Six Dozens

So it goes that four and half months into this pandemic ... quarantine ... lockdown ... work-from-home experiment ... I’ve baked my six-dozenth loaf of sourdough bread.

I think at one point I joked about reaching one hundred before this was all over. That joke might be on me. Be careful what you wish for, some say.

Five Dozens

The inevitable happened, and my flour supply morphed away from the familiar collection of yellow-bagged bread flours, the kind I’ve been baking with for years and years like a loyal customer and into other brands. I shook the last dregs from my bags of “Best for Bread” and multigrain mixes.

Four Dozens

Sourdough has become routine.

As routine as Saturday pancake breakfast. As routine as birthday cakes. As routine as washing up after a meal.

I pulled pandemic loaves numbers 47 and 48 from a hot oven yesterday evening and set them to cool on the counter. The bread for the next couple days. No ceremony (not that there ever really was) and no fuss. Just supplies.

Modern Victory

During the World Wars of the 20th century, history reminds us that ordinary people were encouraged to plant vegetables in their gardens in an effort to bolster morale and supplement food shortages. To my knowledge it has not been specifically recommended by local governments to do that sort of thing during the pandemic, but the increase in backyard suburban gardening during the lockdown has likely been a reflection of not only extra free time by millions of people sheltering in their homes, but also a bit of that victory garden spirit.