Hunka hunka burning eyeball

Ow, was slurping up some somen noodles, in a spicy miso broth, in front of my computer and new keyboard (the old one recently broke down, possibly due to me constantly slurping noodles right in front of it and there being a buildup of soup in the circuitry), when some of that spicy broth went flying into my left eyeball.

Before anyone gets all derisive about slurping noodles and how I received my just rewards for being so uncouth in my noodle-eating etiquette, I just want to state that I've never gotten anything in my eye from slurping before. And I'm a seasoned slurper.

Anyhow, although my tongue can handle a great deal of chilli pepper in any and all forms, my eyeball is not so weathered. It hurt! Had to irrigate my poor burning eye with contact lens saline solution (all I had at hand). Tip: If this happens to you, just squirt saline solution into eye straight from bottle; nevermind what they tell you; this works great.

But this experience got me thinking about the mildly turbulent relationship we have with chilli. Have you ever chopped birds-eye chillies (in Singapore, it's called chilli padi) with your bare hands? I did this one evening, a long time ago. A few hours later (have no idea why the time delay), my hands started burning the way they do when you've been in freezing weather a really long time and then you come in from the cold and your hands start warming up. Because several hours had passed since I'd cooked dinner, for the longest time I was absolutely alarmed, wondering what the heck was going on with my hands. I must have stared at them like they were mutating or something. Then I got the "Ohhhh!" moment, and have since been a little more respectful--or, removed--when slicing up those little guys.

Another incredible testimony to the power of the chilli is what happens to your lungs(?) if you're standing close to a pan of dry-roasting chillies. My mom used to do this before blendering them up to make a chilli paste. I bet it depends on the type of chilli, but the only kind my mother accepts is the sear-out-your-eyeballs kind. Anyhow, just being in the same room (which obviously would have to be the kitchen), it's like a switch turned on inside your lungs, and you automatically begin coughing. The first time someone explained this to me, I laughed (in between both of us hacking away) disbelievingly. But the minute I stepped out of the kitchen, the uncontrollable need to cough abruptly stopped. Stepped back into the kitchen, and my lungs started revolting again.

How unbelievable is that? Somehow, the...heat of the chillies was traveling through the air and into my lungs. And irritating the hell out of them.

And still I love "spicy" food. I have about six different chilli sauces in my fridge right now and I have to use at least one of them every day. I know, some would say I'm drowning out all other flavors. But it's definitely an addiction--the way some people need chocolate after a meal (I said some people, for god's sake, I didn't specify who). If you've ever eaten Vietnamese pho or Hainanese Chicken Rice, you know that without chilli sauce, these dishes would be naked, or at least half-dressed--like standing out on the street wearing nothing but a baseball cap and socks. How humiliating. Poor food. Don't do that to them.

You know, I really want to write more but, at the risk of being abrupt, I can't right now.

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Gloomy days are here again

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And here I was feeling bad...

I love food. In general, I don't like saying mean things about edibles. I also have something of a greedy-pig reputation to uphold, so I am doing myself something of a disservice if I show signs of actually...having preferences.

I was, however, trying my best to give an honest report when I admitted I wasn't terribly impressed by my first fig encounter.

Wanting to be fair though, I started searching out other, more experienced opinions... like the California Fig Advisory Board. They were very cute and loving about a subject obviously very close to their hearts. Did you know the fig is not actually a fruit but "a flower that is inverted into itself"? Hmm...that sounds kind of painful.

I couldn't help but feel that the California Fig Advisory board was a tad too supportive of their little inverted flower. I needed a second opinion. Which I found pretty quickly in the God Hates Figs website, whose author--erm, devout disciples--not only hates figs but tells us why god hates them too.

It's hard at first to believe you're really looking at a site entirely devoted to condemning figs (and "fig-eaters"), albeit the dried variety. I kept thinking there had to be some hidden meaning. But nope, I think you can pretty much take it at face value: this is a fig-hating denomination that has written up a scarily large number of articles with titles like "The Fig-Eaters find new ways to mock us!" and "The Evil in Our Midst." Funny in a my-geeky-kid-brother kind of way--there is a reference to "Deep Space Nine" (which I think is one of numerous TV shows with spaceships in them that all look like Star Trek to me)--I kind of got won over by the (possibly) inadvertently revealing quotes, like in the Q&A page:

[Who are you people, and why don't you get a life?]...we do have a life. We watch Touched By an Angel religiously (no pun intended.) We're known for our witty repartee and our fabulous book-burning parties. But every time we walk into a grocery store and see those awful turdlike Satanic morsels staring out at us from every shelf, our righteous indignation is stirred anew. Think of us as that quiet kid at the back of your fifth grade class who ran the chess club and secretly blew up mailboxes. Except now we're all grown up and moving on to bigger, better things.

I've always had a thing for nerds, and you kinda get the feeling that the author really was the quiet kid who ran a chess club. Awwwww....

I cannot in good conscience omit the fact though that I once found the movie "Hot Shots Part Deux" enjoyable, so you may wish to stay back from this one.

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This was going to be a comment...

...but I droned on and on and on, until I finally decided to make it a post. To make up for not writing a real post. Here it is, in response to Fungo's comment (so it sounds like I'm just writing to her but really I'm addressing all of you, truly):

Whoa, can I just say that posting comments, even on your own blog, is *really* scary? You can't edit any horrendous mistakes you've made. You can't even erase a comment without there being this damning message that says something like "author deleted her own comment because it was stupid and full of untrustworthy facts."

