James

Oysters BathBuns… oh my moms fresh buns of childhood.  The sweet buttery smell wafting through the door as you walked in, thats the baking memory I will forever cherish.

On a more savoury note, FRIDAY NIGHT, PIZZA NIGHT.  Mother would make the dough by hand, I understood none of what she did but it was moist fluffy and thick. Us boys would shred cheese, cut pepperoni and open tins of pizza sauce and pineapple tidbits.  Oh and fight over the pineapple juice, being the youngest I could usually count on my mom backing me up with a large portion.

Then I moved out of my parents house and the hard times began.  Apparently I learned nothing but how to cook Kraft Dinner.  However I have a scientific mind and therefore I don’t believe I cook dinner, but experiment with food particles.  Sometimes this backfires but usually I start out with some sort of recipe (hypothesis) and do what I can with what I have.

Pasta and BBQ-ing come naturally and work well, so meeting Allie and her baking wonders forced me to challenge myself.  How can this little girl work magic with just flour, yeast and a few herbs?  So foccacia it was and I must have made 20 loaves in 3 months but none were like hers, was the yeast dead? the air to cool? or maybe it was a simple miscommunication, like 2 tbsps of yeast that I heard as 2 tsps? We’ll never know.

Bristol baking has expanded from these simple Italian wonders to large white, brown, sour loaves with all sorts of mishaps, mistakes and wonders.  All sparky imagination, creativity and curiousity.

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