July 12th 2017 amazing spectacular Mountain life things are happening !!
Posted on January 26th, 2020
We are so small 🏔️💫but that doesn't mean we cannot accomplish big things
Posted on January 19th, 2020
Made more bread!
🍞
Ze Frenchie... As I deemed this loaf, was so delicious, I ate the ENTIRE thing.
Made from a fantastic recipe from butter and air blog!
High Altitude Crusty French Bread
You? Bake a delicious loaf of crusty, chewy homemade french bread? At 9,000 – 10,000 feet? YES. You can. You totally can! Don’t shake your head at me. All you need to make this High Altitude Crusty French Bread – this delightful loaf of yum – is five ingredients, a few hours, and a little faith.
Bread is one of the simplest, most basic foods, right? We, and our ancestors before us, have made and eaten it, in some form or another, for centuries. But in our current century, bread has suddenly gotten kind of complicated. Or rather, we’ve made it complicated. Artisan techniques, hand-milled flours, wild harvested yeast … it’s a bona fide gourmet thing now.
Today’s world of bread contains many deep, lengthy rabbit holes peppered with words like barm and poolish and couche, and for the unseasoned baker, it’s intimidating, if not totally overwhelming. And for us mountain folk, there’s also altitude to consider.
But please, don’t be skerred. I’ve done the work for you! It’s actually quite simple.
This high-altitude recipe is actually not dramatically different from its sea level counterpart. The main differences are two: 1) we use bread flour exclusively for its higher protein content, which helps create a stronger structure to support the quicker rise we tend to get at altitude, and 2) there’s a little less yeast to help control said crazy rise. (Sea-level friends, feel free to try using all-purpose flour instead and an extra half-teaspoon of yeast – a standard packet of commercial yeast is about 2.5 teaspoons, so you can just use the whole thing).
The dough comes together very easily. Simply mix yeast and a dab of sugar in warm water and let it get nice and foamy, add it to your flour and salt, and stir until it begins to come together in a ball. Then spend a little more time kneading it to develop nice strong strands of gluten, which trap the gases produced by the yeast and created the little airy pockets found in artisan bread.
Kneading is particularly important at altitude because you need those strands of gluten to be strong in order to stand up to the enthusiastic amount of gas yeast produces when unencumbered by atmospheric pressure. Those popular no-knead bread recipes you see everywhere? Yeah, they’ll technically work at altitude, but generally will result in a loaf with a dense, heavy crumb and a brittle, rather than chewy crust. Take the time to knead, folks.
I enjoy kneading by hand, which entails folding the dough over itself toward you, then pushing it away with the heel of your hand, turning a quarter-turn and repeating (want a visual?). It takes a while – 10-12 minutes, typically, until the dough is smooth and elastic – but once you get the hang of it and get a rhythm going, the motion becomes rather soothing and meditative (especially if you complement it with a mantra: I need to knead!). Plus, I think it’s good to get a feeling for the dough under your hands – after a few times you’ll instinctively know when it feels done.
If you’re pressed for time and want to get other things done, a mixer with a bread hook will do a perfectly fine job, too. Either way, plop your pretty little dough ball in an oiled bowl, let it rise for an hour or two, and you’ll end up with a beautiful big poofy dough ball:
After this initial rise, you’ll want to prep your dough for its second rise (proofing). Here, carefully remove the dough from the bowl to a floured surface, gently stretch and fold it, envelope-style (see photo below), flip over, and pat into a circle.
At this point, you can return it to the bowl (seam side down) to rise again in preparation for baking, or, if you’re not ready to bake the bread yet, refrigerate it overnight (or even up to a couple of days). Chilling the dough slows down the rise but allows flavor to continue developing, so it’s actually a really good thing to do if you have the time to plan ahead. Just remember to take the dough out of the fridge a couple of hours before you bake it.
When you’re ready to bake, gently remove the dough from its bowl and carefully pat it into shape. I like a round boule shape but you can make an oblong or football-shaped loaf instead, if you choose. Score it with a very sharp knife or razor blade, which will allow the bread to expand easily in the oven and result in an aesthetically pleasing final product. Be sure not to use a dull blade, which can drag the dough down, deflating it. You can make a single long swoop, about a quarter-inch deep, across the length of the dough, or make a pretty pattern (leaves, wheat stalk, Bowie-style lightning bolt?). You do you.
So, our baking vessel is the coolest part about this recipe, I think. Instead of baking on a sheet or baking stone, we’re using a dutch oven with a lid (this is the one I use). Why a dutch oven, you ask? Simply put, it creates the perfect baking environment by trapping the steam created by the liquid in the dough. Which we like, because steam is a fast track to creating a perfect, golden brown, crispy-chewy crust.