But back to you, Wei. Hi! And you put a beam on my face today. Thanks. It's just so nice to know you're reading. But now I feel awful for not writing more regularly. It's just that my cursed job blah blah blah, you know the drill. But it's really really true. You know, Edward's dog food has been steadily dwindling and I don't even have time to run to town and get him more. Poor guy. But I will feed him carrots and string beans before I break down and buy some cheapo supermarket dog food!!!

Animal lovers, don't fret. I will not allow it to come to crudites for my furry friend. He will have lamb and organic grains (can you believe I'm not kidding?), just as he always has.

This stupid comment is getting so long, it might as well be a post. What the heck was I getting at? Oh yeah--busy.

But once this damn busyness goes away, I promise to write things and fix things and spruce up things on this blog.

Wei, funny you mention dragonfruit. I was just talking to a friend about figs and dragonfruit the other day. She was trying to sell me on figs. She thinks they're okay, which kind of makes me feel bad for the somewhat negative fig review I wrote. But let this be a lesson then to anyone reading that I could be (and almost always invariably am) very very wrong. I really do my best to fact check--I actually attended journalism school (snicker), so I KNOW about these things. But my opinions, my undiscerning yet judgmental taste buds (well, according to PBS television, I'm just not a "supertaster", so give me a break), all that stuff is all relative.

You know, I never realized my staggering potential for incoherence until I began this blog. Wei, are you still with me.

Focus, Rachel! Dragonfruit. Have you ever tried it? Well, here's another personal opinion: don't!!! Very pretty, fuscia fruit with green tassel-y things. Inside is white with black seeds. Visually striking with all the flavor of paper. Cod sperm sacs have more taste than dragonfruit. Figs definitely have more taste. I have no idea who grows dragonfruit, who eats them, who wants them. Very mysterious puzzle of life. Okay, really got to get back to work.

Oh darn, but spent all this time on writing a comment, was actually going to post something. Gee, what to do...

I was then struck with the brilliant idea of making my comment into a post, which it now is. Forever more. Amen.

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Who gives a (fresh) fig!

I've eaten a lot of "firsts" since coming to Japan--wagyu (Japanese beef), fish sperm, horse (raw and grilled--hey, hey, hey...I cheered for Seabiscuit. AND I read and sobbed through every horse story there ever was as a child, so I'm not a horse hater...but I won't say no if there are slices of Flicka sizzling on a grill in front of me. Sorry, have I offended?)--which was to be expected since the only other time I'd previously been to this country was when I was about six, which for some reason left me with only a single memory: eating escargots--a buttery, garlicky memory, for sure.

Incidentally, this post is about another food I never would have connected with Japan: fresh figs. Usually when I think figs I think of places like Egypt, and I think dried figs--kind of, well, dry, lumpy things.

Well, it was just this year that I started noticing fresh figs. Of course my curiosity was caught. My first impression was that the shape was delightful--curvaceous and plump,
nothing like it's dried counterpart, and how sad that such a voluptuous fruit would be reduced to something so...shrunken and brown. Ah well.

There is something delightful about slicing into a fresh fig. After that first tear into the thin, furry-ish skin, your knife just glides neatly through, no annoying pits (as with peaches) to deter your halving efforts. And then inside... gorgeous and fun. There is a round rosy center with darker pink striations fanning outward, and teeny pink seeds at the heart of the fruit. Awww, cute and kind of sexy.
(Apologies for the painfully detestable photography)

The smell: vegetable. Well, the scent is a delicate cross between cucumbers and watermelons. NOT exactly mouthwatering, in my opinion. But doesn't mean I don't like cucumbers and watermelons.

The texture: very soft, like an extremely ripe peach, but minus all the drippy juice.

The taste: nguh... Okay, so maybe this won't be my favorite new fruit. That's okay since they're kind of expensive anyway (700 yen for a pack of five). It's NOT bad. Moderately sweet. No hint of tartness--which, unfortunately, does not appeal, as I like fruit that have a bit of sour mixed in with the sweet. The most interesting thing about the fig is that it has quite literally a smoky taste. I have heard of recipes that pair fresh figs with parma ham. This makes absolute sense to me. I think figs would work better in cold savory dishes, likes salads, as its flavor is not likely to clash violently with the other ingredients.

To make up for its low pucker power--and to quickly expend my pack of five before they are overripe--I've been having a diced fig topped with plain, unsweetened yogurt for breakfast every morning this week. Fairly good stuff. My favorite is still kiwis and plain yogurt though, mmm, zingy.

Haven't had any time to cook this past week so could not get a little more creative with the (poor, unwanted) figs. Since the number of comments on this blog has been less than overwhelming, I don't expect I will suddenly receive suggestions about what to do with figs that would change my currently lukewarm position on them... anyone? Anyone?

...Again with the crickets.

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Not your average koi

These gargantuan beasts reside in the lake in the park near my home. Can you see that bird, sort of in the higher middle portion of this picture? Well, that bird is as large as a duck, and it's completely dwarfed by the koi, all of them out on full snack alert.

Koi are carp, by the way, those ordinarily lithe, bright-colored fish that ornament most Japanese ponds. I don't know what happened to these guys--well, partially overfeeding from the adoring masses armed with bags of white sandwich bread despite the "Do not feed" signs. But these big lugs, when they joyfully leap out of the water on warm summer days, it sounds like some kind of swamp monster doing a cannonball dive or a big old belly flop. Quite a surprising sound, I assure you, in this peaceful neighborhood.

But they're definitely not monsters. Tame as puppies. And greedy!

