee filtering through the wet blanket covering them all. something to look forward to he thought, life is full of small joys he kept telling himself. Suddenly his dream state was shaken by the loud buzzing of the traffic lights, the frentic bustle of people around him, rushing to cross to the other side, it flet like he was standing at the Styx, crossing this, imbibing the city it would change everything, unlike the Styx it would not last for years, or would it. He paused a moment longer, irritating a rather large lady behind him, buslting through she mumbled angrily under her breath. Without waiting he jumped forward as if he had been awoken from his dream state, something inside, a song a dream was pulling him forward towards his fate for the day, or was it just the flapping of a very small grey butterfly with lightly coloured blue flecks on a remote hill called the heads that pushed him forwards? Unto this day he will never know, i doubt he will ever know why he walked that way, on that morning, why he stopped to buy coffee, why he lingered a minute longer than before, but he did and that is what formed his life going forwards.
And the train trips become more familiar, the faces are becoming more and more familiar. I recognize the lady with the pink hair and thee green dress, the members of parliament, the political analysts. the computer programmers, the testers (yes!.) and all the others. Yes there is a comfort int he familiarity of it all. At times there is comfort in new things, at others there is despair. Oh we are an enigmatic and chrono-dis-synchronous anachronistic beings. Or maybe some are and others are not. But there are things that make us happy at times and not at others, frigin weird. Maybe when I come back as the supreme ruler and master of the universe i will re-engineer humans into something a little more predictable or at least less predictable.. but this mix and match is wholly confusing.
But there is a light at the end of the tunnel and yes that is the train and somedays it is the sunlight streaming through.
Life is like a stained glass window, multi coloured , multifaceted and surrounded by heavy lead boundaries.. :-)
next maybe something on the sensory experience of food... either that or a potjiekos recipe ... maybe if we record these blogs and play them backwards we might just get soemthing LOL
enter night
take my hand
we are off to never never land"
"Deep into the darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before."
I shall not tread lightly as i enter into the darkness of life, i shall enter into the dark spaces with a spectrum of bright colours blindingly i move forward, nay i say shall fear no dark space, nay i shall not fear injustice, nay i shall not fear the unknown.
Go forth he said, search for the flicker of light in the darkness that abounds, find the truth, find the happiness, find the colour, even it it means a 30 second exposure.
Something had changed, he stood there staring at the wall, it was different today, the same yellow sandstone wall covered by lichens and moss. It just seemed so different, he felt the inner connection he wondered about it, how come the patterns looked that way. He had to come back and take a picture, a picture of the pattern, no one would believe him. The butterfly had flapped its wings in Malaysia, more specifically KL. Everything would be different tomorrow, the weather, the patterns the sunshine everything would change. All for a little Carbon Dioxide he imagined, the weather was changing, it made him think about the Bob Dylan song that he had heard and loved and hated and all of the above at the same time.
Slowly he took another step up the worn pathway, glimpsing thought he fine rain drops gathering on the hood of his raincoat sending large globules of rain down his cheek. would it ever be the same again, he kepot pondering over and over, there had to be something he could do, almost instinctively he dodged the lady with the pink hair, he was wearing an emerald green dress today. The water slowly started seeping through the seams of his shoes, he felt the ever present squelch, first on his left foot then on his right. He had always been limping, he could never understand why. There was no reason for him to limp, but he did, waiting for the traffic light, he knelt to tie his shoe lace, out of the corner of his eye he noticed the on coming traffic, how he had wished he had bought a car instead of spending his money on that book, or he should rather have thought books. Slowly, yet deliberately he stood up and sidled closer to the traffic lights insidious beeping, he knew it was for the blind people, but it irritated him so. from a distance he got his first aroma of the coffee filtering through the wet blanket covering them all. something to look forward to he thought, life is full of small joys he kept telling himself. Suddenly his dream state was shaken by the loud buzzing of the traffic lights, the frentic bustle of people around him, rushing to cross to the other side, it flet like he was standing at the Styx, crossing this, imbibing the city it would change everything, unlike the Styx it would not last for years, or would it. He paused a moment longer, irritating a rather large lady behind him, buslting through she mumbled angrily under her breath. Without waiting he jumped forward as if he had been awoken from his dream state, something inside, a song a dream was pulling him forward towards his fate for the day, or was it just the flapping of a very small grey butterfly with lightly coloured blue flecks on a remote hill called the heads that pushed him forwards? Unto this day he will never know, i doubt he will ever know why he walked that way, on that morning, why he stopped to buy coffee, why he lingered a minute longer than before, but he did and that is what formed his life going forwards.
