Tuesdays with Dorie : Hungarian Shortbread

This TWD post is going to be short and sweet and mostly pictures. Any bookish or film related connection I tried to concoct was, well, a stretch.  So I’ll just stick with the basics.

Hungarian Shortbread : a variation on your standard shortbread with a layer of fresh rhubarb jam in the middle.  The most notable thing about it was the butter.  No, make that the BUTTER!  Not two sticks, not three, but a whole whopping POUND of the stuff!  I think I started to wheeze just looking at it and I’m pretty sure the motor of my Kitchen-Aid might have skipped a beat trying to whip it up.

The second most notable thing about this recipe is the dough construction.  Once all the ingredients are combined the dough is frozen so that it can then be shredded into the pan, which I must admit does contribute to a nice crumbly texture.

Fresh rhubarb was nowhere to be found in my neck of the woods, so I substituted lingonberry jam, which, though Swedish and not Hungarian, seemed somehow fitting.

It baked up nicely and made the kitchen smell all homey and rustic.  But this one was not my favorite.  I couldn’t get past all the butter for one thing, and the flavor could have stood a little more complexity.   I mean I’m all about simplicity when it comes to cooking and baking, but there was something lacking in this for me.  If I make it again, I may try adding some toasted walnuts to the filling, or substitute finely ground hazelnuts or almonds for some of the flour,  or perhaps add the vanilla bean to the dough rather than putting it in the jam mixture.

I unintentionally omitted the powdered sugar topping and while it would have been pretty, it was plenty sweet without it. Overall, straightforward and unfussy.  The most cumbersome aspect was grating the dough (I think my arm was sore the next day) but with all that butter, it’s not a bad idea to kick things off with a little workout.

Until next time . . . Bake on!

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To see what others thought of this week’s Baking with Julia recipe, visit Tuesdays with Dorie.

Tuesdays with Dorie : Lemon Loaf Cake and Victorian Visions

This cake  makes me think of cloth napkins and floral table cloths and sugar cubes picked up with little silver tongs.  I envision lacy gloves, “mutton leg” sleeves, crinoline skirts and cameos, and pale, pasty skin.  I hear feigned laughter and the clinking of teacups and words like “ghastly” coupled with knowing glances and raised eyebrows.

I can imagine Isabel Archer’s eyes passing over such a cake at one of those hilltop tea parties.  As Henry James noted;

“There are few hours in life more agreeable than the hour dedicated to the ceremony known as afternoon tea.”

It would look just lovely cut into little rectangles and arranged on a multi-tiered cake plate.  And of course it would fit right in on a plate of fresh blackberries, strawberries, perhaps a mound of clotted cream, and a little watercress finger sandwich.

After all that, I have a tiny, little confession.  I didn’t have any tea – at all – ever, with this cake.  But it’s a nice thought though, isn’t it?

Here’s how I enjoyed my Lemon Loaf Cake :

I combined some lemon juice and confectioner’s sugar for a glaze, which I drizzled over the top and then I poured a simple glass of cold milk.  It was quite nice.  I can think of only one thing that might have improved this dainty, yet flavorful cake.  Lemon curd!!!  Why didn’t I think of that?  A little dollop of lemon curd and this cake would have been divine.

I’m making a note of it in my cookbook.

With it’s fresh lemon flavor and moist, spongy texture, Julia and Dorie’s Lemon Loaf Cake is a fabulous little recipe to have in your recipe box for quick entertaining or an afternoon snack, and it’s lovely with or without tea.

To see what others thought of this week’s Baking with Julia recipe, visit Tuesdays with Dorie.  

The Great Gatsby : can’t buy me love

It’s hard to know what to say about a novel that’s so often referred to as “…a timeless classic….the Great American Novel…”  It’s just as hard to see it that way when most of the characters in it are so unlikable and when it left me with such a sad, hopeless feeling.