The park--and the lake within--is quite big, but you can approach the edge of the water at any point, stand there a few seconds, and pretty soon the water will be rippling with oily gray bodies and alarmingly large gaping mouthes. You'll feel just like Snow White, effortlessly calling the wild creatures to her...just minus the pretty birds, fluffy bunnies, and baby deer.

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Leaf shadows on the boardwalk

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Don't Call Me Stuporous

Yes, it was a weird day, and not weithout great annoyance since there seems to be something werong weith my keyboard: there are extra "e"s appearing next to my typed "w"s. So every time I type "w", it actually comes out "we"--see? Can you, dear reader, tolerate this or am I going to have to go back after this and erase every single extra "e"? Grrr.

The first unsettling order of the day was that the day began without me waking up. Because I was already awake to greet the dawn, as it were. Except I ignored the dawn, kept my back to the window, and worked. Sort of. More like slumped sideways, trying to read the words on my computer screen, which seemed to be growing misty. I'd been up all night trying to finish a project and was fading fast. The dawn called. I grunted dismissively. I do not greet the dawn well, or attractively. At one point, I caught a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror and jumped back in fright.

Finally finished my work, and at around 8:30am, feeling uncannily like lumpy muffin batter, I kind of glopped onto the bed, shut my bleary, achy eyes. And then opened them again, squinting irritably. The room was fairly glowing with blue and yellow morning light--my amusing bedroom does not have a window with accommodating curtains, but instead an entire wall of those very 80's thick glass blocks that are not see-through but do nothing to block out light when you're trying to fall asleep after the sun has risen. Useless 80's glass wall.

So after an entire night of peering groggily at a computer screen, I lay back in bed and, naturally, punished my eyes some more by picking up a book and reading it as I always do: about 3cm from my face. Finally finished the book, and with nothing left to read, I slept. Until about 10:30am when my office called because two of the files I had sent could not be opened and would I mind sending them again. No, of course not, I thought, as I tottered unsteadily toward the computer and, because my eyes refused to focus, took about 10 minutes just to resend the files.

Collapsed on bed. Woke up at 2pm. Had breakfast in bed: a juicy Japanese pear and a chunk of my overly salty olive-tarragon bread spread with plain yogurt, which I thought would cut through the salt a bit. And it did, as well as looked rather glossy and gorgeous, like fresh icing atop a slab of cake (unfortunately, because the yogurt was so shiny and my room, thanks to those 80's glass blocks, is so bright, the picture isn't terribly clear). Was feeling groggy, and I fear that an inordinately long moment stretched out as I lay gaping stupidly and admiringly at my pseudo cake. The bread smelled sweet from the tarragon, almost like anise. After breakfast, started reading a new book, still in bed, sprawled in a foggy sleep-deprived stupor. Had lunch at 4pm: a slice of my rosemary streusel cake. And coffee.

Must. Get. Out. Of. Bed.

...So I read a bit more. In bed. My head felt terribly heavy! Could have fallen over and knocked myself out. Might as well be lying down safely and comfortably, right?

The point of all this text: I'm aging. I'm 27 and I can't handle not sleeping for one night. When I was in high school and college, I pulled all-nighters all the time and did alright. Might have been bouncing off the walls a bit the rest of the day, but I managed well (except maybe that one time an over-zealous friend, determined to save my soul, dragged me to an evening church service the day after an all-nighter--call me a doomed sinner for referring to being in the house of god as a hellish experience, but I sayeth so, and it WAS hell...even before all the joyful singing stopped and the THREE-HOUR sermon began. In Korean--which I do not have the privilege of understanding. Two minutes into the sermon and the follow-up English interpretor started sounding like he was speaking underwater.)

Well, back to today, I eventually roused myself from bed. Did stuff that needed to be done, like take my poor dog for a walk. Was gang-bitten by a vicious cloud of mosquitoes at the park. Came home with my legs looking like reverse Swiss Cheese. Have I mentioned we seem beset by a mosquito plague? It began last night. I went to the balcony screen door and saw that it was completely cloaked in mosquitoes. This morning, I went out for a bit and saw a feathery layer of dead mosquitoes just beyond the screen door. I wonder if more will return tonight.

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For the girls

I guess a new blogger has no right to say she's too busy to add some content to her rather barren blog... But I am busy, she says in a small voice.

And yet, here I am, cranking out a quick post on creaky, blistered fingers. Why blistered? Because yesterday was a holiday and last night my husband dragged me to the neighborhood golfing range--for god's sake, DO NOT conjure up images of me with plaid pants and a canary yellow sweater tied neatly around my shoulders (and just in case: a golfing range is like a baseball batting range where there's a whole bunch of people lined up on a platform on one side of a big netted space and they just keep on hitting and hitting golf balls). So my guy and I spent a couple of hours at a golfing range despite the fact that (a) neither of us have ever had golfing lessons and (b) there is something about the game of golf that makes me feel like a big loony--me and my brother actually got my dad kicked off a golf course in the middle of his game once, when he made the mistake of asking us to tag along...in golf carts...that to two young people sort of resemble bumper cars, with the added bonus of acres and acres of hilly greens to slam each other across.

Well, anyhow, essentially, golf is not really my game (okay, what is?). But I dutifully went to the golfing range with my husband because, in Japan, sometimes you actually do have to learn golf for the sake of work, and my husband has that kind of a job. I gotta admit, although I don't enjoy golf, it's pretty damn satisfying to just stand there, whaling the hell out of a little ball with a big club. I actually broke a sweat as well as some skin on my fingers. My husband asked me why I had to smash into each ball like I was trying to kill somebody. My reply is that since I have no technique, I have only pure aggression with which to send that little ball sailing. Which I do, by the way. Just not consistently. I almost lobbed off my husband's ear a few times when the ball was supposed to fly off to my left, but shot forward instead, right past where my husband was standing in front of me. Heh.