And the train trips become more familiar, the faces are becoming more and more familiar. I recognize the lady with the pink hair and thee green dress, the members of parliament, the political analysts. the computer programmers, the testers (yes!.) and all the others. Yes there is a comfort int he familiarity of it all. At times there is comfort in new things, at others there is despair. Oh we are an enigmatic and chrono-dis-synchronous anachronistic beings. Or maybe some are and others are not. But there are things that make us happy at times and not at others, frigin weird. Maybe when I come back as the supreme ruler and master of the universe i will re-engineer humans into something a little more predictable or at least less predictable.. but this mix and match is wholly confusing.
But there is a light at the end of the tunnel and yes that is the train and somedays it is the sunlight streaming through.
Life is like a stained glass window, multi coloured , multifaceted and surrounded by heavy lead boundaries.. :-)
next maybe something on the sensory experience of food... either that or a potjiekos recipe ... maybe if we record these blogs and play them backwards we might just get soemthing LOL
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
meaning
lost faith, an imaginary tale base don the fact that i no longer see my station Christians..
(totally fictional :-))
this is what happens if you read a happy death on the way on the train ;-)
He was a lonely man, his faith was his strength, his strength was his faith.
Every day he stood their eyes closed beneath the bush shelter on the southern side of the station in the shade. He stood there with a purpose eyes wide shut praying to a God that gave his life meaning. Other days he just sat there reading the Book, over and over the words flowing in him creating meaning in a life that made no sense. What was this elusive thing he called happiness, come rain come shine this was his spot, every day he stood steadfast like a soldier imbibing the spirit. That was real he experienced it, he did not falter, he did not fall, he stood tall, he was one of God's soldiers. Nothing could shake his faith, this was his life, his life had meaning, this was the meaning, this was his life, it was great. Everything was grey, people had a grayness and darkness around him, yet his inner light shone through all of this without faltering. He had purpose in this dark and godless city, he was in praise of the glory that was and is and always will be.
He had forgotten about the flowers along the way, they had always been an inspiration, a mirror of the glory that radiated around him. Things seemed different to him today, he could not really figure it out. These feelings came and went, the glory ebbed and flowed like the tides on onehunga bay. How he wished he was standing next to the radio masts, immense in size and structure. The wind whistling through the cables, the crazy fractal patterns that were created by the wind creating wave apon wave of movement, neigh standing waves. This was good, but he could not go there, it was with sadness his mind went back to that day.
IT is not he who questions who wins the race, it is not he who wonders, it is he who races who wins. He stodo there standing looking at this piece of text etched in the marble base of the statue, its weathered and lichen pocked surface was a mere smidgen of its past glory, but somehow the new natural patina created by the elements did something to enhance and change his view of this sculpture. Every day he walked past he was captivated by the beauty of it, but inside he could not reconcile the idolatry, the thoughts it brought up inside him. This was wrong, these were Pagan idols, demi Gods. Why he questioned, why did he have to walk this way every day, be faced with this thing of beauty, this thing that tested him. He would be strong, he would not falter, his faith would be strong or would it? How could it be that he found such solace staring at this heretical beast, he then slowly and deliberately started repeating the mantra that helped him through these moments, it had always explained and given meaning to situations like these .... "The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist. And like that, poof. He's gone." and he wondered was this real, he knew he had heard this somewhere and there it was gone again. He stood their staring lovingly, not knowing why the vision of Pan, neigh the evil looking abomination spoke to something inside of him. He knew not what this was? The vision of the water nymphs, the hedgerows.. What he had never seen a water nymph let alone a hedgerow. What si this thing he called reality, something had happened.
