Last night at about ten o'clock the last stitch (or at least I hope so) for the Elizabeth Zimmermann V-neck Aran was cast off. You may or may not have heard the shout of joy that erpupted from my living room at the time of finishing. I warn you that if you heard this muffled cry that you should prepare for another one this weekend, when I finally sew in the zipper and weave in the ends (of which there are few, gotta love a wool yarn). I should have pictures maybe Monday, we'll see how tomorrow and the next day goes.
As for the bread, well, for the past few days I've had a hankering for fresh bread. I love homemade bread, almost oddly so. I love the tast, the crustyness, the smell, oh, the smell. I even love making it, and I'm not the mamby-pamby bread maker type; I don't even use a mixer. The sensation of kneeding the dough, to feel the slightly warm lump between your fingers, slowy adding enough flour to bring it to what it should be. It's a very (forgive me) sensual experince. It's primal, it's simple, and the way it rises, magical.
This time though, I kind of wanted to do something that was a little sweet. So, I made one loaf normal, and the other I twisted, put on a cookie sheet, and sprinkled with cinnamon sugar. That one didn't work out so well for me.
I failed to take into account that this bread was more flat and less round. Therefore, I should have lessened the temp, and the cooking time. Yeah, well. It's not really sweet enough, the bottom is as black as the Grinch's heart, (it is that season after all) and there just is something that is not right about it. Ah well, better luck next time.
Here's a shot of the bread's good side. It sure looks tempting. Not to bad. Maybe I'll go give it another try, don't want to be to quick to judge . . . Ah, I'll just have some ice cream if I want sweet.