On fresh bread & being a good audience

By Amy

“They walked slowly the length of the buffet. Octopus balls, crab cakes, halibut. Potato salad; fresh bread, still warm. Juices and water. No alcohol.”

A few months ago Libby cooked and blogged about the feast. She’s so much braver than I am. When we first wrote out the list of meals for this project and I saw “octopus balls” I was so intimidated I thought of just leaving this on the “maybe someday” list of meals or hoping Libby would pick it so I wouldn’t have to. But then, the other day, I was skimming the list in search for the next meal I’d choose and bemoaning the fact that none of the characters ever baked bread (I love making bread). I wanted to post about my new yummy sourdough lemon rolls… That’s when fresh bread kind of popped up at me. Yes! Fresh bread.

I enjoy tasting new things. Bread is one of my alltime favorite things, though.

“Mais, c´est extraordinaire.”“Haw’aa.”Wide, gracious staircases led up to the balconies and at the far end of the room was a stage. Behind it a mural had been painted on the wall.
“That’s a Haida village,” she said, nodding toward it.“Incroyable,” whispered Gamache. The Chief Inspector was often surprised, astonished, by life. But he was rarely dumbfounded. He was now.”

I love how Gamache allows himself to be impressed and astonished. So many people, as they grow, lose the ability to feel childlike wonder. Gamache doesn’t.

“She then introduced him to everyone, one by one. He repeated their names and tried to keep them straight, though he was frankly lost after half a dozen.”

Louise Penny does a good job of keeping Gamache human. He’s courteous and he makes a point of treating people with respect and recognizing their individuality. But he's not perfect or an automaton. I can totally identify with his difficulty with names.

“Over dinner they all talked, but he noticed the Haida elders asked more questions than they answered. They were interested in his work, his life, his family. They asked about Quebec. They were informed and thoughtful. Kind, and guarded.”

I think this is one of the few times where we see Gamache in an environment where people have a similar approach to his own. If we read the description of the Haida elders, it sounds a lot like a description of Gamache himself. He asks more questions than he answers. He’s interested in people and in hearing about their lives, their work, their communities, their loved ones. He asks pertinent questions and he’s informed and thoughtful. He’s kind, and guarded. Maybe less guarded than the Haida elders, but he keeps many things to himself and doesn’t share with everyone. It’s not so much that he’s secretive; but that he’s respectful of the many secrets (of others) he carries in his head.

 “Gamache told them about the murder. The Hermit in the cabin buried deep in the forest. The elders, always attentive, grew even more still as he told them about the man, surrounded by treasure, but alone. A man whose life had been taken, his goods left behind. A man with no name, surrounded by history, but with none himself.”

Maybe it is because they are such good listeners that Gamache becomes talkative. While he is a sounding board for many, we don’t often see him think out loud. He takes walks. He listens to suspects, agents, and friends. He ponders. He’s frequently the one who summarizes and tells a story once the whole story is known. We don’t often see him “monologuing” for long periods of time. He found a respectful audience here. An audience much like he himself usually is. I wonder if, in a way, he recognized that?

“Hard to be both happy and afraid,” said Esther. “But fear can lead to courage.”“And courage can lead to peace,” said a young man in a suit.

Once again, the Haida remind me of Gamache. I think this scene is a bit like I imagine his inner dialogues are like. They listen. They read between the lines. They’re sensitive to tone of voice, unsaid words, and are more interested in the man the hermit was than in the gore of his death. And, like Gamache, they have grace and they have faith and they recognize the power of resilience. “Fear can lead to courage. And courage can lead to peace.”

It reminded Gamache of what the fisherman had written on the wall of the diner in Mutton Bay a few years earlier. He’d looked at Gamache across the room and smiled so fully it had taken the Chief Inspector’s breath away. Then the fisherman had scribbled something on the wall and left. Gamache had gone to the wall, and read:Where there is love there is courage,Where there is courage there is peace,Where there is peace there is God.And when you have God, you have everything.” “Gamache spoke the words, and there was silence in the hall. The Haida were good at silence. And so was Gamache.”

I would like to be really good at silence. That’s one of the things I’d love to be better at. Not “I’m-angrily-holding-words-in” silence. Or “I-couldn’t-care-less” silence. Or “I’ll-listen-to-a-book-or-a-show-or-a-song” silence. I would like to learn how to use silence to listen better. I think silence might help me to better listen to my own thoughts and my own feelings and my own intuition. I think silence, or gaps of silence in a conversation, might give me more of a chance to think about what I’m about to say before I actually burst it out. But, even more importantly: I think silence is crucial to give me time to not only hear what the other has said, but to absorb it, digest it, try to understand it, try to understand their point of view, and go beyond instinctive reaction… before I answer.