He cleared his mind of these heretical thoughts, comforting himself as he grasped for the book on the inside of his jacket, the hardness of its outer cover and backing comforted him in his time of need. As he turned the corner he knew he would see the cross peaking through the trees from the small anglican church, No a truck was blocking his view, slowly it moved, he craned his neck and all was back to normal again. He could continue along with his walk to the depths of a life he could not understand nor believe in, but was forced into. Inside he knew he had the strength to continue this day, and the next and the next.
(totally fictional :-))
this is what happens if you read a happy death on the way on the train ;-)
He was a lonely man, his faith was his strength, his strength was his faith.
Every day he stood their eyes closed beneath the bush shelter on the southern side of the station in the shade. He stood there with a purpose eyes wide shut praying to a God that gave his life meaning. Other days he just sat there reading the Book, over and over the words flowing in him creating meaning in a life that made no sense. What was this elusive thing he called happiness, come rain come shine this was his spot, every day he stood steadfast like a soldier imbibing the spirit. That was real he experienced it, he did not falter, he did not fall, he stood tall, he was one of God's soldiers. Nothing could shake his faith, this was his life, his life had meaning, this was the meaning, this was his life, it was great. Everything was grey, people had a grayness and darkness around him, yet his inner light shone through all of this without faltering. He had purpose in this dark and godless city, he was in praise of the glory that was and is and always will be.
He had forgotten about the flowers along the way, they had always been an inspiration, a mirror of the glory that radiated around him. Things seemed different to him today, he could not really figure it out. These feelings came and went, the glory ebbed and flowed like the tides on onehunga bay. How he wished he was standing next to the radio masts, immense in size and structure. The wind whistling through the cables, the crazy fractal patterns that were created by the wind creating wave apon wave of movement, neigh standing waves. This was good, but he could not go there, it was with sadness his mind went back to that day.
IT is not he who questions who wins the race, it is not he who wonders, it is he who races who wins. He stodo there standing looking at this piece of text etched in the marble base of the statue, its weathered and lichen pocked surface was a mere smidgen of its past glory, but somehow the new natural patina created by the elements did something to enhance and change his view of this sculpture. Every day he walked past he was captivated by the beauty of it, but inside he could not reconcile the idolatry, the thoughts it brought up inside him. This was wrong, these were Pagan idols, demi Gods. Why he questioned, why did he have to walk this way every day, be faced with this thing of beauty, this thing that tested him. He would be strong, he would not falter, his faith would be strong or would it? How could it be that he found such solace staring at this heretical beast, he then slowly and deliberately started repeating the mantra that helped him through these moments, it had always explained and given meaning to situations like these .... "The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist. And like that, poof. He's gone." and he wondered was this real, he knew he had heard this somewhere and there it was gone again. He stood their staring lovingly, not knowing why the vision of Pan, neigh the evil looking abomination spoke to something inside of him. He knew not what this was? The vision of the water nymphs, the hedgerows.. What he had never seen a water nymph let alone a hedgerow. What si this thing he called reality, something had happened.
He cleared his mind of these heretical thoughts, comforting himself as he grasped for the book on the inside of his jacket, the hardness of its outer cover and backing comforted him in his time of need. As he turned the corner he knew he would see the cross peaking through the trees from the small anglican church, No a truck was blocking his view, slowly it moved, he craned his neck and all was back to normal again. He could continue along with his walk to the depths of a life he could not understand nor believe in, but was forced into. Inside he knew he had the strength to continue this day, and the next and the next.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
the life of a bread
This is the life of bread in our kitchen
from humble foam beginnings
we get yeast captured from the "Wild"
a symbiotic combination of yeasts and Lactobacili, in combination the digest the flour turning this into Carbon dioxide and Alchohol. You can see the asymmetrical pockets of yeast, quite different from the homogeneous commercial yeast which creates a very uniform froth.
an extended rising period to allow the development of the flavours and the asymmetrical bubbles and the rubbery texture
the final outcome
some details of the fractal surface
some more details of the fractal surface
a detail of the based of the baked bread with its fern like patterns
the eventual texture of the bread
from humble foam beginnings
we get yeast captured from the "Wild"
a symbiotic combination of yeasts and Lactobacili, in combination the digest the flour turning this into Carbon dioxide and Alchohol. You can see the asymmetrical pockets of yeast, quite different from the homogeneous commercial yeast which creates a very uniform froth.
an extended rising period to allow the development of the flavours and the asymmetrical bubbles and the rubbery texture
the final outcome
Thursday, February 10, 2011
when you have a choice?