Putting that aside for a moment, Fitzgerald’s 1925 novel is a reflection of the roaring twenties era in America, a time when decadence drowned out the despair of a grim World War, a time when the nobility and honor of “old wealth” was set aside for the reckless pursuit of pleasure at whatever cost, a time when the passage of the 18th amendment turned Americans into thrill-seeking teenagers in pursuit of the forbidden fruit.  In that context, it’s easy to envision what a great Gatsby Saturday night affair might have been like, even without seeing images like this one from the 1949 film adaptation:

As a “self-made” man with humble beginnings, Jay Gatsby embodies the ideal American dream.  We feel his abiding optimism and the perceived promise of his success with images like this one, put forth by the involved narrator, and Gatsby’s friend, Nick Carraway;

“He smiled understandingly — much more than understandingly.  It was one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in life.  It faced – or it seemed to face – the whole external world for an instant, and then concentrated on you, with an irresistible prejudice in your favor.  It understood you just so far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you would like to believe in yourself and assured you that it had precisely the impression of you that, at your best, you hoped to convey.”

Gatsby so fully embodies optimistic idealism that it’s difficult to grasp how such a character could fail, could so completely and miserably miss the mark.  But fail, at least in the sense of attaining what he really wanted, is exactly what Jay Gatsby does.  If he is a symbol of the American Dream, he is a symbol of that dream gone terribly, terribly wrong.  He has what most associate with success – a large estate, an extravagant lifestyle, frequent well-attended parties.  Gatsby seems to have it all.  We should envy him, right?  We should be clamoring to tap into the secret of his success.  But there’s one key element missing in Gatsby’s picture perfect life - love.    In the end Gatsby is just a spectacle, like a sideshow act at the carnival that everyone loves to gawk at but no one really cares enough to get to know or understand.  If The Great Gatsby is the Great American Novel, then it’s the Great American Novel of Futility.  All that grandiosity, the opulence, the optimism – it all comes to nothing.

Nick speaks of the sadness of looking at things “through new eyes” and that remark hints at the real tragedy of the novel; perhaps the greatest tragedy of The Great Gatsby is the loss of wonder; the abrupt awakening that things may not be quite how we envisioned, that there is emptiness where we perceive substance, illusion where we perceive reality.  To recognize that the life that we’ve dreamed about and worked so hard for, the life that has cost us so much, doesn’t give us all the things we thought it would . . . In some ways, there’s nothing so terrifying as that realization.    And for Jay Gatsby there was no redemption, no lessons learned, no second chances.  For all the dreaming, the effort, and all the things he acquired, he never grasped what would truly make his life worth living.  He couldn’t buy happiness; he couldn’t buy friends; and he couldn’t buy love.  And really, what is life without those things?   His efforts amounted to little more than a hollow, utterly pointless, pursuit.

Truthfully, I wanted to hate this book, because it felt so shallow and hopelessly superficial, but then I guess that was the point. . .

“And as I sat there, brooding on the old unknown world, I thought of Gatsby’s wonder when he first picked out the green light at the end of Daisy’s dock.  He had come a long way to this blue lawn and his dream must have seemed so close that he could hardly fail to grasp it.  He did not know that it was already behind him, somewhere back in that vast obscurity beyond the city, where dark fields of the republic rolled on under the night.”

Traditional Irish Soda Bread : with a pinch of history and a dash of art

This bread is the easiest thing I’ve made in a month, two months, heck it’s probably the easiest thing I’ve made in a year!  Four ingredients, thrown together, popped in the oven, and voila!  You’ve got bread.  Not only that, you’ve got pretty darn good bread.  I mean it’s not going to inspire poetry or make you call and brag to your mother and it probably won’t win you any awards; but slice it up, put a little jam on it and you’re holding a piece of tangible comfort right there in your two little hands.

Really, what else is there to say?  Except for maybe a little history on soda bread . . . The earliest references belong to the Native Americans who used potash or pearl ash as a quick leavening agent for making bread.  We also know that it was popular among the Colonists in the late 18th century as it was mentioned in such publications as American Cookery by Amelia Simmons and then again in 1824 by Mary Randolph in her book, The Virginia Housewife.  It became a staple in Ireland in the early to mid 19th century due to limited resources.  Though you can find many variations on the recipe today, traditionally it included four humble ingredients; flour, buttermilk, baking soda, and salt.

It is precisely that simplicity that adds to its appeal.  There’s something so charming and satisfying about combining a few frugal ingredients and producing a staple that’s appetizing and enjoyable.

Estimated date : 1657 - 1658

Vermeer captures that domestic simplicity in his painting, The Milkmaid.  Though her surroundings are unassuming, there’s a sense of tranquility and comfort about the scene.  Perhaps it’s her intense focus, the look of contentment on her face, the simplicity of her action, the natural light upon her.  I get the feeling that this is not at all a woman who is unhappy with her lot.  In fact, she’s elevated, dignified, romanticized perhaps, for her ability to turn those lowly ingredients in front of her into something pleasurable.