So now I've got blistery fingers and lots of work after I finish typing this post that requires, yup, more typing. Not that I'm complaining. No, I'm just trying to recollect what was the point of this post...

And looking at the title, I am reminded. For the girls. Okay, I guess guys can use this information too, but it's mostly women who get osteoperosis, so read on if osteoperosis fascinates you!

Now that everyone has stopped reading, let me relay some prit-ty interesting info I just picked up about calcium. You know a girl's supposed to get about 1,000mg of calcium a day? And there are lots of calcium supplements that very handily contain 1,000mg of calcium per giant capsule--why are those suckers always so damn large? Well, I just found out that your body only absorbs 500mg of calcium MAXIMUM per time (don't ask me exactly what "time" means, since I could not find a single site on the Internet clarifying this). Anyhow, for all you ladies taking 1,000mg calcium pills, or perhaps taking two 500mg pills or whatever, STOP. You're just wasting that calcium, and, probably more distressingly, a lot of money, since those ridiculously sized pills are also ridiculously expensive.

So as annoying as this sounds, you really should try to find 500mg calcium supplements and take one twice a day, with an appropriate time interval between...although exactly how much time, I have not a clue.

That was my pedantic post for the day--hopefully the week. I actually have some nice food posts waiting in draft form right now, and I PROMISE to try to finish them up and get them posted sooooooooon. Back to work.

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Olive bread taste verdict

Well, I waited until my bread was completely cooled--as it is always advised--before cutting into it. Aren't I the good girl?

I was hoping for larger holes, since my bread dough was so wet. But, no, as you can see in the picture, no big holes. The green olives make pretty flecks throughout the bread, but there was waaaay too much olive. Almost puckerishly salty. The next time I make olive bread, will only use slightly more than a quarter cup.

The bread still tastes damp, despite baking for an entire hour (the recipe on e-gullet says 35-40 minutes. But then I don't have a wood-burning oven (although there are home bakers willing to do anything to achieve that perfect loaf and who happily build their own ovens, I am ashamed to admit that my passion for bread baking has yet to stir in me any masonry instincts) or quarry tiles (where to find quarry tiles in Tokyo?) or even a pizza stone ($$$), so my little electric oven has to do all the work and probably doesn't put out adequate heat.

All in all, definitely the worst bread I've made so far. Unfortunately I can't seem to stop eating it. I gotta say, if you ever want to break a person on the Atkin's Diet, force him or her to bake bread, and have the loaf sitting enticingly and prominently on the kitchen counter or, like me, the living room table. I don't know why, but with store-bought bread, I can very coolly divvy it up, freeze it, and eat no more than one or two slices a week. With my own bread though, I'm caught in its carbo clutches and just can't say no.

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After a 19-hour nap

No, not me. The decadent creature napping was my olive bread dough. Although I do like my sleep. AND I don't think wanting ten hours of sleep a night (not that I actually get ten hours) is anything to be embarrassed about! No, I'm not getting huffy!

I do, however, find myself having to defend my right to at least eight hours of sleep when Japanese friends stare at me with incredulity, horror, and sometimes outrage at my utter lazy-bummyness. After all, with most of them seeming to come home from work around 1AM on a fairly regular basis, and having to wake up at 6AM or so the next day, it doesn't seem fair does it that I should be allowed such greedy slumber.

I recently read, however, a rather disturbing article entitled Sleep less, live longer?. Wonderful. But then who really wants to live to such a ripe old age? I'd rather sleep more and die younger than live interminably and perpetually exhuasted.

ANYHOW, after 19 hours of resting in the fridge, my dough was still very slack and wet
compared to the previous times I've made this dough. (I've been sticking to the recipe in the Sourdough Bread tutorial on e-gullet). But I slashed it and popped it into a 250 degree celcius oven, with lots of mad water spritzing as well as water poured into a pan on the floor of the oven...

And after one hour, and lots of peeping and peering into the oven every five minutes...

Bugger! My olive bread is done and it's...sigh...flattish.
Not to mention burned on top, but I wanted to make absolutely sure this time that it was baked inside because I do not have a thermometer to check accurately for doneness and the last three loaves I baked were a bit damp.

I've baked four loaves in total with my sourdough starter and each subsequent one seems to have less oven spring (Oven Spring: that magical thing that happens in the oven where your unassuming dough suddenly billows up and out into a wonderous puff of a loaf. To see a picture illustrating enviable oven spring, check out the loaf made by the delightful Amateur Gourmet). I've heard people complaining about exploding loaves. I wouldn't mind in the least if my loaf was to explode. Better that than these stony, sullen bumps that I have been producing. FRUSTRATIONS!

But, but, but... the smell is absolutely divine. Fruity. And although my breads are never impressive in stature, they do taste lovely. Some say that's all that matters. But no, I say stubbornly, I want a nice fat balloon of a bread. Will not rest until I get that. Even if--god, please don't stone me, anyone--I have to add a sprinkle of instant yeast to achieve better-rising results.

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The starter came back! (I thought he was a goner, but...)

My sourdough starter! He's back. I mean IT's back. Of course it doesn't have a gender. Or a name. I'm not that kind of starter mom, um, person.