What is it you do when you have a choice?
Do we all have choices, or are we bound inextricably to the existence and future destined to us by our pseudo Calvinistic mindset.
How much can we leave to chance, how much freedom do we have in shaping our own destiny? Is there an inertia akin to the phylogenetic inertia that binds us to this fragile phenotype we call Homo sapiens? What is the distinction or difference between the phenotypic plasticity displayed this race we call humanity. Why call it a race, simply plunging head forward into the abyss of the unknown known future we are creating for ourselves as a race or meme. Why is it we cannot make good decisions as a collective. As individuals we stand tall, speak out and rage, but as a collective we are weakened by the indifference and ambivalence of the race we call humanity, should I rather say called. As we move headlong into this the new millennium, who holds the torch high guiding us into the night, silently into the night I shall go, I fear not for I have my belief and inertia, it will carry me on through the days and nights of endless doubt and into the new day. My spirit is my guiding light, i know not which guide stands before me? It could be a slight flight of my imagination, it could be a dark and harrowing view on the reality of our existence as humanity. I stand tall, i creep through the boughs of reality. The stark, grey sleek view that humanity is tabletizing on us.
et tu my human companions you sell me down the river
as i stand before the abyss of the river of life which spans that which is lying before us
will i ever know the pink dolphin, will i see the fluorescent glow of the bio luminescence of the beaches of my life
the waves crash harshly onto the rocks of stability
my continent burns
We stand back and watch it burn to the ground, like a candle burning from both ends, no one to blame
a collective uncertainty
a collective insanity
is there a path forwards?
hey for those who worry, this is not me .. this is just societies unhappiness not mine ...
i cannot stand and not see, but i cannot stop what is inevitable and not see what is unfolding in front of us
Do we all have choices, or are we bound inextricably to the existence and future destined to us by our pseudo Calvinistic mindset.
How much can we leave to chance, how much freedom do we have in shaping our own destiny? Is there an inertia akin to the phylogenetic inertia that binds us to this fragile phenotype we call Homo sapiens? What is the distinction or difference between the phenotypic plasticity displayed this race we call humanity. Why call it a race, simply plunging head forward into the abyss of the unknown known future we are creating for ourselves as a race or meme. Why is it we cannot make good decisions as a collective. As individuals we stand tall, speak out and rage, but as a collective we are weakened by the indifference and ambivalence of the race we call humanity, should I rather say called. As we move headlong into this the new millennium, who holds the torch high guiding us into the night, silently into the night I shall go, I fear not for I have my belief and inertia, it will carry me on through the days and nights of endless doubt and into the new day. My spirit is my guiding light, i know not which guide stands before me? It could be a slight flight of my imagination, it could be a dark and harrowing view on the reality of our existence as humanity. I stand tall, i creep through the boughs of reality. The stark, grey sleek view that humanity is tabletizing on us.
et tu my human companions you sell me down the river
as i stand before the abyss of the river of life which spans that which is lying before us
will i ever know the pink dolphin, will i see the fluorescent glow of the bio luminescence of the beaches of my life
the waves crash harshly onto the rocks of stability
my continent burns
We stand back and watch it burn to the ground, like a candle burning from both ends, no one to blame
a collective uncertainty
a collective insanity
is there a path forwards?
hey for those who worry, this is not me .. this is just societies unhappiness not mine ...
i cannot stand and not see, but i cannot stop what is inevitable and not see what is unfolding in front of us
look forward
how fragile we are ..
us humans
we stand we fall
we get up we stand
we fall
we lay die down and die ..
what makes us stand up every time what makes us stay down
what gives us belief in tomorrow, when there is nothing
is there something,
for some there is....
for others there isnt
Don't be afraid stand tall......
add two tablespoons of flour to two tablespoons of fruit juice stir and let stand keep adding and stirring for 3-4 days till it foams.
