Hello, my loves. I’m back at it, firing my ovens after a weekend of excess and inspiration in LA. Besides the fact that I grew up there and kept bumping into loosened strands of the little lost kitten I once was, one who purred into the heart of her own experiences with a fervor that still lives on, I also got to eat (and eat and eat) a lot of tremendous bread. It all started when I stepped off the plane last Thursday and drove straight to the home of my childhood best friend in Culver City.
Through a series of life’s strange turns, she is back in the house where she grew up. The same one where we lined up a circle of liquor bottles and sat inside drinking each kind; the same one where we snuck Richard and Katisse into her room and played Train in the dark; also the same one where I encountered my first loaf of homemade bread, not from a Martha or Julia type, but from Meghan’s mohawked, punk-rock sister who mixed the dough one weekend in her Dead Kennedy’s shirt and torn jeans. Gabrielle Hamilton had nothing on Bethany. But I digress…
Meghan and I went straight to Lodge Bread and I spent the afternoon basking in her sultry laughter while we ate miso chocolate chip cookies and avocado toast. I couldn’t leave without ogling these gentlemens’ work bench and ovens and after a quick chat, learned about their methods, which include a wide range of breads that are all naturally leavened. They were closing for the day and on my way out the door, they gifted me a bag brimming with all manner of loaves. I’ve been savoring pieces all week, and I’m especially enamored with the seeded rye, which has nuanced topnotes of bacon and butterscotch in each bite.
Throughout the weekend, I popped into bakeries that have been on my list. You know me, the international bread tourist that I am. I dragged a friend across town and waited in line for Sqirl’s famous burnt brioche and it was definitely worth the wait topped with house-made ricotta and a divine concoction of blood orange and vanilla bean jam.
Last stop on my trip to LA, I stopped at Gjusta in Venice Beach. Wow—this place has my heart like poetry with its wide wooden room, layered with warmth and seaside charisma. Their cases and shelves are brimming with loaves of all shapes and varieties, with vibrant salads of every color, and with jars of inventive homemade goods. I sat at the marble countertop and let them ply me with bread and olives while I gobbled up a plateful of tender asparagus and a whole flatbread topped with mushrooms.
So, my loves, all this bread was well and good, but what I was really doing in Los Angeles was trying to delve further into the world of milling. We tend to overlook this important middle step in the cycle of getting good bread to the table. I was fortunate enough to work with a team of strong women to lead a tour about the full cycle of getting better bread and flour.
I have more about this coming soon, but for now, meet Nan Kohler of Grist & Toll and Amy Halloran, author of The New Bread Basket. The pictures below were taken at Grist & Toll, an urban grist mill located in Pasadena, California. We had a rollicking good time last Friday morning geeking out with a lovely bunch of culinary professionals about flour and grain and why we all need to pay more attention to each step in bringing our food to the table.
That’s where I’ll leave it for now, with a batch of brioche resting on my countertop and the smell of butter wafting through my kitchen. Since I’ve returned from LA, I can’t get enough of Grist & Toll’s Star hard white wheat. My heart is bursting to tell you more about this sweet, blond variety, so stay tuned. In the meantime, keep on baking.
All my best,
