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a thin fermented bread that takes seven days to make. we tear it and pass it ~ it is meant to be shared. one is never enough for a table.
the seven days are not a recipe. they are a teaching. the bread reminds you that good things come slowly, and that you must check on them each day, and that you cannot rush what wants to be patient. i used to roll my eyes at this when my grandmother said it. now i would give anything to hear her say it again. |
| ~ ingredients ~ |
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for the starter: 1 cup of whole wheat flour 1 cup of warm water for the bread: 3 cups of all-purpose flour 1 cup of warm water 1 small spoon of salt 2 spoonfuls of olive oil your starter (made over the previous days) |
| ~ instructions ~ |
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day one: mix the whole wheat flour and warm water in a glass jar. cover loosely with a cloth. leave it on a warm shelf. say a small kind word over it. on my planet we say "shorl'a vethna" ~ "wake gently." day two: stir the starter. it may have a few small bubbles. it may smell a little sour. this is good. add 2 spoonfuls of flour and 2 spoonfuls of water. cover again. day three: stir again. feed again with the same 2 and 2. by now the bubbles should be more confident. the smell should remind you of yogurt or beer. day four: stir, feed, cover. the starter is now a small living thing. you are responsible for it. on my planet, children begin learning bread-making at this age, because it teaches them about caring for something that cannot speak. day five: stir, feed, cover. by now you may have grown attached to it. this is normal. day six: stir, feed, cover. the starter should be active and bubbly. it is almost ready. day seven: in a large bowl, combine the all-purpose flour, warm water, salt, olive oil, and your starter. mix until a soft dough forms. knead for ten minutes. let rest for two hours. divide the dough into eight small balls. roll each one very thin, about as thick as a coin. heat a dry pan over high heat. cook each flatbread for one minute on each side. they should puff and brown in spots. stack them in a clean cloth to keep warm. tear them with your appendages and pass them around your table. do not use a knife. that is not how this bread is meant to be eaten. |
| kl'vaiim's note ~ i make this bread alone in my kitchen now. there is no one to pass it to. but i tear it anyway, the way my grandmother taught me, and i set the pieces around the table as if my family were there. the bread does not care that the chairs are empty. it gives itself the same way. |