Life starts from nothing, bread has meaning, light, the sound of a cicada, the blue sky, the sound of the wind whistling through the line on my fishing rod, the crashing of waves sending spray onto my shades, invigorating sea spray.
It begs the question is despair a first or third world emotion? Where does it fit on Maslow's hierarchy of needs?
But stepping aside from that where do we stand?
A good coffee, some decent bread, some fresh sea food what more do we want.
maybe some time next to the sea ..
where do we draw the lines between what is essential and what is a luxury
oh back to the bread thing.. once it has been standing for 3-4 days you should have bubbles and froth ..it should have a pleasent smell not a vile smell :-)
.. this is sourdough after all
alternativily we have tried taking two or three apples, blending them and adding them to flour and water .. this gave a fantastic rise to the bread as well.. The standard approach is to take flour water and hope that you get a culture going... or is that have culture? LOL
Does sourdough give you culture or is the belief that the culture gives you culture?
Oh and about the slashing of the bread ... interesting.. that is to allow the bread to rise .. often the yeast does not have enough strength to lift the mass of dough above it ... Thus we slash it to release the pressure.
here is a nice resource http://sourdough.com/links
another very important term: Bannetons
http://donssourdough.blogspot.com/
But there is so much more .. and that si enough of that for now.
maybe a collection of bread photos next?
us humans
we stand we fall
we get up we stand
we fall
we lay die down and die ..
what makes us stand up every time what makes us stay down
what gives us belief in tomorrow, when there is nothing
is there something,
for some there is....
for others there isnt
Don't be afraid stand tall......
add two tablespoons of flour to two tablespoons of fruit juice stir and let stand keep adding and stirring for 3-4 days till it foams.
Life starts from nothing, bread has meaning, light, the sound of a cicada, the blue sky, the sound of the wind whistling through the line on my fishing rod, the crashing of waves sending spray onto my shades, invigorating sea spray.
It begs the question is despair a first or third world emotion? Where does it fit on Maslow's hierarchy of needs?
But stepping aside from that where do we stand?
A good coffee, some decent bread, some fresh sea food what more do we want.
maybe some time next to the sea ..
where do we draw the lines between what is essential and what is a luxury
oh back to the bread thing.. once it has been standing for 3-4 days you should have bubbles and froth ..it should have a pleasent smell not a vile smell :-)
.. this is sourdough after all
alternativily we have tried taking two or three apples, blending them and adding them to flour and water .. this gave a fantastic rise to the bread as well.. The standard approach is to take flour water and hope that you get a culture going... or is that have culture? LOL
Does sourdough give you culture or is the belief that the culture gives you culture?
Oh and about the slashing of the bread ... interesting.. that is to allow the bread to rise .. often the yeast does not have enough strength to lift the mass of dough above it ... Thus we slash it to release the pressure.
here is a nice resource http://sourdough.com/links
another very important term: Bannetons
http://donssourdough.blogspot.com/
But there is so much more .. and that si enough of that for now.
maybe a collection of bread photos next?
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
True insight methodology and the loaf of bread
How dissimilar to the watch the favor and the very large fish, my life has moved from something along the lines of ..... to something more in the lines of the sour dough loaf and the strangely small little fishes I try to catch.
But we need to find the truth of the matter.
How the world is changing, a cloud is no longer just a cloud a cellphone is no longer a cellphone or a mobile phone is is a mobile device, the sea is empty of fishes and we have to pay someone for a piece of sour dough starter? A maori man stood up and told a whole lot of people that he had a vision, no one cares, they stare and ridicule. It is not that he was/is wrong or right, but that they dismiss his words without respect and with contempt. What has happened to the day that people that people listened and revered the prophets of old. No not the prophets of da city.. that is a kettle of a different fish.
