Son of Making Sourdough Whole Wheat Bread

Midnight, Saturday/Sunday.

At 1:30 yesterday afternoon, I punched down the dough--it had doubled in size, no yeast! It was very sticky—very—and I turned it onto a board with some flour, kneaded it a bit to get control over the stickiness, then turned it into one of my wonderful very deep very heavy blue Vermont (Bennington Potters) bowls. Brushed the top lightly with oil (olive), covered the bowl with film and a dampish cloth, and set it in the fridge. Went off to take a couple of granddaughters to the new Harry Potter movie.

One thing led to another and it was midnight by the time I got home. The dough had risen about 2/3-3/4 of doubleness. I poured myself a glass of wine (more of that anon) and checked what was going on with “Saturday Night Live.” Nothing to my interest. So I decided to punch down the chilled dough, form it into a loaf, let it rise while I slept.

I floured my round basket—banneton—with the white whole wheat flour, punched down the dough, shaped the loaf, and turned it into the basket. Covered it with film, a dampish cloth, left it on the counter, and Cakes and I went to bed.

Cakes is my boon companion, a bichon frise/poodle mix that I rescued four months ago—I rescued her and she rescued me.

More of the bread when I wake up.