Many years ago before the church drove out the last threads of organised religion from my mind, I used to go to confession in a church carefully chosen miles from home in order that I wouldn’t be recognized. Father Barnard was an old school Anglo Catholic who reputedly slept in his cassock. The first time I went there I was surprised to see the church half full of people, but I soon realized why. Father Barnard was as deaf as a post and so any thought of private confession went out of the window. You had to shout your sins at him – greatly to the amusement of the gathered crowd. Having blurted out your private shame he would invariably dispatch you to the back of church to say the same psalm. It never varied – same old same old – and it was truly cathartic.
Anyway, and in search of the same sense of release I’m offering my full confession to a grave sin, committed this morning in full knowledge of the error of my ways. I added yeast to a sourdough loaf. There we are then, I’ve got it off my chest. A heretical book, well-known to the authorities, has tempted me from the path of righteousness, and lured thousands of us pale and unhealthy backsliders into sin. In a burst of what the Jungians call synchronicity, the sewer in the basement has been blocked and is flooding as a kind of divine retribution and our water heater has developed a leak. The management company has failed to respond to any of our complaints because – as we all know – old people have nothing important to do and so can be safely shunted to the end of the queue. Grumble grumble grumble!!
The plan is to make a serviceable white loaf that lasts a few days and can be cut for sandwiches but tastes great at the same time. Shop bread is so full of preservatives it never seems to go off – you just wake up one morning to find it’s grown a green fur coat. It’s early days, but after following the instructions to the letter I’ve got a sticky, sloppy and wet mass of dough that looks destined to pancake when it hits the oven. I’ve already weakened and added more flour to the dough but I’m not hopeful. Never mind I’ll see it through to the bitter end and – as the politicians always seem to say – lessons will be learned. However it turns out I promise I’ll publish a photo for your entertainment. But yeast in a sourdough loaf? I may never forgive myself.