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To see what others thought of this recipe, visit Tuesdays With Dorie.

Recipe from Baking with Julia by Dorie Greenspan.

A Place for the Personal in Literary Exploration

Every now and again, a discussion pops up about whether or not an exploration of “self” has a worthwhile place in a discussion of literature, and especially in literature reviews, or if it’s more desirable to remain impartial and objective.  Does the inclusion of one’s feelings weaken literary discussion?

I’ve never felt particularly inspired to chime in on this debate until I read Jillian’s thought-provoking post a couple of days ago, which got me to thinking about where I stand on this issue.  I have also seen little discussions percolating on how society can promote a love of reading and I think that idea fits well into this discussion.

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My own investigation of literature didn’t begin with any lofty ambitions or goals, it didn’t even begin with a serious work of literature.  It began with a desire to step outside myself and to connect with life in a different way.  For me, reading enhances life and that’s my motivation for reading and for writing about what I read.  When I learn something from a character in a novel, it heightens my experience as a person. When a writer is profound or poetic, I become more sensitive to the profound and poetic in my day-to-day life and surroundings. That’s the beauty of literature, in my opinion. Central to my enjoyment of any work of art is how it connects me to all that is life - past, present, and future.

I don’t obsess over whether or not my posts are “worthy” or if my blog is what a book blog should be. It’s worthy to me; and though I don’t always say all the things I want to say in the ways that I want to say them, it is what it should be in that it’s a reflection of my growth and development as a reader.  I’m not trying to win any awards, or write for the NY Times, or become the next Harold Bloom.  No one is paying me to write this blog. No one has given me a rubric to follow. It is what it is.   In the moment, and of the moment.

I don’t expect my posts (I won’t call them reviews) about books to be masterly or pedantic, they simply must be true. The driving force behind what I write, for good or bad, is a passion for books, and what is passion but a highly personal thing?  If I remove that component, then I’ve also removed my motivation for reading and writing in the first place.

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How can we expect people to be passionate about literature if we are constantly telling them to keep themselves out of it?  How can we expect others to view books as important in their lives if they are repeatedly told to remain objective and set their feelings aside?

Perhaps there’s already enough space for “professionals” putting forth academic and impartial ideas and not enough people in the limelight who are saying, “Let me share with you how this book changed my life. . . or changed my mind. . . or made me see the world just a little bit differently.”  Maybe, just maybe, “I love” and “I thought” needs a more central place in our promotion of literature. After all, when we love something, aren’t we more likely to want to explore it, to probe its depths, to gain greater insight and understanding?

Based on my own experience, I believe that a journey through literature must begin with the self.  Before all else, we must love to read.  How can we feel that a critical analysis of literature is a worthwhile use of our time and attention if we have not first considered what it means to us?  How it has affected our perspectives, our opinions, our relationships, our lives?

And I wonder . . . if the authors that we so often write about were alive today and could chime in on the debate, what would they think of solely detached, unemotional responses to their work? From what I’ve read about Hardy, he looked at Tess as almost like the daughter he never had. So it doesn’t sound like the act of writing that novel was a detached and unemotional one, but just the opposite. If writers don’t remove the “self” from their writing process, then why should we strive to remove it from the reading process?

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It’s easy to forget what it’s like to be a child or a teenager, maybe it’s also easy to disconnect with what it feels like to be a new reader, to be moved and changed by the raw power of words.  To swoon over the likes of Mr. Darcy or to simply loathe the wretched Ms. Danvers, to well up with excitement, and not know what to say other than, “I LOVE this!”

Like anyone else, I have my preferences for the types of blogs I like to read, the types of posts that are most useful to me, but I choose to voice those preferences, not with words, but with my choice to read or not to read certain blogs.   There’s a place for all sorts of readers in this great literary conversation.  I certainly hope that I never ever invalidate another’s enthusiasm with heavy-handed opinions about what constitutes a worthy response to literature.  What a shame that would be.

