A picture of my fougasse, again in the less-than-ideal glow of the under-cabinet light. Not perfect, but very tasty. It would have been a much easier process all around if I had a different oven. I had to pull out the rack (which had a hot baking sheet ready for the bread), and once I put the first fougasse on the sheet (I baked two at a time), gravity took over and the baking sheet + fougasse started to slide towards my shins as I hurriedly tried to place the second piece and catch the whole thing (with an oven mit) before it hit the ground.
Anna means graceful.
Really? “Laura” means graceful too.
They kind of look like scary ski masks…or cranky old men…contrived or coincidence?
They’re meant to look like leaves, which probably would have been more obvious if they were bottom-down rather than tip-down.
The one in the book looks much more like a leaf, but I suspect the author’s had more practice than I have.
In America we call fougasse “pretzels”. We like them covered in salt and we bake them longer so they become dark brown. Hope your green garden gumballs are still alive. How did your poem go? “Green garden gumballs ten feet tall…” Oh how you used to love peas, but you called them “peace” before you could properly form words. Peas be with you and Rob!
Oh! Oh! I see the leaves! They are lovely leaves, Anna…you must forgive my folly…you just must! It’s sort of like those ink pattern thingies that the head doctors use. (Or so I’ve been told.)
Well adjusted individuals would look at your bready shapes and see leaves. Because, that’s what they are…I am well adjusted so that’s what I see. The leaves.
See, I was just saying that about ski masks and cranky old man to determine if *you* could see the leaves…*sticks hands in pockets and looks at the ground to avoid eye contact*
Ohohoh we want recipes, recipes we say!