You see, I grew a starter at the beginning of this summer. There were a few scary preliminary trials (think of that scene in Alien 6(?) or whatever--the one with Winona Ryder in it--where Ripley's wandering through a lab full of giant test-tube versions of herself, but they're hideously deformed...and if you don't know what I'm talking about, never you mind), but eventually one was successful. But then things started going wrong and my starter stopped doubling in volume after a feeding. (For those of you who don't know much about starters and are finding your eyes glazing over...well, too bad, I won't apologize! But if you would like to learn more, I promise to write more on sourdough starters later.

Let me just say that for a long time, my starter was all sullen, nambsy-pambsy froth and microscopic fizz:
but now he's back and doubling, with bubbles the size of North Dakota!
Seems to have something to do with the flour I've been using, but let's forget the nitty gritties for now.

It's 2am and I'm supposed to be working. But nope, I'm going to bake bread. I have to. An olive terragon...boule? Maybe. Or possibly just a simple sandwich loaf.

Why start at this ridiculous hour? Because with wild yeasts, you don't bake when it's convenient for you, silly. It's all about the feeding schedule, the starter's peak. Okay, and maybe I'm a bad scheduler.

I've measured out all my ingredients, revived some dried chilli pepper and tarragon (yes, yes, I know fresh is better, but I'm...conserving monetary resources) in a little hot olive oil,
de-pitted the olives and minced them up with my fingers... and now I'm waiting. Waiting to be absolutely sure my starter's at its peak, which means the highest point that he's going to rise before he starts to sink again (starters do that. And, yes, I realize I'm referring to my starter as "he" again). So now would be the perfect time to get a little work done. But nope, I'm writing this blog to all you kids out there hungrily reading my blog. (Do I hear crickets? Ha! Of course not.)

Oh oh, I think I just heard a familiar cough from out the window... My husband will be home soon and I can already see his face as he says, "What? Making bread? Now?" He doesn't like bread. He doesn't like my starter either (he was a bit traumatized by those Alien 6-ish trial starters; he also thinks I pay more attention to my starter than him; hunh...).

* * * *

Groan... It's now 5am. Haven't finished my work. My dough is doing its bulk fermentation thing. After about 25 minutes of kneading, I realized my dough was too dry. It kept tearing. So I kept moistening my hands under the tap. And I got a little too moisture happy. So now my dough is sort of indolently sprawled out across the non-stick frying pan (had some over-adhesion troubles when I used an ordinary bowl the last time), and I wonder if I'll have to spoon it into my makeshift banneton (banneton: the thingy my dough will rest in overnight--er, the night's almost over, but you know what I mean--in the fridge).

Ew, I hear voices. Lots of voices. I hate those first sounds that tell you you've missed your chance at a good night's sleep. Like stupid birds singing. There's even a rooster that lives somewhere in the neighborhood who has not got the dawn concept down. He will randomly crow any time between 2:30am and 6am, and I really pity whoever lives next door to him. How do roosters usually learn these things? Are they trained like dogs or is it instinct? Well, he needs to go back to rooster obedience school. Okay, definitely punchy. And my shoulder is starting to ache. Will hang in there for 20 more minutes, turn my dough one last time, and then let it rest for 18 or so hours. Great, even the dough will be sleeping before me. Okay, enough blogging already. Get to work!

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Random pict to make my blog purty

This is a tiny corner of the lake near my home, and it's reflecting the cloudy sky. Sigh, can't seem to stop photographing water reflections. I like 'em.

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Wild Yeasts in My Backyard

(The following is a collection of notes and observations I made while going through the process of making my starter)

How to make a starter (simplified version):

mix a little bit of whole wheat flour and mineral water to make a muddy paste

leave in glass jar with lid very loosely set on top for 12 hours; should be in a warm place, about 80F/27C

after 12 hours, add more flour and water so that original volume is doubled (so if you originally mixed 2 tablespoons of flour with 2 tablespoons of water, add another 2 tablespoons of each)

keep doubling volume every 12 hours until you see bubbles

eventually, several hours after a feeding, starter will bubble and expand to double its height; when it does, you're done!

*You can find more detailed instructions on the Sourdough Home website, but be warned that the server is often down--which I discovered in the midst of starting my starter. To be safe, make a copy of the instructions!

18 July, 10pm
Well, sorry for the cliche but hopefully the third time really will be the charm because my first two startup starters have both met an untimely end, the second one flushed down the toilet, too dense to pour down the sink and too smelly to dump in the garbage. Both failures were due to dumb mistakes.

Starter #1 never had a chance: The morning after I mixed it together, I got out the chopstick I had used the previous night to stir the starter, and I realized with a sinking heart that the little string looped through a hole at the end of the chopstick was missing, and could very well be happily fermenting right along with my starter... so out went the first batch.

Starter #2 may have been destined for great things. Now I shall never know. In less than 24 hours, it was already raring to go, bubbling enthusiastically and rising almost to the lip of its peanut butter jar. Unfortunately I was in a bit of a rush the morning I checked in on it, so instead of transferring it to a larger jar, I simply deflated Starter #2 with a bit of a stir, and gave it a feeding.

Let me quickly note that summers in Tokyo are hot. I've read that temperatures over 95'F can kill your starter, but I'm not sure if what I came home to was murdered matter. My husband was the one who discovered the... well, no delicately way of putting this: vomitous odor that had overtaken the entire room where my starter sat, looking less than innocent. I actually scanned the room for another culprit, but I knew. A closer look revealed the starter had bubbled itself right out of the jar, knocking off the lid, and spewing itself over the surface of the plastic storage box on which it sat (later, as I wiped up the cheesy smelling mess, I couldn't help but notice that it had actually bleached the plastic that it had come in contact with). I don't know what a starter should smell like, but, not wanting to take any risks, and swayed by the look of repulsion horror fear concern on my husband's face--he has been rather skeptical of this whole project from the beginning--I spooned Starter #2 down the loo. I really wish I had taken a picture, but at the time, all good journalistic intentions were overwhelmed by the stench of rotting starter. And the godawful smell remained in the room the following day, despite all my good efforts.

