Friday the Thirteenth, but artisanal bread will save us all

The end of an eventful week chez Boud, what with one medical thing and another, but now with answers and a plan of action and no ominous findings.  So it's all good.  Except that my chronic woes are a result of being small, female, white, Northern European, and getting on in years.  About which there's not a lot I can do at this time.  In the last couple of weeks I've had many unwanted views on screens of practically all my inner workings, including an unnerving addition to the discharge instructions of living color pix of my innards as seen in an endoscopy, ew.  But onward..

So yesterday, I made a new batch of Ye Olde Artisanalle Bread.  Back to the old bread pans for a change from the giant loaf I've been doing recently. This is just easier for toasting purposes.  

About half and half wheat and unbleached white, poppyseeds tossed around with abandon. Really nice texture.

I notice that my own bread takes a lot longer to toast than the bought stuff.  Since I was out of action a bit this week, Handsome Son did a bit of food shopping while he was picking up rx, and came home with a loaf of "wheat" bread.  Which toasted up lovely, but tasted of air, which is what it largely consists of, I think. I haven't had what my Mom would refer to slightingly as "bought bread" for about fifteen years, so this was interesting.  Happy to get back to making my own though.

Happy Weekend, all!  it looks as if finally spring is getting here, or maybe summer, since Spring seems to have sort of gone out of fashion.