I’m chewing over the idea of changing our Title Deed so my house has a name rather than a number. Calling it something like “The House of Fermentation” or “Great Fermentations” or “Tiny Bubbles” or “Yeastation”. This house is breeding fermenting stuff, and if I’m not attentive to this escapade, the bricks and mortar might start fermenting.
Put on your imaginary sniffer and inhale this aromatic mixture:
Sedrick-the-sourdough-starter is fermenting and bubbling, burping and chirping, and generally willing himself to stride across the worktop in the kitchen. He’s bread tomorrow. At the other end of the kitchen, the apples are a bit more sedate but as with all youngsters, the younger one learns from the elder one, and now the apples are sending lacy bubbles through the sugary water. Both have their own distinctive scent — one is tangy and yeasty, and the other is sweet, fresh and for some reason reminds me that the grass needs mowing. Or perhaps it’s a suggestion that I should buy a cow. I often mix those two signals. It has to do with our house being built on an old field where local farmers grazed their dairy cows for centuries. When it rains heavily, the scent of cow urine wafts upward from the soil. Not entirely unpleasant, this is after all Sussex farmland, but it can catch you off-guard if that waft tweaks your nose when you’re standing near another person. The two of you exchange an arched eyebrow of suspicion, and then quickly remember … ah, yes, cow urine.
Small blessing, my kitchen does not smell of cow urine.
So, here’s a photo of itsy-bitsy bubbles crowding around the chunks of apple. Yes, gosh, by all means go ahead and – yaaawn. It is all still a tad boring, I admit. Pity that you can’t smell it. You’d perk right up.
To compensate, here’s a holiday photo as I promised yesterday. And you thought I was joking, huh? This is a photo of a 200-meter (655-foot) long, 400-year-old wooden pedestrian bridge that stretches across the Rhine River from Bad Säckingen, Baden Wurttemberg, Germany, to Switzerland on the opposite end of the bridge. The ancient floor boards are glossy and smooth from centuries of foot traffic crossing between the two countries.