#down cellar

Calvin Laituri, “Down Cellar”

always(needy &)

not as dark as be    -should

pale & hungry shadow

wide-eyed & rivered, i look

& it goes all shambled

down cellar, open-mouthed we

                         eat

                         old

                         books

one time i ran

(from)that shadow-damn

but it, sneaker, hungry seeker

my shadow sang a force so

i had to         b    a

                               n

                          g

                 a

      u

ey

     & run (to)it

open-mouthed,

                         unrivered

needy, as dark as all ... but

this one point-pinned

up there & from birth, the

of(all) shadows, mother &

father & holy most

                               always

                                 needy

sneaking, shambled

my shadow & i

we angel-count

look!

somewhere & we’ll be lost

in an old book

in a dark place

At the end of last year, I finished my very first afghan for two of my newlywed friends. It was *supposed* to be finished last August, to give to them at their wedding in New Hampshire, but it turns out that it takes a loooong time to knit a king-sized afghan blanket. 

Patrick's family gives quilts as keepsakes (and so does Jess’s), but in my family it was always knit or (more likely) crocheted afghans. I've always wanted to make one, but I knew it was an investment--in both time & money. Ian & Morgan are worth it, though, and I was so proud to send this to them around Christmastime to keep them warm through the winter. 

It took a year or so to knit, and as it got longer & longer, Clementine started nestling into the blanket where it draped over my legs and eventually over the whole couch. After seeing how much she loved it--even when I spread it out on the ground for pictures after it was finished--I decided she needed her own little afghan and knit her a miniature one, too. I may have washed the afghan after snuggles & pictures, but I’m sure Ian & Morgan must have found more than a few errant Clementine hairs. 

My father gave me my first cast iron pan for my 18th birthday, 18 or 19 days before I moved away from home to attend college in Bellingham. The Benson family--as far as I know--has always used cast iron. The cast iron pan is the pan I remember from my childhood, the pan that my father always fried his eggs in before sliding them out with a flexible metal spatula (that I have failed time & again to find a suitable replacement for) onto leftover rice and cheese. He taught us never to use soap, to rub out the bits of food with salt and scratchy pads only, to dry the pan quickly by placing it on a hot burner for a few minutes, water hissing as it dries into smaller & smaller pools. I learned how to season a cast iron from my father, wiping oil around the edges and the inside and the outside before leaving it in a warm oven to cure. 

I've lugged this pan with me to Bellingham, to New Hampshire, back to Seattle, then over to Boston and up to Maine and then back to Seattle again. I can't recall if I actually went through with it, but I threatened to bring it to France, to stash it deep inside my checked bag so that I could cook with cast iron on the other side of the world, too. 

This past fall, when the task of sorting out old family heirlooms and my father's belongings fell to me, I found a set of five or six more of his cast irons, and stacked them in a cabinet in my kitchen. I gave a few away to friends, taking care to tell them never to use soap, to scrub with scratchy pads and kosher salt only. Three or four new cast irons, but still, this first one is the one I reach for when I start to cook. 

It's the pan I pull out to make sauces, the pan I use to sear meat, the pan I use to make stroganoff and cornbread and eggs and hashes and to saute vegetables. It's also the pan I use to bake bread. 

By now, most everyone has heard of--and even baked, I'm sure--some variation of Jim Lahey's no-knead bread. Personally, I find the kneading to be one of the best parts of making bread, so it's never been the 'no-knead' part that has appealed to me about this particular recipe. What I do love about it, though, is the very, very loose timeline this bread allows for. I can mix up the dough, let it sit overnight, get to it when I get to it, and turn out a hearty & crusty loaf a few hours later. There's not much to argue with there, if you ask me.

The bread cooks in a covered oven-safe container--most people use dutch ovens, but since I haven't sprung for a vintage one of these yet, I use my cast iron & lid. My cast iron is a little shallower than most dutch ovens, so it makes for a shorter, flatter loaf. 

I've been making more of an effort to use at least half whole wheat flour in the baked goods I make--especially after reading that it's one of the better sources of prebiotics available (I mean, I don't really want to eat 9.3 grams of raw chicory root...), so I swapped out half of the regular flour for whole wheat. 

Another thing I love about this particular bread is how very forgiving the recipe is. Let it sit for 20 hours instead of 12? No worries. Accidentally pour in 1 1/4 teaspoons of yeast instead of just 1/4 teaspoon? Just scoop out as much as you can and even if you also scoop out like 1/4 cup of flour, it's not even an issue. Mix up the dough but then remember you're supposed to go to Portland? Just pop the bowl of dough & your cast iron in the car and you're good to go. 

No-Knead Bread

Adapted from the New York Times recipe, which was adapted from Jim Lahey's Sullivan Street Bakery. 

1 1/2 cups bread flour

1 1/2 cups whole wheat flour

1/4 teaspoon instant yeast

1 1/4 teaspoon kosher salt

1 5/8 cup water

Mix the flours, yeast, and salt together in a medium-sized bowl. Keep in mind that salt basically kills yeast, so don't--for example--toss the salt directly on top of the yeast or the yeast directly on top of the salt. I like to mix between each ingredient, so that the salt is distributed evenly and doesn't affect the rising process. Add water in all at once--I usually add just a touch over 1 1/2 cups, because what the hell is five eighths of a cup, anyway? Stir until the ingredients are well incorporated.

Cover and let rest at room temperature overnight, or for at least twelve hours. I have moved on to the next step after only 8 or 9 hours, and I have also left this dough for 18 hours or more and it has always turned out a beautiful loaf. If you don't think you can get to the dough for a full day, I would suggest putting it in the fridge to slow the fermentation processes down just a tad. Bring the dough back to room temperature for at least two hours prior to taking it out of the bowl. 

When your dough's surface is bubbly and it smells good & yeasty in there, get out a cotton tea towel (not terrycloth; as the dough is still fairly sticky, you'd end up with fibers in your bread--and not the kind that's good for your gut) and dust it generously with flour. You may also use cornmeal or wheat bran, but I think flour works best. Gently transfer the dough from the bowl to the towel, and fold the towel over the dough. Let rest for around two hours, or until the dough has almost doubled in size. 

Thirty minutes before the dough is ready, preheat your oven to 450 degrees, and place the cast iron & lid inside the oven as it heats. When the dough has risen, remove the cast iron from the oven, and carefully slide the dough into the hot pan. I say carefully, but this usually looks more like me desperately trying to hold the dough into some semblance of a ball, and then scraping the leftover bits stuck on the towel into the mess of dough beneath. This dough, though, is so forgiving, that it doesn't matter how you get it into the pan. 

Bake covered for 30 minutes, then remove the lid and bake for 15-30 more minutes, until the loaf is brown and gorgeous. Most people tend to take baked goods out a tad too early, which is really a shame. Let it go a bit longer than you think for the best color and flavor, too.