I say for summer, but maybe they’re for anytime. It’s just now, when the long light evenings prefer books to screens, and the veg harvest is beginning to peak, that I’ve pulled them from the kitchen shelf again. And keep them by my side of the bed. Dreaming of burrata salad. Waking to the idea of freshly baked Maslen bread.
Why these three books? I love them equally. And read them for slightly different reasons.
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Last year, you may remember, I spent two days at the Artisan Bakery School in Devon. They taught, we baked, we ate. And I left armed with the more confidence in the yeast and leaven department. Soon after this, I volunteered to look after a friend’s sourdough starter (which goes by ‘Alfonzo’, naturally) while they were holidaying for three weeks. I took this responsibility seriously; listened earnestly while my friend told me about Alfonzo’s needs (starter-organic flour-water in ratios of 1:1:1) and habits (awake in the evening if fed in the morning). And, if I’m honest, I felt the pressure. This was something that he had nurtured from nothing, and I could, with neglect, kill it.
Papier-mâché thoughts 