Starter #3 was stirred together at the very moment that #2 was traveling swiftly through our drain pipes--and much to the incredulity of my husband ("You're going to try again? Are you sure you don't want to think about this a bit more?").



This one, rather like a second (or third)-born child, will not be coddled as much nor treated so delicately.


19 July, 3pm



Starter #3 has softened from stiff wet sand to a more mud-like consistency and has a faintly sour aroma. He was already making little bubbles this morning, roughly 12 hours after I'd first mixed him up (ah, my starter seems to be a "he"). His odor had also begun that transformation from sweet wheat to something more dairy in nature, which inspired prickles of concern and an uneasy, darting glance in my husband's direction. In addition, I noticed that although the room was warm, my starter's jar felt almost hot, as if the starter itself were giving off heat. I have thus made the decision to keep Starter #3 in the air-conditioned livingroom with my husband and I, but tucked away and slightly insulated in the kitchen cabinet. Hopefully, this won't be too cold.

Will be going out soon. Hopefully the room will stay relatively cool from the latent A/C and that we will not come home to anything odiferous again.


20 July, 10:30pm
Gasp, just discovered I'm supposed to be doubling the volume of the starter with each feeding! Not my fault--the darn Sourdough Home website has been down for days. So I halved my starter today and adequately fed the poor, starved thing. Hopefully he'll get a little more lively now that I know how to properly feed him.



However... this morning, despite neglect and starvation, my starter was making larger bubbles as well as Rice Krispies-esque popping sounds. He has lost his tart aroma and now smells quite sweet and freshly wheaty--what is the meaning of this? Has the yeast grown weak, its smell becoming proportionately faint?


21 July, 12:30pm



My starter almost doubled in volume!


22 July, 12:25am
Despite having doubled in volume soon after its breakfast, this evening, my starter's bubbles were no more remarkable than they'd been previously. And the sweet, wheaty smell remains--no detectable sour odor. Is this okay?


22 July, 12:15pm

When I woke up this morning, I saw smudgy marks right up at the lip of the coffee bottle, my starter's new home. Don't know if that was made by stirring, shaking, or the starter rising up during the night all on its own, but I want to be optimistic and believe it's the last scenario. Still not very big bubbles this morning, but my starter had a big open crease along one side, exposing a murky streak of fluid amidst the oatmeal-like sludge.

Poured out all but one cup of starter, fed it, and used the rest to make a blueberry quickbread, rather than dump it down the toilet. I didn't have blueberries, so I spooned out half a jar of very chunky blueberry jam, which was reaching its expiry date and would never have been finished in time, and dumped it into a colander to rinse and drain. Mixed everything together, popped the loaf pan in the oven... and about five minutes later, was just finishing clearing off the counter when I spied the package of baking soda--I had forgotten to add it to the batter. Leaped up onto the stool, pulled out the loaf pan, and saw that the thing was already forming a top crust, so gently and quickly nudged it back into the oven. I also noticed while doing this that my blueberry bread was looking pretty damn flat. Obviously. It was now up to my starter and that one weakly stirred egg to leaven the bread. The recipe was actually for muffins, so wasn't sure how long to bake the bread. Opened it way more times than should have, but feeling that it was doomed without the baking soda, was a bit careless.

After about 30 minutes, I pulled out my blueberry quickbread. It was flat and dense looking, but it had risen, split, and risen again on the top the way I like. Not very golden brown, as in the pictures, but predicting a very dense bread, I didn't want to overbake and end up with a blueberry brick.

Took a bite and... oh! It tasted really, really good. Of course the inner crumb was terrible: heavy and overly moist. But there was the most unusual and delectable crunch to the sides and top of the bread, and I could definitely detect a very gentle sourdough tang. It worked! Sort of! I was so proud of my sourdough starter for trying its best in rather trying conditions. I wonder what it would have been like had I not been a complete bonehead and added the baking soda! Perhaps I shall try again tomorrow when I have to pour off more starter. Feel happy though. I didn't add that much sugar to the quickbread, and it turned out more bready than cakelike in texture--thus, despite its shortcomings, I must say this quickbread has more depth of flavor than any other bread I've baked so far. Yay!

Note: Starter rose to its peak about three hours after its seventh feeding.




July 31
A bit rushed right now, but quick update:
-last Sunday, after its seventh feeding, finally decided my starter was building up a nice head of foam after feedings, and was ready to be refrigerated (meaning it won't need to be fed for at least a week, though some say a month is not too long)
-tonight, took starter out for refreshing and to prepare for first sourdough bread tomorrow

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Sourdough References & Links

A quick note of apology: for some reason, my eyes and brain are frightfully exhausted, and I fear that this post is going to break the blogging commandment that thou shalt not write too ghastlily--okay, I checked, and in fact "ghastly" is also the adverb, but don't you agree that "to write ghastly" sounds strange and just plain wrong? Or perhaps my tired brain is not even up to deciphering old Merriam-Webster tonight, and somehow I have grammatically led myself astray.

I've been wanting to write about sourdough starters since before I began this blog, and was finally prompted to do so because, sniff, today part of my starter went to a new home. So young and already propagating (the starter, not me, much to my mother's foot-stamping indignation). Anyhow, I rather irresponsibly passed my friend a little tupperware of starter when we met today for lunch (during which I made molten chocolate cake--more on that some other time, but honestly I have not much to comment on this first, and possibly last, attempt at baking them) without ANY instructions or at least a list of online references. Like dumping a new puppy on someone who's never owned a dog. Tsk, tsk.