If you don’t own a dutch oven, don’t be discouraged – the process works the same in any heavy-bottomed pot with a tight-fitting lid. As long as it’s tall enough to accommodate the rising bread and is oven-safe, you’re golden (literally). If you don’t want to deal with a container at all, that’s ok too. You can bake your bread on a baking stone, or a parchment-lined baking sheet. If you go this route, you’ll have to create steam a different way. Just before baking, place a roasting pan filled with an inch of hot water on the bottom rack of your oven (don’t use cold water, which can lower your oven temp). You can also spray your oven walls with water.
I mean. Just look at that. Now, is this a super fancy loaf that’s been proofed eleven times over seventeen days using artisanal flour from heirloom wheat harvested under a full moon? No. Be glad it’s not that complicated.
This is back-to-basic bread: clean-tasting, quick, and easy, yet still impressive-looking, and most importantly, delicious. It’s got a perfectly crispy-chewy crust and a substantial yet airy texture inside. Perfect for dipping in soup (try this one or this one), making the ultimate grilled cheese, or just eating on its own. Pass the butter.
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PinDescription
Perfect french bread is possible at high altitude! This rustic loaf comes together quickly and easily, sporting a crackly, chewy crust with a light, airy interior.
Scale
Ingredients
2 tsp dry active yeast
1 tsp sugar
1 1/4 cups warm (not hot) water
2.5 cups bread flour
2 tsp kosher salt
Instructions
In a small bowl, combine water, yeast, and sugar.
In a separate medium bowl or the bowl of a stand mixer, combine flour and salt and stir to mix. Add liquid and stir until the dough begins to come together in a ball. If it seems too dry, add a little more water, 1 tablespoon at a time. Mix until all the flour is incorporated and the dough is craggy and sticky, then tip the dough out onto a floured surface for kneading (or leave in stand mixer to knead with bread hook).
Knead for 10-15 minutes, until dough is smooth, and elastic, and slightly tacky to the touch. Form into a ball and place in a medium bowl that’s been lightly oiled. Cover the bowl tightly with plastic wrap and allow dough to rise at room temperature 1-2 hours, until doubled in size.
Remove the dough to a floured surface and give it a pull-and-stretch: Stretch about a quarter of the dough ball away from you, then fold it back on top of itself, ending in the middle. Turn the dough a quarter-turn and repeat three more times, so all sides have been folded in. Flip the dough upside down, pat into a ball, and place on a piece of parchment paper.
(At this point, if you do not plan to bake the bread the same day, you can place it in a bowl, cover it tightly, and refrigerate it overnight, or up to 18 hours. Remove the bread and allow it to come to room temperature, about one hour, before baking).
Cover dough loosely with plastic wrap or a tea towel and allow to rise about 30-45 minutes, until it has reached approximately 1.5 times its size.
While the dough is proofing, place dutch oven or other large lidded, oven-proof pot on the middle rack of the oven and preheat to 450 degrees (alternatively, if you are baking in the open oven without a container, place a roasting pan on the bottom rack and add one inch of hot water just before baking the bread).
When the dough is ready to bake, score it. Using a very sharp knife or razor blade, quickly and gently make a quarter-inch deep slash in the dough, from one end of the loaf to the other (or other design of your choice). Be sure not to press too hard and deflate the dough.
Using heat-proof gloves or oven mitts, carefully remove the dutch oven from the oven and remove the lid. Pick up the edges of the parchment paper and gently lift the dough into the dutch oven, parchment and all (if not using a dutch oven, place on a baking sheet or stone). Replace lid and put the pot back in the oven.
Bake for 25 minutes, then reduce the temperature to 400 degrees and bake another 30 minutes. Check after a total of 40 minutes or so; if the loaf has not browned much, remove the lid and continue baking uncovered.
The bread is done when the crust is hard and has a hollow sound when rapped with a knuckle. You can also use an instant-read thermometer to check the internal temp – if it’s between 190 and 205 degrees, it’s done.
Cool the loaf on a baking rack for at least 20 minutes, or until it is fully cooled. Slice at room temperature. Store leftover bread tightly wrapped in plastic wrap.