But back to the epic tale of the Sourdough starter, 3 weeks and at least one bag of flour later it appears, wait and about 5 attempts. We seem to have a moderately active and fairly pleasant smelling yeasty bacterial symbiosis. It is an interesting thing this, the development of a sourdough culture. I would equate this to something similar to make roti, in principal it is so simple, but try as you may it just does not work as advertised. The general principal is to take flour water, or flour and fruit juice or potato water and flour or something similar. Leave it for a few days and hope that a "natural" bacteria and a lacto-bacili lands in the muck and flourishes and grows. The list of suggestions is endless regarding the ways to promote the bacteria (lactobacillus) and Saccharomyces or Brettanomyces. According to wikipedia (when wheat flour contacts water, naturally occurring amylase enzymes break down the starch into disaccharides (sucrose and maltose); maltase converts these sugars into glucose and fructose that yeast can metabolize. The lactobacteria feed mostly on the metabolism products from the yeast.[5] The mixture develops a balanced, symbiotic culture after repeated feedings.) .. Bla bla something like that for those of you are not really all that interested in the chemical reaction albeit that it is very interesting and worthy of the number of books that have been written on the topic.
So why all this harping on sourdough you may ask, well it highlights a conundrum or pivotal point in the development of humans, or should I rather say ambivalence. We live in a culture that has, or should i say species, diametrically opposing value measures. On the one hand we have the need and drive to be technologically centred or advanced, yet on the other hand we have the notion of slow food and living which in many ways are contradictory and they of course we should not forget cultural biases and most importantly the impact of the breadline on this perception. Where does that leave us as a human race?
We seem to have a multitude of memes around our approach to food as a species. I suppose that is what makes us rather unique in that we don's have a consistent set of foraging and feeding behavior within a contiguous range? There are numerous other species which display cross range memes in terms of foraging, the most colloquial being the milk/cream stealing tits in England;-) I do digress, let me return to the notion of slow food and living. This is something I find very appealing, but that is for my subcultural meme. From an evolutionary perspective I doubt this has much in the way of selective advantage or disadvantage in the short term, most profoundly due to the rapid mixing of memes and behavioral patterns.
To get back to the whole sourdough starter issue, what did we try? We tried the flour and water left outside in the elements, I tried chopped up fruit, raisins, potato water and and and.. After leaving each of these Bio-experiments standing and fermenting on our kitchen counter for a good few weeks, much longer than intimated by the authors of various articles books and colloquial comments. The kitchen was filled with the aroma of fermenting flour, but nothing substantial. We then started getting fruit flies and fungus .. But it does appear that we have developed a moderately active culture, with the foam and all. This is after Anita had taken a sub sample of the last few attempts. So where does this lead me? Phase n! of sourdough bread making. So what we did before? We made sourdough, but decided that we needed a new culture because there was a fear that we had contamination with commercial yeast. One imagines we should have left best alone, but now we have started culture, which i will give away.. dont worry we wont sell it :-)
what else have learnt, wonderous things about the "science" of breadmaking, bla bla this would all be repetition of easily available resources on the Web. But one or two things i did discover was something to do with the percentage water/flour ratio and what impacts this has on bread making and the magic 60/30 rule. The thing i did however discover was something more amazing.. how the frig they do this ...
And the other thing is why bread is scored or cut like this?
that is quite interesting, we have also discovered more about flours and types of flours and the misnomer that it means a tremendous amount..
It is all a learning experience, not altogether different from growing veggies in pots on our porch, learning to fish with bait in the sea... Part of my life as an ex pat. No I did not say my name was pat or that I was a Patsy.. ;-)
So what next, more photos, more things to do and see.
oh here is a nice pic of mine that is in a gallery on the web .. no nothing that fancy, just a collection of images about the interislander ferry in Kiwiland :-)
it is here if you wanna see the bigger version HERE
oh well enough of all things exiting and random for today. You may ask, why the sourdough bread? Why the slow food, just randomness and limited meaning to another day on the slow hamster wheel in kiwiland.
But we need to find the truth of the matter.
How the world is changing, a cloud is no longer just a cloud a cellphone is no longer a cellphone or a mobile phone is is a mobile device, the sea is empty of fishes and we have to pay someone for a piece of sour dough starter? A maori man stood up and told a whole lot of people that he had a vision, no one cares, they stare and ridicule. It is not that he was/is wrong or right, but that they dismiss his words without respect and with contempt. What has happened to the day that people that people listened and revered the prophets of old. No not the prophets of da city.. that is a kettle of a different fish.