I think Gamache is an incredible role model. There are many things to learn from him. I’m close in age to Beauvoir and Lacoste and tend to, like them, read Gamache as a mentor and not so much a contemporary. There are many things to admire (and I’m glad we’ll have so many chances to talk about him). This is one of them.

The Haida are good listeners. They are respectful and empathetic. They are kind. They know the importance – and the power – of silence. And they serve fresh bread. What could be better?

Sourdough Rolls:

This recipe comes from a friend. Her recipe comes from a book. It’s no longer from the book and I have slightly modified the recipe the friend uses. So… here’s “modified” sourdough rolls (based on a sourdough bread recipe).

Ingredients:

2 packages of active dry yeast

1 ¼ cups warm water

1 cup sourdough starter at room temperature (there are recipes on how to start your own)

¼ cup vegetable oil

¼ cup sugar

2 teaspoons salt

2 eggs (slightly beaten)

5 to 6 cups of flour

Melted butter

First combine the yeast and warm water and let stand for 5 minutes.

Combine the yeast mixture, sourdough starter, oil, sugar, salt, eggs and about half the flour in a bowl. 

Gradually add more flour until it’s a soft dough.

Turn the dough onto a floured surface and knead. THIS IS THE BEST PART. I think kneading bread dough is one of the most therapeutic things ever. I love bread. I love making bread, eating bread… 

Knead it until it’s smooth and elastic, then place in a well-greased bowl and let rise 1 to 2 hours or until doubled.

Punch it down, divide in half (I sometimes make a double recipe, so I’d divide it in quarters) and place on floured surface. Roll into a rectangle – or just stretch it with your hands until it’s a rectangle.

You can just roll it up and place it in a loaf-pan, let rise for another hour, then bake.

You can roll it, cut the loaf every 1 ½ inches and bake them as rolls. Or you can make cinnamon rolls (butter and cinnamon) or lemon rolls (my favorite - butter and lemon zest) or sandwich rolls (husband’s favorite - sliced cheese and ham) or cheese rolls (this one is my son’s favorite – butter and parmesan) or maybe even pizza rolls (tomato sauce, cheese and basil)… I think the possibilities are endless.

And then, of course, I have to mention my favorite fresh bread. Mom’s recipe. Part of the fun is that there isn’t really a recipe. It’s a bit like life – you can never repeat a day and you can never eat the same loaf twice. Even if you add the same ingredients (and I never measure, so I don’t know how much of anything), there’s also the heat, the humidity of the day, and other factors you can’t control.

You start with the yeast. It’s one of those liquid yeasts that you “feed” and reproduce so you never run out. It’s not like sourdough starter. My mom gave me the first jar. Every time I only have one jar left, I mix the contents of that one jar of yeast, two jars of warm water, 1 tablespoon of salt, 4 of sugar and 5 of flour. You let it rest for 12 hours, then split it into 3 jars. One you use to make the bread. The other two you refrigerate for the next time you bake bread.

To make the actual bread, you add some kind of fat (cream, butter, oil, olive oil…), some kind of sugar (sugar, brown sugar), and some kind of flour until it reaches a consistency that’s softer than dough. Kind of gooey. You let that rise for 6 to 12 hours. Then you knead it with more flour and add anything else you want (nuts, cacao nibs, chia, etc). You divide it into three loaf pans and let rise for another 3 to 8 hours. Then bake for 40 minutes.

I’ve made it with herbs, with lemon zest, with nuts. With only wholewheat flour, only white flour, a mix of both. I add flax, chia, quinoa, seeds, oats. I add leftovers sometimes… This latest edition has cacao nibs, chia, flax, quinoa flakes, oats, the leftover liquid from a peach preserve, the leftovers of blueberry jam (I just added some water to the jar and shook it so it was jammy water), whole wheat flour, white flour, butter and a pinch of cinammon… It turned out so yummy. Some turn out better than others. Some are so good I try to rack my brain to remember what I put in there (I don’t have a scientific approach to it and usually don’t remember exactly what went into it). Some are just passable. The kneading the dough is therapeutic. Scent of fresh bread is lovely. And I’m sure that by now most of you know that I love eating bread!