Notes
i
… don’t be tempted to cut into the loaf while it’s still warm. Cooling continues to both develop flavor and allow some of the moisture in the warm bread to evaporate. If you cut into the loaf too early, it will flatten and become soggy. If you want to serve warm bread, slice it when cool and warm the slices, wrapped in foil, in a moderate oven for about 10 minutes.
i
… it’s important to note here that flour, water, rise times, and baking temps (and times) can all vary a bit depending on the temperature in your kitchen, your particular oven, the weather, and whether the moon’s in Scorpio that week (not really, but you get what I mean). Point is, it takes time to get a feel for how everything works together, so be patient with yourself and use your instinct if something seems too wet, dry, under/overbaked, etc.
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Posted on January 17th, 2020
PHO real...really?
My Dear Michelle,
Santa brought me an instapot and I attempted to make PHO and it sparked a stream of memories so deeply treasured in my soul of our adventures in Vietnam.
I just hope you are doing well.
Not a day goes by without some remembrance from our adventure together crossing my mind.
I decided to write tonight and this is my flow....
After reading it, I knew I had to share it with you.
Although we have not been together in five years (so hard to believe) these memories make me feel closer to you than ever.
So much love and energy sending your way!
Sa wah de kah!
LOU LOU
--->
PHO..real.
My memory overcomes me.
Of the moment Michelle and I walked into that expansive, yet moldy blue hostel room in Hanoi.
We were both so sick.
On the brink of optimism.
Assessing the room as if it were a hospital unit we were to rest in for weeks to come.
The video that plays in my head as we utilized all the energy in our bodies to step foot by foot onto the stair in front of us.
The nice welcoming entryway.
The red.
The golden cat statue clapping hands.
The questioning of my own consciousness.
We were so sick.
And understandably so.
We had been seated next to the teenage bride and groom in Laos on our way trekking out of one of the most physically challenging adventures we had had in our lives.
It was foggy.
My fingers gripped into the slippery, moss emboldened rock as if my life depended on it.
(Well it kinda did because we were traversing a slope face in Laos on 10% visibility conditions, with our lifes' belongings on our back, our packs, in a rainstorm after multiple days of hiking).
It was hard.
But after zip-lining through jungle redwood trees as if we were part of a star wars episode where the Ewoks were cheering us on.
But instead of Ewoks they were these skinny, strong as can be, young, cute Cambodian men.
And we were on top of the green world.
Sleeping in the canopy of the jungle.
Waking to views of white angle birds flying through the Laotian canyons as if it were a dream.
I remember getting across that rock face and thinking, "the Chicago marathon has nothing on this".
It was so incredibly adventurous and physically strenuous and that was just one part of the journey.
And somehow, through the mist, we ended up at a tribal village wedding.
The bride and groom so young.
Wayyy younger than me.
I was 29 on that trek.
The bride was maybe 14 or 15.
The groom sweet sixteen.
I was teaching Ryan Pederson how to french kiss next to the Thiensville Lions Park Milwaukee river waterfall at that age. SOOO innocent.
And this rouge golden couple had their lives planned for them.
Me.
As free and tired as a rainbow bird.
And I looked into this beautiful couple’s eyes.
Our lives so different.
What did they understand of my life?
What did they think?
If I were on my wedding day and a Laotian couple came to sit next to me and my husband at our head table, a decade-plus our seniors, after sweating and questioning the purpose of life… I would be very confused.
But they were more than welcoming.
They were honored that Michele and I were by their sides!
It was perhaps the talk of the town for weeks.
So we ate everything they ate in respect.
I vividly remember this bowl of greens in front of me.
And its not the "greens" you know.
This was taken from the bush.
I’m not kidding.
I remember knowing with every cell in my body that I would get sick if I took a bite of the verdant leaves and water droplets in front of me.
That's kind of what it was like.
Bay leaves.
Honest to god, this dish could have been a bay leaf bush.
Are "bay leaves"… what westerners dry and seep in soup, what I was consuming?
It was a branch almost in the bowl.
A clay bowl.
An old lady in the village probably made that brown bowl with her old hands.
So, so
so fresh the bush atop the bowl.
So fresh.
Like water droplets from the humidity in the atmosphere were resting on this green bush in my bowl.
The perfect, cylindrical, maze-like droplets that could tell you your future were settled on the leaves.
And it really really did taste like bay leaves.
And that’s not what I was worried about.
The taste.
The bite…. was quite herbal.
But in my memory, there are these intimating water droplets.
Beautiful, blue, clear all-consuming droplets on each bay leaf.
And it wasn’t like a salad all mixed together.
It was a branch.
Presented in a bowl.
With so much fresh dew.
And I knew.
That that dew.
Was going to make me very, very sick,
but the bride and groom were beyond courteous.
I wish I could talk to them.
Because we had no language to exchange.
Just smiles.
And bites of food.
And eye contact.
And nervousness.
And wonder.