So for all starter owners and anyone else who might be interested...

...This is where I'm supposed to first enlighten all the newbies on what a starter is and then describe my early starter experiences, etc. etc. But I'm just too tired. And my poor friend needs information. So for now, I'm going to include below a nice bunch of links and will add to this post...some day.

But why do I even need to add my own two cents if there's so much info out there? Because I did do a fair bit of research before trying to grow my own starter and the truth is that there is just too much conflicting information out there, as well as plain incorrect information and make-you-waste-a-whole-lot-of-damn-flour information too. I don't even agree with everything on the sites I am recommending, but these are the ones that have helped me the most.

Just one quick note to friend with new starter: I wasn't kidding about the bottled water (they aren't just being snooty yeasts) because the chlorine in Japanese tap water could hurt/kill them.

1) Sourdough Home -- An Exploration of Sourdough
After lots of online hunting, I finally decided to follow Mike Avery's instructions on how to roll a new starter. And it worked. I trusted this site the most because it was clear, simple, and logical. No telling you to add fruit, instant yeast, sugar, or anything like that (and explaining why not)--just flour and water. I often go to this site for recipes, tips, and pure reading fun (for someone interested in bread baking). I must admit that Mike's feeding instructions didn't work well with my starter... but that could be because I changed flour-type on my starter too quickly and it objected. Now that I know my starter is a one-flour starter (Starter (histrionically): There will only ever be one flour for me!!!), we'll see if we can hussy it up a bit and get it to consider other kinds of flour. But I'm first going to go back to whole wheat and try Mike's feeding instructions again.

2) How to make a natural rye sourdough starter and bake bread with it
I think one challenge of trying to learn about starters on the Internet is that not all sites have clear pictures, and sometimes words are just not enough to know whether your starter is looking the way it should. Although I didn't actually follow Samartha Deva's recipe, his website VERY thoroughly takes you through each step with tons of close-up photo shots along the way. Even if you're just feeding an already established starter and are wondering what it should look like or what should happen, this is a great place to double check. It is also an excellent illustration of how getting involved in the processes of sourdough can make you go completely bonkers and have you doing things like painstakingly charting your starter's progress for three days straight, hour upon hour, bubble upon bubble. Scary. But impressive.

3) Sourdough Starter Maintenance

This page has excellent, detailed info on what a starter needs, but the most important section, to me, is section "2.2 HOW MUCH?" The thing my inexperience with starters cost me the most was flour. I wasted SO MUCH FLOUR when I ignorantly complied with the feeding instructions of various websites that told you something like "mix half cup of starter with a cup of flour and a cup of water; next day, throw half away, then double volume with more flour and water." The truth is that there are millions of little yeasties swarming around in just the tiniest teaspoon of starter, and they multiply very quickly if you give them lots of food. So, first of all, the less starter you use in a feeding, the more food to go around, see? Second, you really don't need to increase your starter volume that much during a feeding. When I take my starter out of the fridge, I usually mix 1 tsp of starter with 1/4 cup water and 1/3 cup flour; after starter has peaked, I will double the volume. But if you want to adhere to Mike Avery's instructions, I don't see why you can't *roughly* halve his amounts (so instead of 2 tablespoons starter, 1/2 cup water, and 6 tablespoons white flour: 1 tsp starter, 1/4 cup water, 3 tablespoons flour).

4) Sourdough Bread
This page has everything: how to buy starter or make it yourself; how to recover a sick starter; how to refresh (feed) a starter; sourdough links, tons of photos; but most importantly, a very clear step-by-step lesson on how to make bread from sourdough starter.

This basic, no-nonsense recipe for a sourdough boule is the reason I come back to this page again and again. As Jack Lang, the teacher of this lesson, writes: first master this recipe/technique and then feel free to add to it any way you like--shape, flavor, etc.

But there were also wonderful tips here that I rarely find in other sourdough bread recipes, like:
-it gets you to make a nice wet dough, which bakes up airier bread
-it tells you to put your dough in the fridge overnight to retard (unlike some recipes that have you baking the bread after one or two rises), which I like because I always think bread baking should be time-consuming and the less you rush your dough the more delicious your bread will be
-it tells you that it's okay to put the bread straight from the fridge into the oven; this makes me happy because the chilled dough is MUCh easier to slash, it's a lot sturdier, it spreads less (remember this is a wet dough), and there is no danger of deflation when you slide your bread into the oven
-and the first time I followed this recipe, I got this pretty okay loaf:

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About the Starter

Who: Sourdough starter

What: Although I often refer to my starter as "it," and sometimes fondly as "he" much to my husband's aggravation, it/he's actually an entire gooey ecosystem of wild yeasts and bacteria frolicking in flour and water. If you want a real explanation, this is a nice writeup; and if you like it really technical and scientific, try this.

Why: Well, kids, it all began with my bread. My utterly tasteless home-baked bread. Confounded, I began searching for the secret to flavorful bread, and the name Nancy Silverton kept popping up. I had seen her a long time ago on an episode of Martha Stewart's show, but all I could recall was that she had seemed a little uptight around Martha (but then who wasn't?), she made rather heavy-looking croissants, and she was the owner of La Brea Bakery somewhere...in California. But now I was paying more attention and it was Silverton this and Silverton that, and most notably Silverton Starter, which people claimed was the answer to delicious bread. Admittedly, I was equally drawn to the idea of embarking on a home science project, especially one involving food. Catching wild yeasts with fermenting grapes--I was ready!