But back to the epic tale of the Sourdough starter, 3 weeks and at least one bag of flour later it appears, wait and about 5 attempts. We seem to have a moderately active and fairly pleasant smelling yeasty bacterial symbiosis. It is an interesting thing this, the development of a sourdough culture. I would equate this to something similar to make roti, in principal it is so simple, but try as you may it just does not work as advertised. The general principal is to take flour water, or flour and fruit juice or potato water and flour or something similar. Leave it for a few days and hope that a "natural" bacteria and a lacto-bacili lands in the muck and flourishes and grows. The list of suggestions is endless regarding the ways to promote the bacteria (lactobacillus) and Saccharomyces or Brettanomyces. According to wikipedia (when wheat flour contacts water, naturally occurring amylase enzymes break down the starch into disaccharides (sucrose and maltose); maltase converts these sugars into glucose and fructose that yeast can metabolize. The lactobacteria feed mostly on the metabolism products from the yeast.[5] The mixture develops a balanced, symbiotic culture after repeated feedings.) .. Bla bla something like that for those of you are not really all that interested in the chemical reaction albeit that it is very interesting and worthy of the number of books that have been written on the topic.
So why all this harping on sourdough you may ask, well it highlights a conundrum or pivotal point in the development of humans, or should I rather say ambivalence. We live in a culture that has, or should i say species, diametrically opposing value measures. On the one hand we have the need and drive to be technologically centred or advanced, yet on the other hand we have the notion of slow food and living which in many ways are contradictory and they of course we should not forget cultural biases and most importantly the impact of the breadline on this perception. Where does that leave us as a human race?
We seem to have a multitude of memes around our approach to food as a species. I suppose that is what makes us rather unique in that we don's have a consistent set of foraging and feeding behavior within a contiguous range? There are numerous other species which display cross range memes in terms of foraging, the most colloquial being the milk/cream stealing tits in England;-) I do digress, let me return to the notion of slow food and living. This is something I find very appealing, but that is for my subcultural meme. From an evolutionary perspective I doubt this has much in the way of selective advantage or disadvantage in the short term, most profoundly due to the rapid mixing of memes and behavioral patterns.
To get back to the whole sourdough starter issue, what did we try? We tried the flour and water left outside in the elements, I tried chopped up fruit, raisins, potato water and and and.. After leaving each of these Bio-experiments standing and fermenting on our kitchen counter for a good few weeks, much longer than intimated by the authors of various articles books and colloquial comments. The kitchen was filled with the aroma of fermenting flour, but nothing substantial. We then started getting fruit flies and fungus .. But it does appear that we have developed a moderately active culture, with the foam and all. This is after Anita had taken a sub sample of the last few attempts. So where does this lead me? Phase n! of sourdough bread making. So what we did before? We made sourdough, but decided that we needed a new culture because there was a fear that we had contamination with commercial yeast. One imagines we should have left best alone, but now we have started culture, which i will give away.. dont worry we wont sell it :-)
what else have learnt, wonderous things about the "science" of breadmaking, bla bla this would all be repetition of easily available resources on the Web. But one or two things i did discover was something to do with the percentage water/flour ratio and what impacts this has on bread making and the magic 60/30 rule. The thing i did however discover was something more amazing.. how the frig they do this ...
And the other thing is why bread is scored or cut like this?
It is all a learning experience, not altogether different from growing veggies in pots on our porch, learning to fish with bait in the sea... Part of my life as an ex pat. No I did not say my name was pat or that I was a Patsy.. ;-)
So what next, more photos, more things to do and see.
oh here is a nice pic of mine that is in a gallery on the web .. no nothing that fancy, just a collection of images about the interislander ferry in Kiwiland :-)
it is here if you wanna see the bigger version HERE
oh well enough of all things exiting and random for today. You may ask, why the sourdough bread? Why the slow food, just randomness and limited meaning to another day on the slow hamster wheel in kiwiland.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)