Translation Tribulations, a Return to the Classics, and the Beauty of Life

Apparently, I’m not capable of straying from the classics for too long.  A quarter of the way through Julia Child’s My Life in France, I found myself hankering for a good work of classic fiction.  Don’t get me wrong, I love reading about Julia’s interesting life and culinary adventures; but I knew it was time to return to the classics when I found myself skimming through the pages and my mind wandering to the next classic I might pick up.

I’m not leaving Julia in the dust, just modifying my approach.  One of the things I love about cooking from Dorie Greenspan’s books is that every time I make one of her recipes, I learn something new about her as her cookbooks are filled with charming little anecdotes about her life.  I want to learn about Julia in the same way.  So rather than one long continuous read, every other Tuesday when I set out to bake one of her recipes from the book Baking with Julia, I will read an excerpt from her memoir to accompany the experience.

Onward to the classics! . . .

After one false start, I settled on Gustave Flaubert’s Sentimental Education as my next read.  Some might remember from a past post, that I did a quick side-by-side translation comparison when I bought this book a few months ago.  At that time I settled on the Barnes and Noble Classics edition translated by D.F. Hannigan, believing the Baldick translation to be too sparse.  Fifty pages into the Hannigan translation I started to reconsider.  The clunky, disjointed prose continually reminded me that I was reading a work in translation and I just couldn’t get past it.  It was distracting.  So I landed back at the bookstore, stood there for another half hour looking at the translations side-by-side and came away with the Baldick translation, revised for Penguin by Geoffrey Wall.  So far, that’s moving along more smoothly.  Really, all of this would be a lot easier if Lydia Davis would just translate this work!

Anyway, I settled on reading this book after my experience with Madame Bovary last summer, but I was first introduced to it by Woody Allen.  Yes, you heard right, Woody Allen.  Remember Manhattan?

There’s an infamous scene with Allen (as Isaac Davis) lounging on his sofa with a recorder spouting off the things that make life worth living.  His list was as follows : Groucho Marx; Willie Mays; the second movement of the Jupiter Symphony; Louis Armstrong’s recording of Potato-head Blues; Swedish movies; Sentimental Education by Flaubert; Marlon Brando; Frank Sinatra; those incredible apples and pears by Cézanne; the crabs at Sam Wo’s; and Tracy’s face.

I thought it would be fun to throw out my own list following the general categories of Allen’s list.  He focuses on man-made works of beauty and talent so that’s what I’m going to do too.  Here goes :

• Billie Holiday’s voice
• the 6 major novels of Thomas Hardy
• French films (especially Jacques Tati’s Mon Oncle and Francois Truffaut’s The 400 Blows)
• Sweet and Tender Hooligan recorded by The Smiths
• Robert de Niro as Travis Bickle in Taxi Driver
• Dorie Greenspan’s recipe for Berry Cobbler
• Brunelleschi’s Dome : by way of a little story, this is the first work of architecture that literally took my breath away.  Twelve years ago in the backseat of a taxicab winding through the narrow streets of Florence, I caught a first, flashing glimpse of the dome at the end of a slender alleyway and I let out a gasp so spontaneous and loud that the driver roared with laughter.  It’s common to hear the word “breathtaking” when describing works of art so I feel like saying as much sounds trite, but in that moment I could feel my heart pounding through my chest which is something I had never experienced before, nor since.
• Botticelli’s The Birth of Venus : like seeing Brunelleschi’s dome, this is the only painting I’ve laid eyes on that I can truly and honestly say made my heart skip a beat. And there again, it’s an experience I cannot really describe without sounding cliche.

So there you have it.  What would be on your list?

Tuesdays With Dorie : Rugelach

Before discovering Dorie, I had never heard of Rugelach.  I was all pepped up to make it for Christmas last year, but then chickened out at the last minute and opted for the more familiar (and equally festive) jam thumbprint cookies.  They were yummy, but Rugelach is heaven. Flaky cream cheese dough wrapped around nuts, cinnamon, sugar, and dried fruit and sealed with a thin layer of fruit butter or jam.  Sound too complex?  Don’t be fooled, it’s easier than it sounds and the flavors blend nicely.  Traditionally, Rugelach is crescent-shaped but it can also be rolled and sliced; which is method Dorie and Julia instruct in Baking with Julia.

The ingredients for the dough are pulsed together in the food processor, turned out onto a cutting board, shaped into a rectangle and then refrigerated for 2 hours.  And folks, refrigerate that dough for 2 hours!  I used to try and cut corners but I’ve been reformed.  If Dorie says refrigerate for 2 hours then that’s what I do.  I’ve learned.

