I had everything I needed in my Guatemalan kitchen at the atitlan lake house: oven, some raisins, space and light...but after several attempts, the raisins wouldn't ferment. On one try, I kept the resurrected dijon mustard jar (the container for my raisin yeast batch) indoors like a grounded teenager... a film formed and finally mold. Disheartened, I tossed the whole batch out. I started again. Rinse, new raisins, new water.
It took a little over a week for the yeast to grow, probably because of the altitude and temperature (a hunch from the boy). This time, I'd leave the jar of raisins completely open...basking for hours in the sun or in wet sprinkles, hoping the lake ambience would induce some serious yeast love making. Finally, on the 7th day, the bread spirits said, raisins, thou must bubble, and they did. Hot diggity, it was christmas all over again. That was 2 days ago, and every since then I've been feeding this growing litter a tablespoon of flour and a little water every day like a doting mother cat.
This morning, we ate our buttered slices, communing with the lake, watching the majestic clouds hug the shoulders of the volcano mountain, waiting for the sun to find us again. Each day, the same surroundings but always a new perspective...just like the lessons of bread making.
Photos below for the scrapbook. (For the recipe, read from raisins to bread). Saving you a buttered slice. Buen prochevo chicos!
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