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Sourdough Bread- take one: the debacle

It all began with dreams of grandeur.  Sure, it my have been my virgin maiden rookie stint...but I kept my eyes on the horizon and even thought I could see the finish line in the distance.  Ha.  That is what I get for thinkin'.  

Sally was bubbling and fermenting ferociously.  She was ready.  And after a week of nurturing her...documenting that initial zing of rotting apples mellow into a smooth, aged scent that is somewhat hard to describe, but very easy to love...I was ready.  
Tuesday.  Late afternoon.  Water, flour, and a ladle of Sally.  She fit in perfectly.  I was so proud.  Nestled in an earthenware bowl and then tucked inside of a garbage bag, she set about doing what I knew she would do with ease.  Permeating.  Lifting.  Flavoring.  Making a beautiful sponge.
Wednesday.  Eight o'clock in the morning.  More flour and some salt are added to the sponge that took all night to develop.  It's turned out onto a floured counter and kneaded until it becomes smooth and silky and satiny.  I form it into a ball and wrap it up to rise for an hour.
 Then I turn that beauty out, poke out the gasses, roll it into a ball and repeat the rising process.
 And then I do it again.  Every hour. For four hours.
 After the fourth rise is through, I divide the soft pillow...
 ...into two and form them into loaves.  Placed into my equally virgin brotforms and covered, they proof for another three hours.  
With all the care of a first-time mother handling her newborn baby, I turn the dough from the forms with trembling delight. With the oven dialed as high as it will go and my trigger finger on the spray bottle, I slide the slashed loaves into the inferno.
One more turn before the final stretch.  The boiling water on the stove carefully and quickly poured into the roasting pan that looks up at the loaves above.  But wait!  That's not a roasting pan, at all.  It is a glass pan.  Surely that will serve the same purpose.  Surely it will.  But suddenly a shot rings out!  The shot heard round the world.  I divert my eyes, dodging the flying shards of glass that are hurtling through the air.  And then I stood there.  Jaw hanging slack.  Eyes back on the scene and unable to turn away from the grisly events that had commenced.
Well shit.  Nothing left to do but clean up.  I realize that with a little less dumbassery, I could have sailed through my foray into sourdough with nary a hiccup.  But.  Tomorrow is another day.  
I can still smell it.  What could have been.

*What in the world was I thinking, you ask?  Well.  A little flag did pop up somewhere in the back of my brain.  But I figured adding boiling water to a hot pan wouldn't have the same effect as adding cold water.  I can now tell you firmly and without a doubt, that it does have the same effect.  And yes.  The uncooked loaves went into the bin.  Nothing else I could do.  The glass literally sprayed ev-ry-where.  I'm pretty sure none went into the dough, but I wasn't taking any chances.  Plus, I had to let the oven cool down in order to clean it out.  That was it for the day.  But, Sally did her job...and she did it famously! I cannot wait to head back in and give her another chance to work her "wild" magic.  Watch for a successful sourdough in the near future☺. 

The good?  My oven received a long-overdue scrubbing.

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