The dough is then rolled into a 1/4 inch thick rectangle and sliced in half, each half adorned with an assortment of scrumptious goodies.  Here are the ones I opted for: apricot raspberry preserves, cinnamon, sugar, dried cranberries, golden raisins, and coarsely chopped pecans.

Very carefully roll the dough so that you have two long rolls, seal the edges, and refrigerate it for another few hours.  At this point I should point out that making Rugelach is not difficult, just like making homemade yeast bread is not difficult, it just takes time, lots and lots of time.

Brush the logs with egg wash and with a serrated knife saw the logs into lovely 1 inch thick slices.

Then roll each slice in a nutty sugary concoction of your own invention.  I used a trio of ground hazelnuts, pecans, and walnuts for ultimate nutty goodness.  After the simple beauty of the freshly sliced cookies, this step will feel like ruination, but don’t worry. . .

The beauty returns with the baking.  The sugar caramelizes a little on the bottom, the dough gets sweet and flaky, the fruit and nuts and preserves all melt together in one sweet, oozing center.

Sweet. Rustic. Heaven.

Nuff said.

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To see what others thought of this recipe, visit Tuesdays with Dorie, a bi-weekly meme in which bakers all over the world are baking through Dorie Greenspan’s Baking with Julia.

Tuesdays with Dorie : Chocolate Truffle Tartlets

 I made these Chocolate Truffle Tartlets last Tuesday for Valentine’s Day.  So far it’s working out quite well to bake one Tuesday, post the next.  I’m quite enjoying that little routine.  In a word, these tartlets are rich.  Though I agree with Dorie’s anecdote that they are best the day they’re made, I’m also happy to report that they’re almost just as good after being stored in the refrigerator.  Which I’m grateful for, as these were so full of smooth, luscious chocolatey goodness that my husband and I could split one and it was more than enough.

This might sound strange, but mini-tart pans are one of those things I stalk at the store.  Is is possible to stalk bakeware?  Just like little ramekins and pastry cutters and those handy creme brulee fire torches, tart pans are one of those things I seem to be obsessively drawn to.  I pick them up, admire them, fantasize about what I would bake, but inevitably return them to the shelf and leave the store without them.  Buying such a specialized piece of bakeware feels like an indulgence.  Kind of like buying a Madeleine pan, how very excessive to purchase a pan that makes only one thing.  But all I need really is a good excuse, and these tartlets were it.

A note about the dough : When I first started working with it, I was sure that it was too dry and I nearly put it back in the food processor to add more water.  Not necessary!  In the nick of time I remembered the tip about smearing the dough against the cutting board with the heel of your hand.  This makes all the difference!  As soon as I did this, the dough came together and was easy to handle.

The recipe calls for 4 biscotti so I chopped up Nonni’s Almond Biscotti Bites and the almond flavor really complimented and enhanced the flavor of the chocolate.

Another successful recipe from Baking with Julia!  I’ll definitely be making this again.  To see what others thought of this recipe as well as links to the full list of ingredients and instructions, visit Tuesdays With Dorie .

Up next : Rugelach

Reading James and Re-evaluating Goals

Well, I’ve finally finished Portrait of a Lady.  It took a lot longer than I expected to get through.  I breezed through the first 3/4 of the novel with ease, then didn’t read at all for an entire week as I adjusted to my new work schedule.  When I picked the book up again, I felt like I was revisiting old friends after a long absence and had to get to know the characters all over again.  I hope to write more about this novel in the near future, but until then, here are a few random thoughts. . .

The gradual building of the characters, plot, and ideas in Portrait tells me that rushing through James’ book is not what he intended.  The plot builds ever so gradually, layer upon layer, detail upon detail.  The slow pacing adds to the realism and makes the characters more believable and knowable.  I also enjoyed how James reveals major events in much the same way that we learn of gossip in “real life” — through conversation.  The dialogue and and the interaction among the characters is what propels the novel, rather than detailed descriptions from the narrator, which contributes again to the realism but also to the suspense and tension.

