Reading, Writing, and Sourdough

There are several reasons Educated  became a must-read for so many Americans this year. Despite the author's claims to the contrary, Educated  is a Horatio Alger story. Tara Westover recounts her escape from her rural Idaho farm family. Her Dad is a tyrannical, probably bipolar, bible-thumping authoritarian. Mom is an herbal healer who aligns chakras and delivers babies. One brother is physically abusive. She works in dad's junkyard from her earliest years and never attended school -- barely even any homeschooling -- until she enrolled in college. She earned a Ph.D. from Cambridge University. But there is more to it than just a story of trial and redemption. Westover can write. She is nakedly honest recounting her self-doubt, imposter syndrome, and psychological pain. She is universal in her description of the need for a caring, loving father and mother, and the lengths to which she will go to win their approval, even as an adult. Her descriptions of her childhood home in

There are at least five kinds of bakers. The Beginner . The beginner assembles flour, water, salt, and yeast, kneads, follows the directions for rise and bake times and is either pleasantly surprised by the result or befuddled by the failure. A dough that got away from me. The Home Baker. With practice a beginner starts to recognize that dough has personality. Making bread isn’t quite like making soup or cake. Knowing when a dough has been kneaded enough, whether it is too soon or, alas, too late, to put into the oven, how the temperature, size, and shape of a loaf dictate bake time, and what a reasonable amount of time to wait before slicing all improve with practice. As many loaves begin to emerge, the home baker experiments with batards, miches, boules, pizzas, bagels, and buns, whole wheat, spelt, oatmeal, or rye breads, sunflower seeds, walnuts, or pepitas. Seven grains: whole wheat, spelt, with whole grains of millet, rye, wheat, oats. With whole, organic

Semolina loaf. I know it is customary to bring a bottle of wine or frilly cookies when invited for dinner, but I like bringing bread. Bread feels good to hold. It sounds sonorous when tapped on its flat bottom. Its aroma somehow arouses a primordial reaction. This week is holiday season so I've been baking gift and potluck breads. Fig and Fennel. Onion Rye (left) and Rye Pumpernickel (right). These last four loaves were made with rye grown in the college garden just outside my office. It took a handful of students three months to hand winnow and thresh, but there is really nothing quite like bread baked from recently harvested and freshly milled flour. The taste is both sweeter and deeper, resonating like a large brass bell.

I'm not sure why the Scandinavians have the corner on bleak murder mysteries, but this one fits the mold and delivers the goods. Even though it is number seven in investigator Harry Hole's career and I haven't read the first six, all the necessary elements are at play: Norway's bleak, slushy winter; a diabolical serial killer; a troubled detective with a sleep disorder; a preternaturally intelligent younger female assistant; meaningful relationships in various states of disrepair; credible clues intermingled with red herrings; and a tense plot. In The Snowman  young, married women with children and not-great husbands are murdered in and around Oslo. With time it becomes apparent that they they are killed following the first snowfall of the year and a snowman is left on the scene as lonely sentinel. Near the end, even after you and Detective Hole have figured out who is committing the crimes and why, there is, of course, still one murder waiting to happen.