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This is the bread I just made. I had to start from scratch because I killed the sourdough starter I grew last fall. And I’m not sad about it, because that starter was feeble weaksauce compared to this new batch which is sweet and bubbly and bitchin. Anyway, other things that are better this time around: I know what I’m doing (pretty much) and, perhaps more importantly, the dough is actually getting a chance to rise at 78 to 80 degrees like the Tartine book recommends.  Last winter, I’m not sure that the coils of my electric heater ever got that hot, let alone the ambient temperature of the goddamn room. Now the dough is actually fermenting the way it’s supposed to, and when it comes out of the Dutch oven, it’s light with lots of small and medium sized bubbles, instead of a few hunormous ones that made it an annoying and messy jam shovel (because you want to eat jam on toast, not jam on face).

So this bread is totally rad and I want some right now.  When I left for the office this morning I wasn’t hungry. I looked at it and thought, meh.  Why did I do that to myself?

Is it unprofessional to leave work early to eat bread?  Hmmm…

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