I’ve read that one of the themes of Portrait involves confronting one’s destiny, but I think I would rephrase that to something along the lines of living with one’s choices.  I admired Isabel Archer so much at the beginning of the book – both for her intelligence and her independent, fiery spirit.  She lets go of herself little by little as she resigns to what others expect and want for her.  I had to cringe and squirm and wince as I witnessed her caving under the social pressures working against her as she remained blinded to the misguided intentions of others around her.  But it’s through such ill-intended characters that we learn more of Isabel Archer; we see that beneath her individualism there lies naivety, confusion, and vulnerability.  In classic Victorian fashion, James explores the well-trodden theme of the individual against society.  The results of his exploration aren’t exactly satisfying, but then again, I probably wouldn’t like the book as much if they were.

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Over the last few weeks, I’ve also been reevaluating my reading goals.   Every January over at Goodreads, I set my “Reading Challenge” goal to 52 books, fully aware that even under the best of conditions, I’ll probably not meet that goal.  I had decided to just keep setting it until I reached it, but now I’m rethinking those intentions.  Why not set a goal that I know I can realistically reach rather than one that feels pointless to work towards?  So I’ve reset my total to 30, and I think this is a much more reasonable number, given my time and commitments, and I feel more enthusiastic (and less discouraged) about working towards a goal that’s actually attainable.

Now that I’ve conquered James, I’m taking a brief break from the classics to read Julia Child’s memoir, My Life in France.  Next to books, food is a favorite topic for discussion.  I’ll be sharing my experience with making her Chocolate Truffle Tartlets as part of Tuesdays with Dorie this coming Tuesday.  Stay tuned!

Tuesdays With Dorie : Basic White Loaves

Next to books, my second love is baking.  In my mind, there’s not much separation.  Nothing pairs better with a good book than a nice cup of afternoon tea and freshly baked sables, or scones, or mini-muffins.  And since I read mostly centuries old literature, there’s something equally nostalgic in the act of kneading dough by hand, patiently waiting for it to rise, punching it down, letting it rise again, then baking it in the oven; all while the aroma of yeast fills the kitchen.

Until I started my new job, I was a Thursday baker.  It’s not something that I planned, really, but time and again I found myself in my kitchen on Thursday afternoons whipping up some little treat or perhaps a loaf of quick bread to serve with breakfast over the weekend.  Thursday was also cleaning day, and I’m still uncertain if there was something about a nice clean kitchen that inspired me to bake, or if it was some childish urge to make a mess right after I’d tidied things up.  In any case, it became a tradition.  My husband would inevitably come home from work on Thursdays with the question, “So what did you bake today?”

Now I’m establishing a new tradition. I’ve decided to join the bakers at Tuesdays With Dorie to bake my way through Dorie Greenspan’s Baking with Julia.   Serendipitously, Tuesday is my day off.   So it’s official; I’m now a Tuesday Baker.  I’m so excited to be participating with this group.  I first discovered them when I fell in love with Dorie Greenspan’s cookbooks last summer.  Unfortunately, the group was almost finished working their way through “Baking : From My Home to Yours” and was therefore closed to new participants, so all I could do was watch and wait.  I’m stoked that they’re taking on a new book and that I get to join in right from the beginning.

Basic white loaves was the first recipe chosen from the new book.  I’ve made a basic yeast bread loaf before but I must say this one is my favorite.  It has a hardy, rustic flavor with a moist interior texture and just a little crispness around the edges.  It’s so simple that I feel like after one more time of baking it, I’ll probably be able to do it with my eyes closed.  Dorie notes that this bread creates a slice suitable for “the most Dagwoodian sandwich.”  I didn’t get the reference so, of course,  I had to look it up.  Such a sandwich was named for Dagwood Bumstead from the long-running comic strip, Blondie.  Dagwood relished in a huge, multi-layered sandwich like the one pictured here, and I think Dorie was spot-on in her assessment.  This bread would definitely hold up to such a construction.  It’s also good for just tearing off big chunks and enjoying with pasta.  And if you’re like me and you don’t have a huge family to feed, it’s great for sharing.

After the ingredients are mixed, the dough rises in a large bread bowl for 1 hour.

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The dough is then divided and shaped into two oblong loaves.

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It rises for a second time in the loaf pans.

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And voilà . . .

. . . after a short baking time of about half an hour, you have two lovely loaves of freshly baked bread!

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For the full recipe, see Jules’ post from Someone’s in the Kitchen.

Up Next : Chocolate Tartlets