After my greatest sourdough, yesterday, I sent a picture to my friend Edward. I guess I needed validation (even though I was pretty sure that was my best one to date). Edward thought it looked good, but he raised me his wonderful loaves of whole-wheat bread. Their golden crust so thick poets could write about it. The secret, he explained, was yogurt. I asked whether he would share the recipe, which he did.
The climate here is so dry that it required quite a bit more water. My arms, not used to the hard word, took double the time to work the dough until it took the right texture. The results, however, were beyond any possible expectations. A loaf so airy, a tender crust, an earthiness that lingered. Extraordinary.
Perhaps the secret is the yogurt. Perhaps it was working it with my hands. Perhaps it was the friendship with which the recipe was given. For a moment, the warm lightness of the bread reminded me of what happiness feels like. Sharing, friendship, links through the distance.
Behold, the best bread I ever made!
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