dang that’s strange


Is it just me or do they do things differently in the country?


I like to say 'they' as if I'm other, not related by blood, and not implicitly involved. 




These boxes are actually for me, to stack biscuits in at the local market on Saturday. 

Dad and Adam pulled them out of some old sheds this morning and cleaned them up. And of course hung them on a tree in the chookyard to dry. (As you do.)




Thanks, fellas. They're perfect. 

And have you ever seen a turkey egg?



Just a bit bigger than a hen's egg, about the size of a ducks. (Not as big as a goose's.)

Our neighbour's turkey is a single lady with no Mr Turkey unfortunately (she sleeps on the ridgepole of our garage. Looks like she could use a gin.) So even though she's started laying, there's no hoping the eggs might be fertile. We keep returning them next door.

I thought: one little photo.

There's always a crew, though.

Oops, there goes the comparison chook egg.

Oh well. We saved the goose egg.

And check this out! A curly wurly cane banneton!


Clean! (Er, new.) It is now floured and full of proofing sourdough, and theoretically you are supposed to leave it 'floured', like, permanently. The food safety supervisor in me is freaking out getting my head around that. 

Strange bacteria-breeding breadmakers. 

Bet the person who dreamt up permanently-floured bannetons lived in the country. 

Will report back on success or otherwise. Hope you're having a lovely week, lovely folk!



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