But being me, I had to read about starters until my eyes started turning inside-out. And I soon learned that although Silverton is a much respected bread baker, those same people with all that respect--p'tooey!--spit on Silverton's starter recipe. Forget adding fruit, vegetables, instant yeast, or sugar; all you need to catch your own yeasts are flour and water--so I was told.

When: Summer 2004

Where: Right here in my current apartment, which means that these are Tokyo yeasts and bacteria, just as the famous San Francisco sourdough bread is made from local San Francisco yeasts and bacteria.

How: I mixed together the bait: whole wheat flour and bottled water. Left my trap (a clean peanut butter jar) out, with its lid set loosely on top. And within one day, I had yeasts! It was that simple. If you want a more detailed account of how I caught my yeasts, I made notes!

Personality: Picky picky--refuses anything but whole wheat flour and mineral water, while I make do with tap. Huh. Tried weaning it onto cheap white flour and it literally fizzed out.

Good Qualities: It gives my breads the most delectable crusts. I can't get that fine, crisp texture with commercial yeasts ever. Also, the breads I make with my starter definitely have a more complex and satisfying flavor.

*I have a post that rambles a bit but eventually lists and summarizes some excellent websites on sourdough here.

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About the dog

Who: Edward
What: Mini dachshund
Born: October 2003; Japan

Mom: Ruddy (bottom left picture)
Dad: Ryu

Loves: Girls, especially girly girls; high-pitched cries of "ka-wa-iiii!" (translation: "How cuuuute!" in Japanese) and the tippy-tap of high heels are two sounds guaranteed to spur Edward into his Look-at-Me-Love-Me routine, which essentially involves lots of wriggling, prancing, and self-degradation.

Hates: Cats, because of an early puppyhood encounter during which my mother-in-law's cat suddenly exploded into furious screeching at their close proximity, catching Edward by surprise and causing him to pee on himself--who wouldn't be a little resentful?

Personality: Gentle and good-natured, which his humans cruelly take advantage of by dressing and posing him for pictures such as the ones below:


Edward the Peasant Woman


Edward the Overgrown Superhero


Edward the Bear Rug

Strengths: Although girls are his favorite, Edward pretty much loves everybody. He's a happy, friendly pup who will wag his tail and skip over to anyone that accidentally glances his way.

Weaknesses: Girls, of course; also, plastic soda bottles (he enjoys pulverizing them with his teeth) and dogs who either want to tear him apart or lick his crotch.

Unhealthy Dependency on:

-His stuffed toys--all of whom happen to go by their French names because one of his first toys (featured in above picture) had L'Autobus stitched on its side, and things quickly got out of control after that: L'Elephant, Lapin, Le Clover. (No, "clover" is not French, but we did not even want to attempt: "Where's Le Trèfle? Go find Le Trèfle." So by Le Clover, it became apparent that a tradition had been established that would not be dismissed.)

-His humans--who are not allowed to go anywhere, not even the bathroom, without their loyal sentinel standing guard at the door or preferably with said sentinel huddled awkwardly against the toilet-goer's leg.

Embarrassing Facts:
-Not the finest example of animal grace, Edward occassionally trips over his own feet and has been known to smash into walls when racing around while looking gleefully over his shoulder.
-Is scared of cockroaches, cicadas, and other bugs.

Unfortunate Traits:
-Compulsive stalker and starer (will NOT let you out of his sight)
-Severely bad breath and sometimes stinky feet too

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About the girl

Who: Rachel

Where: Temporarily California, then back to Japan

Why brown bread ice cream: The truth is I've always been terrible at naming things--toys, school papers, pets, blogs, children (someday).... I just randomly chose a name I knew no one else would have taken for their own blog yet. Yeah, that's the full explanation.

What's with the string of city names under the main title: The first city in the list, Singapore, is where my life began. The last, Tokyo, is where I am now. And although there have been a lot more cities in between, Vancouver and Des Moines were two places that I stayed for a decent amount of time and that possibly contributed toward forming the person I am now. So this list is kind of a geographical connect-the-dots that I link together to answer the question "Where are you from?" (gee, I love being asked that), since I don't really consider any one particular place to be "home." Update: I took down the list. It was getting too long.

Do you fancy yourself a good cook: Definitely not. In fact, I don't really enjoy cooking unless it's a special occasion where I get to splurge on good ingredients and I'm preparing the food for someone other than myself.

I do like baking. I'm just not a perfect baker. In this blog, I sometimes will record my baking mishaps as well as the rare occasions I succeed, which is exactly why it should be read. You don't need another smug Martha Stewart replacer who is infallible! The pros are always telling you "Do this" and "DON'T EVER do that," but you never get to see the whys behind their bossy orders. Here, you will find out exactly what happens when you don't follow instructions or think everything will be fine if you completely change a recipe, sometimes with the aid of shocking photographic coverage. You won't ever need to be a walking calamity in the kitchen because I will be that calamity for you. You can see for yourself what can go wrong and tell yourself sternly, "I will definitely not do that." And when I do manage to pull something off, we will sigh in companionable relief.

Just let me see your Blogger profile already: Sigh, okay.

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Hi! (My first post...)

I couldn't bear to leave my first-ever entry as "Testing," so I'm replacing it with "Hi"--yes, of course, so much better now.

Didn't want to seem cold and unfriendly. But for now, gotta run. And the reason I can't hang around for a warmer, more extensive "Welcome to my blog!!!"... the little guy in the picture below wants a walk:

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