Thursday, September 3, 2015

Baking Bread

La reine of baking Dorrie Greenspan has a butter tip-sheet. That sounds dirty, Urban Dictionaryish. Yum yum I thought, but no, perv, it really is tips about butter.

[An aside: Dorrie Greenspan's boozy, Parisian pineapple.]

Dry butter. Winter butter. Higher butter-fat content butter. Butter from grass-pastured cows, etc. Mise en abyme. That's an expression from a pointless confusing tunnelscape French literary criticism that I learned to use in college French (ou est la piscine?) and is best explained by the cow logo of La Vache Qui Rit cheese.

[Or explained by this: Gerard Depardieu. Or even better, by this: Foux de Fa Fa]

La Vache Qui Rit wears earrings of La Vache Qui Rit, and the cow in the earrings is wearing earrings of the same logo, and that cow is wearing -- ow, ow, stop, you're hurting my American brain.

But I'm into that sort of thing, vexation, confusion, pain, France, since I started baking. Making brioche. Being a person who makes brioche is like wearing a t-shirt that says Cake or Death in happy, bubbly handwriting, perhaps with a little smiley face in the "o" of the "or death." French handwriting.

With brioche (as with so many things) I am trying to keep things light and airy, like Vangelis' soundtrack to Chariots of Fire, but my medium is heavy, corporeal, butter and eggs. It's not only a philosophical problem, it's physics.

1 comment:

  1. Brioche! I'm impressed. I imagine you sitting in the garden, a serene smile on your face, noshing on buttery warm homemade brioche and cafe au lait for breakfast. Shhhhh, don't spoil it.