There was also this "carcass" dish.
In my memory,
against the verdant, vibrant greens of the landscape
and blue-gray fog of the sky
and red of the brides gorgeously pattered red and gold threads of her wedding dress
and her red
red
deep red lips…
was this brown carcass mush.
Caracas.
Caracas.
Caracas.
It was brown carcass mush.
And the bones sticking out of this dull broth were not healthy.
It was like starved chickens.
But it was not chickens, because the bone sticking out of this hot broth was more than a chicken bone.
It could have been any sort or malnourished mammal.
The bone sticking out if this broth reminded me of the elephant graveyard in Lion King.
And the bride and groom probably had never seen Disney's Lion King.
And they seemed so pleased to be presented with the marron mush.
The sacrifice of the hungry animal in that broth, I cannot contemplate.
But they were grateful.
So I spooned it up.
Through body language, I was instructed to wrap the bay leaves around this boney mush. And you better believe I did it.
I have no memory of taste.
Just my cells inside my body knowing that I would get sick.
But out of respect, I ate as much as I could.
Honestly, I do not remember.
I am sure the I had more than a few bites.
And not that it tasted bad or anything.
I have no memory of taste and do not even mean to paint a picture that this meal was "gross".
It's just that I knew the acrimonious meal was teeming with bacteria that my gut would not be able to tolerate.
Michelle’s body rejected it almost immediately…
And I am pretty damn grateful for that.
I love her so damn much.
I remember being on a bus.
I have no concept of if this was minutes or hours after our bridal meal.
I do remember, that she later had been constipated in Cambodia before after went on this treetop excursion in Laos. And even her enema in the Phnom Penn hospital was nothing compared to the explosion that happened on the bus.
I knew there was urgency.
And I stood up and said "Pullover!"
And the driver slowed to a halt and Michelle catapulted out of the door and
SHIT HER PANTS!
But she was actually pretty miraculous because she did not shit her comfy crazy patterned Thai pants she was wearing, but instead, let this lethal bridal dinner flow out of her intestines, out of her colon, onto the dry, red Laoation dirt.
When she got back onto the bus, it was not a sense of pride on her face…
but sweet relief.
Happiness actually.
And I understood every single angle of that smile on her face and I was proud of her.
Forever, we will share in that moment.
Oh how I miss her as I write this story and hope she reads this smiling and laughing and squeezing her beautiful butt cheeks together.
Ha!
And my butt cheeks erupted when we got to Hanoi.
oh god.
The bathroom was this horrific light hugh of blue.
And in all the Asian bathrooms you have a squirter to clean your butt cheeks.
That white, plastic squirter, oh how it mocked me.
I just remember sitting there. Staring at the molding walls.
Almost appreciating the art form of mold crawling.
Understanding for the first time that your body could shoot out straight 100 degree water from your asshole with some trance traces of shit.
Oh, it was bad.
The cramps.
The questioning if you were going to die.
The curling of your intestines from the inside out.
That fucking bridal salad.
oh my god.
I remember paying like a bazillion dollars to call my parents to consult with them on weather I should take my emergency diarrhea medicine or not.
This was after like 4 days of straight shitting in that Hanoi hotel.
Dr. Jaeger said to take it.
Cephalexin.
The westerner’s traveler savoir.
We did contemplate moving to a new location because it was so bad but so good, but we could not conjure the energy.
And the ironic part was.
In the last 48 hours of our venture in Hanoi.
We were out on the streets and the colors were incredibly vibrant.
The fruits at the stands.
A rainbow in every rhombus.
But old people.
The old people who are not old.
There was an incredible vibrancy and energy to the city that I have never experienced in my life.
Beautiful, peaceful, resilient elderly in every park, on every corner doing Thai Chi.
You could feel it reverberating through your bones.
It healed us.
I feel like we just walked around Hanoi like zombies.
Not participants of the city, but pure observers.
There were dances and chants and architecture that blew your mind.
It was like Paris and the most beautiful Asian god had a baby and it grew into Hanoi.
There were parks and grasses and majestic buildings and modern Asian architecture.
Jaws dropped, we placed foot before foot and took in the mysterious beauty.
Oh the boulevards that I experienced in my study abroad in Paris were here, and I was crossing them but it was with one hundred energizer bunny happy Asian elders.
Oh how profound the sense of energy
It healed us.
In more ways than we could understand at the moment.
How I wish we could go back.
Me and my travel companion.
And just eat Pho.
And tell the world...
This is what is Pho real.
Hallie Jaeger
Adjunct Faculty Sustainability, CMC
Posted on January 9th, 2020